3 re the Royal Gorillas
'Silver Back Royalty' (trg, 6/21/03)
Sitting alone
on a mountain side,
now only a hill,
under equator's
dew filled foliage,
banqueting
on mother earth's
array of delights.
Once there were
mountains
everywhere you looked,
tall peaking up
though the clouds.
No one dared
to enter your domain.
Maybe baby Jesus
played with us
like he didn't
walk around asps.
Everything and everyone
had a place,
balance found
in the expanse of territory,
the gods smiled
when they built this
home away from home,
home for us
where our children can play
without interference.
Impermanence
never is in the way
of fruitful perpetuation,
both giving way to each other.
Damn the thieves
of our children's home.
We have hills
where once were mountains.
'Silver-Back revisited' timothy r. gates, 01/01/2006
I remember that look in his eye,
deep brown, set within his raven blue face,
silver-back primate,
some say ancestor of ours.
I hope that he'd claim me.
(Maybe in the Garden this was us,
rain forest's genesis,
lost by a rejection for true beauty,
delusion hissed,
'Human is better.')
Our God weeps.
Did the Silver-Back Sovereign
join in the chorus of the Garden's quiet,
still,
knowing whose, 'Uh-humm,' it was,
causing a sly grin?
Did he beat his chest,
and did it have that deaf, 'Thump-b-b..blllmp?'
Or, his appreciation for a sunset, or rise
would be fleeting,
replaced by an orange of our creation?
Our God weeps.
I remember that look in his eyes,
like a daughter's look the next day,
when daddy doesn't return home,
though he promised.
Or, if a light would allow us to see
a son, or daughter,
rocking, back and forth,
hugging their own legs,
their fingers turning white,
searching for why daddy's so mad.
Our God weeps.
The Silver-Back Sovereign returned to the Garden.
no mention of the good ole days,
no need to say,
'I told you so.'
The little ones jump all over the place,
praying for havoc,
'Thump-b-b..blllmp,'
but not as full sounding as the first Silver-Back.
'Not as big as I remember,'
this Lord chuckles, thinking,
'It's an orange horizon, but it's still a sunset.'
'brown eyes like mine' timothy r g, 06/26/07
looking back at me,
(maybe given to sentimentality)
he knows i know,
the joy of our little ones
pouncing upon our backs,
pulling, tugging, saying,
'let's play, daddy;'
one more time,
'catch me if you can, daddy;'
behind chain-linked fencing,
here no one will steal his young,
his friends,
his little ones'
(well, save for another zoo:
need to perpetuate the species);
no trophies will be made of his hand,
or his head,
(no longer permitted);
as i walked away,
his brown eyes fixed upon mine,
i don't know whether he asked me the question
or that I asked him,
'who's kept in by the chain-linked fence?'
'Silver Back Royalty' (trg, 6/21/03)
Sitting alone
on a mountain side,
now only a hill,
under equator's
dew filled foliage,
banqueting
on mother earth's
array of delights.
Once there were
mountains
everywhere you looked,
tall peaking up
though the clouds.
No one dared
to enter your domain.
Maybe baby Jesus
played with us
like he didn't
walk around asps.
Everything and everyone
had a place,
balance found
in the expanse of territory,
the gods smiled
when they built this
home away from home,
home for us
where our children can play
without interference.
Impermanence
never is in the way
of fruitful perpetuation,
both giving way to each other.
Damn the thieves
of our children's home.
We have hills
where once were mountains.
'Silver-Back revisited' timothy r. gates, 01/01/2006
I remember that look in his eye,
deep brown, set within his raven blue face,
silver-back primate,
some say ancestor of ours.
I hope that he'd claim me.
(Maybe in the Garden this was us,
rain forest's genesis,
lost by a rejection for true beauty,
delusion hissed,
'Human is better.')
Our God weeps.
Did the Silver-Back Sovereign
join in the chorus of the Garden's quiet,
still,
knowing whose, 'Uh-humm,' it was,
causing a sly grin?
Did he beat his chest,
and did it have that deaf, 'Thump-b-b..blllmp?'
Or, his appreciation for a sunset, or rise
would be fleeting,
replaced by an orange of our creation?
Our God weeps.
I remember that look in his eyes,
like a daughter's look the next day,
when daddy doesn't return home,
though he promised.
Or, if a light would allow us to see
a son, or daughter,
rocking, back and forth,
hugging their own legs,
their fingers turning white,
searching for why daddy's so mad.
Our God weeps.
The Silver-Back Sovereign returned to the Garden.
no mention of the good ole days,
no need to say,
'I told you so.'
The little ones jump all over the place,
praying for havoc,
'Thump-b-b..blllmp,'
but not as full sounding as the first Silver-Back.
'Not as big as I remember,'
this Lord chuckles, thinking,
'It's an orange horizon, but it's still a sunset.'
'brown eyes like mine' timothy r g, 06/26/07
looking back at me,
(maybe given to sentimentality)
he knows i know,
the joy of our little ones
pouncing upon our backs,
pulling, tugging, saying,
'let's play, daddy;'
one more time,
'catch me if you can, daddy;'
behind chain-linked fencing,
here no one will steal his young,
his friends,
his little ones'
(well, save for another zoo:
need to perpetuate the species);
no trophies will be made of his hand,
or his head,
(no longer permitted);
as i walked away,
his brown eyes fixed upon mine,
i don't know whether he asked me the question
or that I asked him,
'who's kept in by the chain-linked fence?'