JAMES DEAN
(An experimental poem in twelve haiku)

You’re bringing heaven (on) –
keep still (in memory) thread or I’ll lose you (your)
hands made to cherish.

You gave your heart away-to-Hollywood –
the evening is young as I-write-to-you (and your strange light).
(Wounded) you were a beggar.

In-this world (more than) a prospect –
ghost in death. In life. Legend (the story of your precious life)
we lost (all of you,) you in death.

Found you in rebel –
You never failed to amaze (I still find you)
intoxicating.

Your clothes (a) potent shroud –
Women fell in love with you (in those strange days).
Smell of seventeen.

You liked fast cars –
Hollywood made you a hero (made movies about you, you)
swam in the ocean.

(Photographer) you took photographs –
Dynamo smitten by speed (made your heart beat faster)
Teen idol-actor you shone bright.

Your precious life for-the-hereafter –
Expert it was your calling (you weren’t)
all the so-called ghost laws.

You broke (all) the rules –
Your face is still haunting teenage heartthrob.
Farewell rebel-anguish.

Beyond Malibu –
Your hands as rough as a horse-plough (eyes full of)
Santa Monica.

Giving- in to restlessness –
Look away haunted, stranger, I want to say (idol you make me sad)
taste and remember.

You loved life hard. Fast –
You didn’t grow-to-be an old man (and so, you always)
awaken inside my head.

—————–

DIANA FERRUS
(Experimental poem in twelve haiku)

Silent all these years –
(you have) no substitute for worship (throughout your own)
courage and anguish.

From this novel river –
accept these prayers and hymns (this praise and worship)
(this) thirst on fire.

Love a giant-red sonnet –
make room. Make a way forward
I give this (all) to you.

Subdued vanishing –
you’ve seen-the-frailest leaves of Amsterdam
kind woman. Poet.

Cape poet. People’s poet –
I worship your work from a-far (our)
fate written in-the-stars.

This same fate brought us-together –
(like) the Cape’s movement of-swimming fishes
to the hands of the-fishermen.

You smell like mercy –
you assist truth with spring boughs.
Caregiver. Legend.

You gave your friendship –
You were the-one-who-walked into my dream
in other words, the-world.

Thoughts will flower gulp-them-down –
upwards to the northern stars-of-the-city.
gestures designed for-hope-and-trust.

To your friendship. Love –
anchor-this glare of light to something
perhaps your calling.

Sunday mornings in-the-air–
I thank you with this poem (to the angels)
upwards to the stars.

(To) feasts of churches. Good-writing –
divided crowds. Haunted trees (and very much like you)
the sun a prophet (much, much like you).

—————–

NAT NAKASA
(A series of eleven haiku)

Heart has found its home
among your books. Among your-clothes.
I cannot catch breath.

There are men dreaming
(triumph) us together of-women-and-museums.
Yes, winter can harm.

In your late at night-shroud
the day at last is still (the-perfume-of-night-air).
Glorious moonlit-silence

People at rest-or-sleeping –
in summer filled rooms in need-of-freedom
under a tribe of-cold-stars.

Prophecy will warm you.
Don’t look for any root. Other-volcano-or-space.
The calm e-motion of dogs.

The meaning of supernatural-dimensions.
Thirst. Silent-thirst-comes-at-night. Yes, winter can harm.
This new-world of summer-leaf. Life-for-rent.

Nothing is warm for me –
(creator of-galaxies) just look at-the-leaves.
Day after Christmas.

Confession is winter’s-business.
Somewhere in-the-universe (millions of-stars)
Everything comes from God.

Just look around you –
(this) crest of the-wave of-the day. Sleeping dogs-in-the-shade.
The (great) fire lingers.

The stoned brave sigh of-clouds –
(in New York) sunburned-soaked-skin water off a duck’s back (in Central Park).
Swarm of (dog) owners’ feet

(martyrdom) pulled to victory –
A-hymn-of thanksgiving for God. Yesterday’s-man.
(so young) key to my release.

—————–

DULCIE SEPTEMBER
(a series of twelve haiku)

In your long white dress –
washed clean by ghost rain, radio-talk-on-corners
(you) champagne supernova.

Soul gone the way-of-the deaf –
has no one loved found-you in-winter-rooms
(here’s to) thinking of your voice.

You’ve been carried through-years –
armchair-politics. Night falling. Night haunting.
A waiting salute-to my-country.

Now you’re not around –
angel of the ghetto. Of-obscure-gangland-and-red-emergency
you’re swimming tangled

(the cape of hope) baiting the living –
in my sleep’s modern roots-paradise. In-my-sin,
(sea meeting sea) dignified and calm.

Clouds lifted hunted –
We’ve survived to live through another-state-of-emergency
haunted ghost woman.

The-human-family chanting your name –
I see you in my dreams staring-down-the-barrel of-the-gun
making love to-the-knowing-runaway-day.

Late at night you’re found –
inside-a-full-glass. Empty heart. Faded-away in this nation-of-ours
swimming inside my-head.

As I dress for the-summer-day –
you’re remembered but also-not-remembered
(like) wind and twisted scream

Men are impotent –
and we’re an orphanage of traitors-to-the-struggle
The young selfish

Children were so young –
remember when we kissed the-streets-of-struggle-heroes
they would touch your soul.

the children aren’t so young (anymore) –
in this mad song of conflict-and-the-family-of-lost-opportunity
falling to the edge-of-cracking-up.

—————–
Poems © Abigail George
Image: Pixabay.com