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Open Heart Poetry
Open Heart Poetry
Open Heart Poetry
Ebook146 pages50 minutes

Open Heart Poetry

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"Open Heart Poetry is iconoclastic poetry, written in a precise language that explores the intricacies of the emotions of love, friendship, and fatherhood, and ruminates on politics, history, music, and the mysteries of life. Each line in every poem explodes with an exact syntax and diction that grips the mind of the reader."

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 19, 2009
ISBN9781452308951
Open Heart Poetry
Author

Ian C. Dawkins Moore

Ian C. Dawkins Moore was born under the sign of Aries in the year of the Tiger. He survived a British boarding school, the jock world of football hooliganism, hitch-hiking across the Sahara desert, and the two-tone culture of American racism. He is the published author of over 20 books, and he can still see the funny side of life- Be Well & Enjoy!

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    Book preview

    Open Heart Poetry - Ian C. Dawkins Moore

    Remembering Dreams

    Just after Victory Answered

    She is Kind to Trees

    A Clear Spot

    The Dictates of History

    The Man Who Wasn’t There

    Do You Know What it means to Be Free?

    Blessed Patronage

    I will survive.

    I Love It

    Mother Earth

    Forget Yourself

    The Soul’s Rot

    After Shocks

    The Happy Cuckold

    About the Author

    Other books by the Author

    OPEN UP

    The good old times – are gone. All times when old

    are good. Great things have been and yet might be

    greater still if mere mortals had the will

    to play their tricks in a wider field.

    (From Byron)

    Morning Ride

    It’s five-thirty in the morning and

    orange in a purple sky, sprays

    the approaching dawn air with the thrill of

    a new day. The clanging light-sparkled Bus

    hovers down the road as Francine and I

    huddle around a bent bus pole tethered

    to a newspaper rack full of bad news,

    bad attitudes and potholes of dumb hope.

    And as our fellow riders of this hour,

    absorb us with smiling nods; their display

    of civility brings out within me the

    humanity missing from the play

    of life on the scarred streets of Oakland.

    At Broadway, I’m ready for new beginnings.

    Grey Dreads of Dawn

    Martha takes charge of the bus - open, warm,

    friendly. Shuffling in at six-fifteen;

    we’re thankful for the humanity

    on display. But first, she exits to do

    her set exercises – knee bends and arm

    stretches that buoyant her mood and grace.

    Other drivers had need to show and

    exert their pride - pilots on the Trans-Bay

    airway - cruising down into San Quentin

    Village, where Miriam and the Reader

    disembark, and we pick up the dude in

    high school threads – sharp and coordinated.

    Paul and I discuss the economy’s

    deterioration ending daily

    in pathos and impotent rage. He falls

    asleep, I read, and the moon over Mount

    Tamalpais looms through the rafters o

    the serpentine Richmond Bridge. The Marin

    lights sparkle as Reyna chats lovingly

    into her cell phone, telling her daughter –

    to wake up and get out into this world

    and find her paradise! Sigmund meets me

    at 19th street, and we share stories of

    travels in West Africa. Far from home.

    Franz Fanon, bundled up in a headscarf

    recedes into the back of the bus with

    wary eyes. The subdued quietness echoes

    thru the cavernous space as we rumble

    into life, careening out of the El

    Cerrito de Norte bus terminal.

    Along the way we pick up two super-

    fine black women. Mysterious ladies of the night

    whose charm and fragrance fire the passions of

    intimacy. Such vibrant skin at dawn’s

    awakening. But they, to retreat to

    the back of the bus and radiate their

    companionship throughout our traveling host.

    Martha’s long grey dreads reach down her long, long

    back. Her stewardship secures us with name

    recognition and respect for us all.

    we workers, who chase the dawn into San

    Rafael - the sunshine colony of hope.

    Morning Walk

    Pink, golden sunlight reflects off misty

    morning downtown buildings, monuments to

    an encrusted patrimony. The Mayor

    greets me - his scribe at his side -I’m lucky.

    The smiles of my fellow walkers confirm

    my expectancy of a brand-new day.

    I’m here at last. I’ve come to this moment

    of the NOW with simplicity and health.

    I breathe in the scent from dew-covered grasses;

    the contorted branches stand out bold in

    the high azure sky fading from nighttime.

    I celebrate with a broad smile my health

    and blessings of happiness. This is my

    time - this aliveness to the present hour!

    Slapped By Summer

    The spluttering haze of spring just vanished

    in a burst of heat! Smothering the frayed

    corners of our partitioned cages. Warped

    by the heat wave's sweep, the blame game swung in-

    to full motion, binding those who fear the

    act of being wrong. Grilled by a hot-head –

    red alert - the fear is in losing face

    not in facing facts. The heat points fingers,

    grasping for cool air which

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