THE AGE OF OM
The Collected Poems of Red Jordan Arobateau (1957-1978) Vol. I
HERALDS OF THE RESURRECTION
I am Colored as New Orleans once cradled with its eyes on the white world privilege, nursing its fantasies. A Goblin Girl. The street lamps shed. Yellow, hair a-curl. I un-fold out of limbo. Out of the crook of a magician’s sleeve! I grew, PRESTO! A Bulldagger!
Pimped-down in fine clothes, mocking The Man. Closed up in my coat. A flamboyant stud. Into my armsleeves flickers my vagrant form, into a pout. And my head is a vapor beneath a Harlem Tweed.
--Into a cloth child by these streets, dreamed.
An improvisation from Scorpio. A trombone slash. A cymbal slide born upward for a jag. I’m a dancer! A molecule of light!
This air-shattered cry!
ME!
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From THE CITY
WHERE THERE’S FIRE
It’s not an ordinary day, but it’s normal. People’s dwarf minds are talking unrealities. Media spreads words all over this land--labels. Blinded women taught by universities of slavery. Educated to this slant, we walk the maze. Spectrum of blind eyes. The hatred used in sex. Mutation of Negroes into dwarfs. Perversion of free psyche into uniform. Amerika-- ghetto disturbed by Revolutionaries,
--brushed off the mainstream’s cuff, as a roach, crawling over a countries sleep.
But I have seen suicides thru the rain leap out of windows. And as a Billionaire looses a coin, lost their chance to fully develop as a human being.
The Hippy. She has sailed. Incense, bells. Wild hair, Poet with her crazy ways.
Souls have been thru other karmas. I have been thru changes and witch dreams. Read static vibrations from prisoner to prisoner.
Took no aerial flight in my ‘fairy freedom’.-- Lived in dangerous demi-worlds forced on homosexuals. I have heard jet-black lips at the bar rails; “Life’s a bitch honey.” Females lonely snub tell me life’s opinion.
I have tried to get myself together. Watched the mighty. Assassinations of presidents. And in the swollen progress of the moon, dynasties go to revolution.
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From VIEWS: A WOMAN WANDERS
CITIES OF THE UNIVERSE
I watched the city from an elevated train. The sun, rays of orange.
Thumbs of building tops touch the sky!
I spend all day wandering a concrete city.
Pray to God at the beach.
The gray & white ocean. Gray & white sky. Fog.
There I got much closer to God.
Steel mill fires shoot into darkening heavens--flatten mushroom-like on gray voluminous clouds that gathered ion rioting teams since noon!
Soon the workers will be coming home. A woman shovels food into her baby’s mouth, disgruntled.
To tell the truth, I’m hungry to my soul.
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LAUGHTER OF THE WITCH
& I feel
one day, all people will believe
about the savage cargoes;
& African echoes that are buried in this earth.
About bastardized souls, stilled in unrecorded instances.
--I know that on his throne, even your god will toss
until he touches down, stained in human tragedy;
which the TRIBUNE will try to relate
in illiterate prose;
what our crazy tongues chat about in the asylum,
--Till men go mad with truth!
Copyright © 1957-1978 Red Jordan Arobateau All Rights Reserved
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| EXCERPTS | POETRY EXCERPTS | UPCOMING READINGS |