Poetry
by Sharmagne Leland-St.John
Love-In
Bearded Buddha,
sufi, hare krishna,
beatnik, former Jew
swathed in white,
semi lotus position
on the ragged edge
of Sheep's Meadow.
Awestruck hippies
circle round,
listening, bobble headed
to the anaphoric repetition
as the bard recites.
In an acid haze
I listen...
watch the roses grow
from the top of your head
hear the wind howl.
The leaves of grass die,
yet are reborn
at your slippered feet.
I am entranced
by your yellow shadow,
your blood red sash.
Above the birdsong
lilts an ocarina
dulcet and shy,
your finger cymbals
like Tibetan tingsha bells
ringing, singing.
On this crisp
Easter Sunday Morning
Nineteen Hundred and Sixty-Seven,
I too fathom
the interconnectedness of the universe.
Central Park
like an anthill,
teeming with tie-dye,
eusocial creatures.
In the middle of
your Kaddish for Naomi,
the barefoot boy
with flowers
in his blonde
leonine hair and beard
exclaims,
"Wow man, groovy!"
You shoot him
a withering glance
then your eyes meet mine
and for a split second
I see into your soul.
"Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare…Hare,
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare…Hare."
You give penumbra
a whole new meaning.
For Allen Ginsberg
1926-1997
first published Quill
and Parchment
top
Dusk
Is Falling Gently
Dusk is falling gently
Like her silk scarf on the wind
And it's sad to think
I'll never see her again
Yesterday she said "I love you"
But it didn't mean a thing
She's a child of the night
A bird on the wing
I see her running through the meadow
Putting flowers in her hair
She should never have said "I love you"
If her heart wasn't there
I could have loved her too
And never brought her pain
But I don't think
I'll ever see her again
Baby don't take my heart
And play your sad game
If your heart wasn't there
You've got no one to blame
Oh Butterfly
You should have stayed awhile
And let me trace
With hungry lips
The space within your smile
I see the things you left here
A box of paints, your old blue jeans
Now dusk is falling gently while
Nighttime only holds
Tomorrow's fragile dreams
top
Sharmagne Leland-St. John,
a 2007 Pushcart Prize nominee, is a Native American poet, concert
performer, lyricist, artist, and film maker. Sharmagne spends
time between her home in the Hollywood Hills, in Southern California
and her fishing lodge on the Stillaguamish River in the Pacific
Northwest. She tours the United States, Canada, and England,
as a performance poet, either solo or with her band of poets
"Poetry in Motion." She has published 2 books of poetry
Unsung Songs (2003), Silver Tears and Time (2005),
and co-authored a book on film production design. Designing
Movies: Portrait of a Hollywood Artist (Greenwood/Praeger,
2006) her third collection of poetry Contingencies is
scheduled for publishing February 2008.
| 
