three poems by ilka scobie




Wherever you have landed 

wasp waisted and sapphire eyed 

I hope you are understood

and treasured

treated with gentle caution.

You travel with false pretense 

expecting those who touch your world 

to realize the delicacy of your spirit 

and the inertia of your flesh.


You are Odalisque

abounding in her charms

you have brothers on the Bowery 

who, lacking your nobility

are stripped to street honesty.

Your beauty becomes boring

I would shatter your reality

Take you to Benares

and feed you from a garden 

Strip you of cigarettes and coffee 

to sing like a nightingale

You as Rumi, I as Lami

repairing a broken god



On April 9 Prince Philip and Earl Simmons DMX died

One became a prince by marrying a queen 

One rapped himself to King of the scene 

“The first gentleman of the land”

Spawned a decaying monarchy

A Ruff Ryder hip hopped, locked up, heart stopped 

Phillip’s fame was merely royal consort

Earl’s fame birthed a new name

One lived a long, luxurious decadent reign

One died too soon and blazed too much pain


 Poetry Prince

Gone is the Poetry Prince,

with whom I once shared a bed. 

Eulogized in self same chapel 

as baby baptism, seventy years ago

How I examined my inebriated prize

Wild pewter curls, discombobulated rap 

Stanza spinner who begat free verse flood 

Junkie, drunk, pioneer unrepentant punk

In that promiscuous winter of my young womanhood 

he remains etched upon an erotic map

that taught me to claim pleasure,

to not confuse it with love

That sometimes, sharing flesh is

easier than emotions. To live with no regrets