The Hawk Deck 10:22am
Can You believe Me Now —
Do You believe Me Now —
Twenty Years after The Shower Of Lights
that I Am God
from Inside
No, I am not The External God
The Man in The Sky
I Am My Own Boss
with The Meaning of Life
under My Belt
A Wilson’s Warbler singing His Song
out to Me
from The Scraggly Apple
Can You, Could You, Believe Me Now?
“Tell all the Truth but tell it slant –
I Am The Second Coming Of Christ
Success in Circuit lies
I Am The Second Coming Of Christ
Too bright for our infirm Delight
I Am The Second Coming
The Truth’s superb surprise
I Am A White North American Female
As Lightening to the Children eased
Coming To A Store Near You
With explanation kind
EYE
The Truth must dazzle gradually
AM
Or every man be blind –”
GOD
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:45pm
We Are The Face
Of God
look no further
than You Own
Navel
Where You Came From
& where Your Inheritance
came from
before You were born
The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:30pm
That Bird with the sweetest trill
receives The Perfect Mate —
even Crows are treated fairly
with Their Devoted Followers —
The Bird World Works
& has worked for Millennia —
Shouldn’t Ours?
The Hawk Deck 10:05am
There may be only so much
I can write about birds
bird life & song
the lull of the waves
has made Me strong
but I must wait
for the outcome
of a medical concern
involving My Children’s Grandfather
The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:22pm
I am a little girl
hair in braids
clutching My Tabby Cat
listening to My Mother
–
I am a self-sufficient teenager
riding My Bike
on My Paper Route
making My Teachers happy
wanting to be a helicopter pilot
an artist on the side
–
I am a young mother
homesteading with a handsome family man
approved of by My Mother
having Our Babies*
before & soon after Her Death
–
I am an “older” woman now
reviewing two marriages
children grown
houses changed with assorted cats
& somehow I am happy
not too far from My Own Mind
*one who was aborted on March 27, 1997
The Hawk Deck 2:50pm
There is something like magic
in the stillness here
with only The Birds
— even They have settled —
the breeze is lulling
I cannot even hear the surf
Joanna Gilman Hyde 