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JOEL L. YOUNG
Stigmata (Tears on the Palms)

Stigmata (Tears on the Palm) 

Tears on the palm 
blood runs from my hands 
life on the cross 
with burdens I have known 

I've seen the world 
in the broken dawn 
watched sunlight's shield 
glisten from layered skies 

Tasted the lips 
from a buzzard's kindness 
and seen his world dissolve 
standing on a cavalry rise 

I have no rosary 
but Mary watches me 
with her gentle grace 
I reach for her kindness 

If only to kiss her sweet soul 
her glowing eyes glance 
kindly, from a loving face 
hidden by shaking palms 

It must be the blood in the eyes 
the torrent of madness 
sweeping the days and hours 
brother killing brother 

While their sisters mourn 
It's the nail through the palm 
the sharpness of the iron 
the knot upon the pine 

The pain of a human god 
suffering for my transgressions 
the commandment to forgive 
the regret that comes with living 

I should be thankful 
I'm alive with more to give 
Blessed with a love for life 
there's still a burden I carry 

There's tears on my palms 
rich in blood, neglected 
by years of sloth and waste 
I lay myself down upon the cross. 

May the rain wash away my burdens 
my memory to forget 
quench me with knowledge 
so I may live again.
copyright JOEL L. YOUNG
 Poets
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2000.01 		  


JOEL L. YOUNG
Red Colors Me

Red colors me 
in shades fuchsia, rouge 
yellow, blue, and green. 
Primary hues of sunshine streamers 
looking like fall in a brown leaf 
with bony vessels showing thin skins 
an x-ray machine. 

Red colors of eyes 
born from a cinnamon mind 
Latin sweet, Arapaho spirit 
dancing in a painted desert, 
stoned in sand and clay. 
Transposed against a red canyon 
sitting for her western artist 
painting her story - 
like an angel for Goya's nude. 

Red colors me in blood 
with shades of white and blue. 
Bars striped in fifty stars 
lying on top of a baby grand 
I'm a Jelly Roll Morton 
wannabe comin' home to roost, 
with his piano roll blues. 

Revisiting Highway 61 
in the springtime 
taking a detour on Route 66, 
picking up drumsticks, for my 
drum band getting their last kicks 
before we rim out that last solo 
for our peppermint women, 
doing twists at a honky-tonk 
in Vegas where barboys 
rhumba like it's their own homestead 
with red silk carpets, four-by-four 
ceilings, with indoor plumbing 
and insurance adjustment claims. 

The lights are bright there 
so color them red. 
And color me too, 'cause it's 
all in my head.
copyright JOEL L. YOUNG
 Poets
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          Universal Recipient

slapping her face
returns color
where it was not

around her eyes
a blue black bruise
her smile bright
AB lipstick

      - JH