Tag Archives: Nolo Segundo

HAIKU SEXTET

by Nolo Segundo


Losing her, a dream,
Winter ravaged my soul.
The snowman melts.

Solitary bird,
Why sing you only of spring
Outside my window?

I stole a flower
From nature’s bed, bottled it.
Now it is dying.

The crunch of brown leaves
Tells me nothing whatsoever
About decay, death.

It is November—
But the air forgets that as
The wind dances spring.

Winter is most real,
Fall is most sad, summer holy,
But spring is a dream.

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SACRED THINGS

by Nolo Segundo


EVERY HUMAN HEART IS A CHURCH,
A SACRED TEMPLE, A HOLY MOSQUE,
AND GOD IS FOUND WITHIN
IN MEASURE TO ITS LOVE.

 

SOME SAY
THERE ARE NO MIRACLES:
LOOK AROUND, I SAY
AND THEN SEE—
A FAT BABY LAUGHING,
A NEW CLOAK OF SILKEN SNOW,
A HEART BEATING 90 YEARS,
A MIND SEEING INSIDE.

WHAT IS AN ORCHID
IF NOT A MIRACLE?
WHAT IS LOVE
IF NOT THE WONDER
OF THE UNIVERSE?

 

‘LONGING’

WANTING, ALWAYS WANTNG—
A SMILE ON HER LIPS,
FALL AIR CRISP AND COOL,
A DANCING FIRE
ON A COLD DAY’S NIGHT.
A PAT ON THE BACK,
A WHISTLE IN THE DARK,
A CHANCE TO SEE GOD
IN LOVE’S LONELY HEART.

Written around age 30…

by Nolo Segundo


I will share in man’s common oblivion

And seek peace in my heart o’er peace on earth.

I will carefully and deliberately taste

All the food I eat, enjoy my daily bowel movement,

Bathe often, and whistle off-key as I please.

 

I will value every moment of friendship

Like sparkling diamonds on a necklace, and

Let their pain beat on me like mine own.

 

I will try to love women better,

Feel their pain more but fear them less

As their thighs and breasts and bottoms

Run wildly though my mind like

Unruly children in an orphanage of desire.

 

I will try to breathe better,

Fill my lungs with the spirit of life, and

Learn more patience with incorrigible death,

The unseen god whose kiss touches all.

BILLIONS AND BILLIONS

by Nolo Segundo


McDonald’s once counted burgers sold,
Proudly posting the number on a big sign
Outside each of their restaurants.
It stopped when the number got too big.
(Would people not believe that
One-hundred and forty-seven billion,
Nine-hundred and twenty-three million,
Seven-hundred and fifty-six thousand,
Three-hundred and eighty-nine
Big Macs, Quarter-pounders, and
Delicious double-cheeseburgers
Had been consumed, quelling
The hunger of the masses?
Now the signs read simply:
“Billions and billions sold”—
How prosaic!

So how may we count—and post
The number of souls in the world?
Looking at it in cosmic time,
Souls are like fireflies,
Flicking their luminescence
On and off, on and off,
A moment of brightness a lifetime,
A wondrous light show
In the black and fecund
Sweet summertime evening.

ON BEING SIXTY-SIX

by Nolo Segundo


Has anyone ever rejoiced
Over youth having fled?
Did anyone ever say,
“Glad the turbulence is gone”,
Without lamenting firm flesh
And blood-swollen desire?

Now when I look at young people,
They all seem actors taking my role—
Fresh of face and hungry for the world.
I almost wonder why can’t I change with one.
Inside I am them—twenty-four, no more.

My hip may betray me—
Bone on bone, the doctor says.
My skin is drying, tiny lines
Sneak across my hands, up my arms,
With a pocket of fat hanging stupidly
Where muscle once bulged.
My hair is retreating like
Napoleon’s army in Russia,
Decimated by winter’s descent—
But I will not see a spring.

I walk with a limp now, and
Though I still look at pretty girls,
They no longer look back,
Except perhaps with a bit of pity–
So gentle and kind it cracks
My aging heart a bit.

Once six-and-a-half feet,
Now I am shrinking–
Only a couple inches
You say, but my bones
Feel hollow, bird-like,
Borrowed unwittingly
From some old man
I do not know.

And yet—and yet
My soul has grown,
Much, much larger.
It overflows my aging form,
Filling the space between me and you,
Filling the space between me and humanity.

When I was a young man,
My soul mostly slept
In that god-like body
As it plowed fields of women.
Now, as my body diminishes, my soul balloons,
Filling rooms and houses and towns.
Soon it shall blanket the world,
And when it is free of its container,
The universe?

RESIGNATION #1

by Nolo Segundo


When I was younger,

I dreamt of writing like Camus,

Thinking like Sarte,

Living like Hemingway,

And all in God’s constant grace.

 

I thought I suffered India’s hunger

And America’s affluence,

But actually,

I was carefree—and careless.

 

Now, though still a young man

(31 is an odd age, but safe)

I want less, much less—

Fame, fortune, knowledge, passion,

Even hope…

 

If the world is indeed doomed,

I will love it till its last day—

And if the world is blessed,

I will still love it till its last day.

 

If I cannot create like a giant, then

I will write with a smaller hand

And utter noises in a lower tone.

ODE TO MRS. MILLER

by Nolo Segundo


I did not know how brave she was—
Ninety-two and I, seventy less,
So young that old age
Was textbook stuff:
A fact of life,
But not mine.

I was alive and free
To stride the world,
A colossus of youth—
Whereas she had ate
Almost a century.
And all her friends
And all her family
Lay dead somewhere—
Except in her mind,
Still crisp, poignant
In its memories
Of a wealthy husband,
A daughter dead young.
Her own youth and beauty
Remained lonely in a
Silver-framed photo.

She never complained,
This old lady—
Never once did I hear
Lamentations, a bewailing
For the richness of life:
The ripe fullness she once felt
As a wife, a mother, a woman
Of grace and beauty.

She lived alone
In a basement flat,
Barely five feet tall—
Yet I’ve never known
Any being braver—
Yet it is only now,
That I am become old,
I envy such courage.