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Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 12 september 2013

Stonehenge Revisited


The earth is cradled in a grave
The sky is buried in the earth
The stones are hanging from a thread of light
And everyone here has been here before
And everyone has come a long way
And those who love meet those who hate
And those who breathe air breathe stone
And those who are fire are dust
And those who are clay shall be wine
And those who arrive meet those departing
And children find their mothers
And fathers reconcile with sons 
And the old meet themselves in the young
And the young discover a road
And round the heavenly clock time is as nothing
And we cluster for warmth
At the brief fire of a thousand years


number of comments: 4 | rating: 5 | detail

Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 24 april 2015

Pathetic Fallacy

The most noxious landfill is language.
Books are polluted; libraries, dump sites.
Due to toxic levels of pathetic fallacy
Bookstores recall infected books;
Greenpeace intervenes poetry readings;
Poets are fined for offshore word spills.
Why must a cloud be forever lonely?
Why must the sea be always cruel?
Books burn by their own hands.
Lexicon’s toxic waste contaminates
Our graves and poisons our shadows
From which we rise to stain the world.


number of comments: 4 | rating: 2 | detail

Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 9 march 2012

The Blue Hour

Neither complete reason or revelation
But falling in love again when we can’t help it
Ambient composite blue transparent to the stars
Between dawn and sunrise sunset and dusk
Constellations swirl in blue-ringed octopus spheres
Between cerulean and cobalt a painted sky  
Something levels like the height of waters
Cityscapes hang in Krishna heavens
A mirror’s blue velvet tumbles to the floor
Night sways in the white sheers of a blue room
Unfinished wine drinks the rose of night
Music trickles the ether of afterglow    
The blue hour ebbs from the earth's shadow  
We are strangers in the space of a window


number of comments: 4 | rating: 4 | detail

Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 20 september 2013

Clouds Over London

... neither God nor No-God
                     Louis MacNeice
 
Not clouds but burkas naked on clotheslines,
Hawksmoor gloom with Horus eye, 
Warzone Luftwaffe left-over thunder,
Lions’ heads on building tops,
Quorum of the heavens… London fog
And a neighborhood in London fog,
The ghost of Hitchcock at the window
Of his house gave the shadow of a doubt.
Nothing was real, not buildings or streets.
Only a waking sleep from cab to cab
And a destination from which you depart.
Not clouds but statues wet in flesh
And veil, as in “The Winter’s Tale,”
Or the dead likeness of a changing guard.
North of the city an explosion; south, a beheading.
Astride the block a shadow slumps.
The head of God, a cloud in a basket.


number of comments: 4 | rating: 2 | detail

Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 10 august 2012

Cryptozoology



Our research points to terrifying conclusions,
Cryptids don’t exist but we believe in them.
We spawn marine reptiles in our minds.
We descend like Andean wolves, into the lower forests.
It might as well be that skunk-ape migrants of global warming
Indicate their degrees in theology.
It might as well be that being is bizarre,
Monsters of the lector unsolved in the sermon.   
It might as well be that Chupacabras  
Are devil dogs stirring the furnace of souls.
Perhaps a pharmaceutical apocalypse
Creates the condition for a mutant menagerie.
All we can say beyond a reasonable doubt:
They are the varmint of the malcontent
Who have peopled else, and are on the move.


number of comments: 3 | rating: 2 | detail

Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 29 august 2013

Kintsukuroi

When everything is repaired with gold leaf
Good will shines brighter through our blood
Like a poem with golden seams or a living art.
So your favorite bowl shattered like the world,
Its pieces are still a bowl.
It could also be a more beautiful world.


number of comments: 2 | rating: 2 | detail

Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 10 july 2013

A Time of Hard Rain


In so much rain the homeless drown,
If this rain was bullets they’d be children of massacres.
If this rain was petroleum coke we’d already be Pompeii.
If this rain was a pesticide we’d be innumerable bees
Found dead in parking lots round the world.
If this rain was plague we’d be shadows among Pharaohs.
If this rain was money we’d drink from the same well.
If this rain was food the hungry could eat their tears.
If this rain was love, hatred would dissipate like haze.    
If this rain was peace, peace would water our lands.
If this rain was rage, God would haemorrhage
From a wound at least as mortal as our own.


number of comments: 2 | rating: 5 | detail

Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 16 june 2013

My America

My America is all Detroit, Motown, dancing in the streets, my girl,
Tropical heat waves and what becomes of the broken hearted after a riot.
My America is the 67 riot and flames above the city,
My America is the arrival of The National Guard, revolution in the air,
CKLW news and the “murder-meter” rising.  
My America is The Spirit of Detroit and The Joe Louis Fist.
My America is Rosa Parks and visits by Martin Luther King.                
My America is where the South was born after the South had died.
My America is getting out of neighbourhoods before dark.
My America is the auto industry and temporary-part-time wages.
My America is the war machine that beat back Nazis and fascists.
My America is the Vernors factory since 1866, Stroh’s Beer,
Jack Kevorkian and a suicide-assisted death at the  end of an assembly line.   
My America is rock concerts at Cobo Hall, jazz at Baker’s Keyboard Lounge,  
Gang violence in the hypnotic haze of Thai stick and funk.
My America is all muscle cars and available parts.
My America is a union town with mob connections,
A road map that leads to Jimmy Hoffa, like a missing treasure.
My America is all Detroit, where my family lay in cemeteries around,
A border where half of me is standing and half in the ground.


number of comments: 2 | rating: 2 | detail

Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 5 july 2013

Incantation Bowl

This is a poem that fills

The emptiness of a bowl.

This is also a poem

That empties the fullness of the bowl.

 
This is a poem.


number of comments: 2 | rating: 2 | detail

Salvatore Ala

Salvatore Ala, 8 april 2015

Animal Horns

  for Kenya
 
The cries of hyenas are human cries
The teeth of the lion are human
Jaws of crocodiles are human jaws
Our blood changes into venom  
We destroy our own young
We hunt the young of others
We smell slaughter on the wind  
Why then consider ourselves separate
If we walk in animal footprints
Why number our tribes
If migrations end in murder
Why give a name to creation
If the same wild God destroys it


number of comments: 2 | rating: 2 | detail


10 - 30 - 100  


Other poems: Strip Search, Pathetic Fallacy, Natural History, The Study of Languages, Animal Horns, Anthology, Unforeseen Events, Empire Coins, Mother Son Song, Terrace Garden, Lampedusa House, Firebird Sunset, In a Gallery of Birds, The Counterweight, Journey of Life, Conversations with Men with Brain Injuries, Music Mountain, Chronicles of Man, What Angels Know, Clouds Over London, Stonehenge Revisited, Six Rooms, Kintsukuroi, A Time of Hard Rain, Incantation Bowl, America, Petroleum Coke Piles on the Detroit River, State of Grace Hospital, My America, On a Photograph of an Abandoned Southern Home, The Becoming, Cryptozoology, Crow Feather Totem, Ellis Island, Kiwanis Music Finals, Young Love in Ancient Place, The Blue Hour, Two Moon Matching Set, Sea Dreams, The Painter After a Stroke, In the Beauty of a Lower Heaven,
 

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