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Poetry by Ronald Oliver
Re: Anderson Ballesteros
Juan David Restrepo was Wilmar in "Assassins"
Otro Muchacho Hermoso
Dear Juan David,
I failed
to meet Anderson's needs.
I wasn't enough
to hold
his mercurial love.
Did I anticipate deceit?
Perhaps.
But never my relief
when it ended -
unbearable but for
the blessed blend of
your wicked charm,
artless heart
and dependable arms.
Was Anderson a ruse -
the price to be paid
for access to you?
Are you the boy who,
if loved,
will proudly love me too?
_
Beautiful Juan David,
let us leave Medellín
and then we shall see.
( Genetic Aptitude / Never a Dull Moment! )
WAS ANYBODY FOOLED?
"I am SO through with you"
- was anybody fooled -
you who
pounded my pulse
to the rhythm of verse,
tuned my heart
and restored its voice?
[ You who
wallowed with hogs
and lived to tell !
( Although,
when as young as you,
I as well
slipped into slop
a time or two. )
Still,
in the future
if you're drawn to mud,
could you play in puddles
and avoid a slide?
You surfaced soiled
while I damned near died. ]
My DIAMOND
Anderson the jewel,
multi-faceted find
- a cinematic diamond
miraculously mined
from mean Medellín.
Anderson the gem,
refracting rainbows
of dazzling light
into the lonely nights
of so many men.
Anderson the treasure,
invisible
if not revered,
for without fires of desire
a diamond is clear.
Anderson the stone
crystal carbon
unsurpassed
- diamonds are after all
hard enough to cut glass.
My PEARL
You are an eristic irritant
extracting satin
from the shell of my self
to envelop and adorn you -
transform you,
compounding our wealth
- a cocky cataract
impacting my capacity
to inculcate
the creation of a treasure
not there before,
the opulence of which
could not exist
without my myopic heart,
your love adrift
and the eternal tide of tears
shed by men who are boys.
_
My child,
when you call to cry
that you have again
undermined your worth
- but are decreasingly at home in the hurt -
I know that you are
my inevitable pearl
and I too cry,
but with pride
that I am soothing / smoothing your surface
and the eristic irritant inside.
I WANT
to be wanted
- and I am -
to be needed
- and I am -
to be revered
- and I am -
I WANT :
a trophy, a triumph
a savior, a lover
a child, a muse
a future, a cover
a challenge, a goal
a father, a brother.
I WANT:
someone who must love me
- someone to rescue who will rescue me too,
whose rash vitality will restore my youth -
someone who must love me
- someone beside me or hopefully near,
a reliable ally in my battle with fear -
someone who must love me
- someone whose heart will speak with my breath
and continue the dialogue after my death.
I WANT:
- you
- who I get
- in incidental increments
- from another continent.
I WANT :
to hold you
- but I can’t -
to be held
- but you don’t -
to be together
- but we won’t.
Just once, why can’t I have what
I WANT ?
BREATHTAKING
You're a creation
of my imagination –
voluntary
misinterpretation.
You’re about cash,
hash, mushroom hits,
Harley hogs,
gargantuan tits,
as much work
as can go undone,
and communal respect
commanded by guns.
You’re about maximum vanity
and minimum truth
from a heart that's a hard-on
that screws mostly you.
Your compelling shell
is like snow-kissed shit:
purely breathtaking
until you step on it.
I inverted your beauty
and chose not to worry
that the cover of the book
simply sells the story.
An ENCYCLOPEDIA of SADNESS
There is soft sadness
like neglected lace
crumbling to dust.
There is hard sadness
like once-worshiped toys
relinquished to rust.
There is sweet sadness
like crocuses spearing
lethally late snow.
There is bitter sadness
like puberty
pruning sopranos.
There is bearable sadness
like the inevitable
end of autumn.
There is unbearable sadness
like parents choosing
a child’s coffin.
There is passive sadness
like the little larcenies
of time.
There is belligerent sadness
like fat fledglings
forced to fly.
There is sane sadness
like forest fires
creating collateral.
There is insane sadness
like enduring love
that's unilateral.
_
There is an encyclopedia of sadness
detailing twenty years of damage
that I promise henceforth
will read to your advantage!
OCTOBER 4, 2003
YOU'RE 21 -
an adult in every land
reinvented by man
- what more
might I offer?
If I could,
I would infuse
the wisdom
abiding in my heart
directly into you.
I would open
your mind
like a honeybee hive,
expelling stung thoughts
hiding inside.
I would reveal
that your drama
and all of its cast
reflect in the present
events from the past.
I would affirm
that joy is acquired
by joy that's inspired,
and charity
equals prosperity.
I would extol
our ultimate goal:
know love from illusion
( for what is not love
is only illusion ).
And I would tutor
- go with God in every endeavor -
and thus recall
you have
never gone without God.
YOU HURT
You hurt people
for money or
for free -
when young, I also felt
inflicting pain empowered me.
You hurt people
for pity or
for scorn -
what idiots they are
if it is you they can adore.
You hurt people
for mother or
for dad -
mollycoddled progeny
will pay for what you lacked.
You hurt people
for fun or
for fear –
although you'll not unearth the source
of all the fears for years
You hurt people -
it’s what you do / it’s what I did
and it is now what I deserve -
I was so sure
that I'd convert the currency of how
YOU hurt.
The "IMPOVERISHED" LIFE
Take all of my money
and give me your life
- not your youth or your beauty,
but the relational strife -
a suffocating family
and asphyxiating friends.
I long to be
smothered by love again!
You have no idea
what I’d gladly give
for a portion of the “impoverished” life
that you live.
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