The little black  tents,  the  wombs of the night

Opportunity knocked and I opened the door
But that’s not the room I was looking for.
The light didn’t work and I slipped on a book
Then I saw you and your smile and your look

We don’t know what we want until it comes by
I’m too ancient now;who knows when they die?
But while I am here, I’m enjoying the peace
Of being alone, smiling, and writing re geese.

Isee aaaaal them fly by when the sun starts to sink.
How like a wild god; they ‘re gone when I blink.
Then they descend ;they all move as one.
No training in music could teach us that song.

Evoking the beauty of stars far away,
I like to watch geese at the end of the day.
Patterns and poems disclose other worlds.
The hand of a baby; the fingers uncurled

The trust and the smile ; mother is home
She creates entire worlds for the one she has borne.
For chaos and panic are not far away;
Even in adults who don’t care to say.

The little hands touch me so deeply, so well;
How come the world holy is rolling to hell?
How can we kill little wains by the score?
Was it for this that I opened your door?

Was it for this love electrified us?
We were lost in each other, as moved the white dove.
Was it for war that we lent love our wombs
Making more soldiers and building more tombs?

The bombs, they are loading; they’re having parades.
It’s not North Korea, it’s Washington, dude.
Let the tanks roll on Corrie and the Bedouin tribes.
Let the allies laugh blindly as weak Jesus dies.

O take me, dear mother.Please take me away
I can’t see no point in saying my prayers.
The leaders’ religions are making God frown.
The desert is empty, the tents all dragged down.

The centuries of living , so free, so mobile
The Holy Land blessing; they pause for while.
The little black tents, the wombs of the night,
Are all gone to shredders; they’re out of our sight.

2 thoughts on “The little black  tents,  the  wombs of the night

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