Poem | |
I carry my mother
like a rock in my pocket
that I just can’t seem to throw away
It serves me
it just weighs me down
When I first found it,
when I first picked it up
and started carrying it with me,
I thought it so beautiful –
I could look at it for hours
But, like my mother,
it never looked back at me,
never grew warm under my loving gaze
For the longest, I was blind to that,
Blind to anything but the beauty,
blind to the cold, hard,
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
I carry my mother,
a thought without weight
And she’s heavier
and she’s colder
than all the stones
By the time I recognized her
immutable, emotional unavailability,
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –
But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart
Could not stop
that one day this stone,
deep inside my pocket,
Might just become
its own opposite –
Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm
But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water
When my mother
Poem | |
Travelling to a foreign land,
engaging in a cause not rightfully yours to join,
illegally taking up arms
with a desperate desire to save baby orphans
(only to dig them into the ground anyway);
is a life-altering experience.
There is an old line which goes something like:
"A part of my soul died on that cold, November morn."
But, such an experience can have the opposite effect entirely.
Yes! An experience such as this
can re-kindle a passion within,
so that every single particle,
every minute of each passing hour,
feels like a sacred gift -
the most sacred gift imaginable.
Yet upon returning home from such an experience,
after being grilled by Internal Affairs,
threatened with charges of International Treason,
Subterfuge and Espionage(but in the end,
you were only trying to save baby orphans
that you had to dig into the ground anyway,
so Internal Affairs drops the charges, telling you to scram),
you are inevitably slapped across the face
with an inescapable new reality....
....everyone appears to be whining and complaining
about the most trivial things,
as if everyone simultaneously feels wronged.
And this is wot you feel compelled to do:
you want to take these whiners,
transport them one-by-one
back to the foreign land with you.
After they see living skeletons
drag themselves across the dirt,
moaning, groaning, pleading for a drop of clean water,
a miniscule morsel of food,
you hand the whiner a gun,
point toward an ominous dust-cloud on the horizon,
and this is wot you say:
"See the dust-cloud moving closer towards us.
It is filled with psychopathic horsemen.
These psychopathic butchers are wielding bayonets, machetes and Kalashnikovs.
If you and I do not successfully kill these mad horsemen,
they are going to chop apart all of the baby orphans
congregated in the courtyard over there.
Do you see the beautiful baby orphans in the courtyard?
Yes, those are the orphans.
And if we do not successfully defend this camp,
yet somehow survive with our lives,
we are going to spend the rest of the night
digging the baby orphans into the ground.
So, it best be high time you wipe the tears from your face,
stop worrying about how so-and-so called you a loser or wotever,
how your retirement funds appear to be shrinking
and so you won't be able to play as many games
of hitting the little white ball across a course
fed with enough water to run an entire city.
Forget about your little boo-boo.
Pull-up your chin, straighten that spine,
and start squeezing the trigger like there's no tomorrow."
September 25th, 2011
Poem | |
This is a short piece for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I lost a close friend very talented, very young to breast cancer. I also lost my cousin recently to the same disease. I hate that ugly "C" word. I just wrote this story to highlight the relationship North American men have with women's breasts. I hope it is taken in the spirit that it is written.
I don't have to try not to look at a woman's cleavage,
I love looking into their eyes.
I love listening to them talk.
I enjoy listening to a woman's point of view.
It enlightens me.
It gives me views of the world that I would otherwise miss.
I appreciate their nurturing nature.
I like how soft they feel.
Hold a woman's hand?
That is sure to send shivers up my spine.
If that is not what heaven feels like
send me else I'll take my chances there.
There is nothing like that first kiss.
I can walk all day with her as if it were a minute in time.
I float on air.
I am a romantic.
I adore women.
I love the way they walk
the way they smell.
Hugging or spooning it's all good.
The opposite sex is very special.
It is time we listened more and appreciated more.
Women can lead us to the proverbial
I like staring at their tits.
Poem | |
Waking up to the depth beyond such things everyday
One day I choose to walk and become Queen of Mandalay
In the depth of my ocean mind
I Find my soul diving and trying to unwind
Peer pressure can not handle all the empty space
Avoiding the worlds relativistic mass by the human race
Over using the power giving to me
Sleeping at times disappointed by humanity
I walk in darkness to help you reach the light
I twist the darkness to give you a better sight
Walking at the edge of all things with the ability to precept
Using logic to compare and intercept the emotions we can not accept
With the emotional picture of a fast heart beat
Wiping out the brain waves with a mood in heat
Giving enough flow to the power of intuition
Exceeding the knowledge without the book of Revelation
Receiving the pointless pain in a persons chest
A wreck who ignores the emotions to digest
A mood string of self manipulation eating away at the mass of reality
Some viewers are so unperceptive, a low self esteem of stupidity
A curse a gift with ability to know everything, illusions of feeling it
with an emphasis so useless you can not admit
Trusting one day came with a price, alerting my ego on strong
Using my energy to direct the purpose of the wrong
Walking like a tool threw out the worlds philosophy
A weapon of thought not meant for the mindless or monstrosity
The hidden riddles of life are the ones before your eyes
Grasping the concept with the attention of ending lies in our lives
Proceeding the ethics of the center of ones endless layer
accepting the birth of all responsibility, over the edge of a mind player
I gave the thought with a natural twist of a moving spear
Expanding the horizon of the hemisphere
Edge walkers down and broken standing without
Walking straight forward with the same God and Devil in doubt
Simply looking through "rose colored glasses."
Chaos from the ugliness of avoiding the large body masses
Balancing out the change to allow the flow
follow logical emotions, that destroys a mind blow.
causing the opposite to any action
effect the law of any equal reaction
expect to accept the unexpected, a dull way of life
connect the keeper of the masters weapon knife
with religion comes weakness of not standing tall
with the strong perception of life even one can fall
Standing without the generations of a crawler
living as a shadow he or she who believes the edge walker
Poem | |
Inexpert at rhyme
or singing in time
I bray like a laryngitic donkey
my artwork's inept
I'm ham-fisted except
when doodling things that are wonky
Of style I'm bereft
my feet are both left
splayed in an opposite direction;
'tis little wonder
I blindfully blunder
into despair and abject dejection
My mind is a bog
of gunk and cheap grog
my gray matter's shrinking, I fear
today is a haze
yesterday a maze
and everything's clearly unclear
My dress sense is eish
and fits not my niche
nor do my shorts, come to that
my flip-flops are worn
my t-shirts all torn
one boob is fat, one is flat!
Despite many a flaw
I'm not an eyesore
though ungainly and lacking in style
with my stunning good looks
I easily hooked
your soon-to-be-ex with my smile
Poem | |
Awakening morning darkness falls heavy clouds
walking outside stretching in deep thought
Firstly alone dreaming in freedom love
Looking into the mountains a prayer
Faraway winds howling cry out
snow capped peaks cold reminder
a silver chain running down the face
The truth always shines its light in the end
Heavy rains wet upon the brow
why has life been so cruel to me
I never chose this path holding no demons
condemned in lies with pain and suffering
All one showed was the face of good
even helping people in the streets
who almost destroyed my home
I had forgiven everyone as God is my witness
D-day looms heavy
the Devil spits his lies
yet sitting on his fork one will find truth
How could another human be so vile
To condemn someone
on a story that has just been made up
never have I stolen from anyone in my life
in fact the opposite money root of evil I see
Living humble and meek
has taught me wisdom of my ways
nature talks to me in winds whispering
Some walk this earth to be persecuted in the wrong
Proof that justice sometimes fails the innocence
we all are sinners looking down
at the cold face chiseled in truth
but to bear falsely on someone
Somethings I will never understand
You saved me Almighty Lord
When tortured pleaded in your Heavenly name
Saved my family from Hell
A miracle of life you gave back to me
I began writing expelling my demons
Now judgement day is falling upon me
Oh Heavenly Father save me in my innocence
And the tears keep falling
for the love of truth
what is wrong with this world
sometimes they are bind to the facts
Poem | |
The man in the moon
showering my eyes
with a moon dust of
Slumber takes hold,
and the girl walks
towards an edge
once again, we
feel the distance.
I wonder if in
we find tickets for
the same outbound flight,
soaring towards dawn.
March 28th, 2012
Poem | |
The girl is an ultra-modern scholar,
Belongs with an upper-middle class family.
Looking very nice, smart, gets angry suddenly.
She reads M.A in English at Presidency University.
She is assimilating to the ideas of Shakespeare,
Shelley, Keats, Neruda, Byron...
Fluently speaks English, loves cricket.
Shoulders are shaken by expression.
She cries alone, laughs with everyone....
The girl is very good.
The boy is a post-modern educated son of a lower-middle class family.
He studies M.A in Bengali at Calcutta University.
He is assimilating to the routes of Vaishnab literature,
Ideas of Bharatchandra, Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda...
Writes poems, sings song, loves football.
He walks on the high-street and observes people.
He laughs alone, listens to everyone...
The boy is very good.
They are attracted by the opposite personality!
The girl wants that her lover will be a modern man.
The boy thinks that his lover will become as the mind of his.
They are changing silently
Love goes to another address...
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
Poem | |
sijo (Visual 4)
Tolerance and empathy between people of opposite stance
could take a lesson or two from the English countryside.
There single hedges fuse the best of holly, hawthorn and yew.
Poem | |
Musings , Wishes and Life
The Fire burneth while our world turneth
yet the rose still holds it's red bloom
The mighty Oaks stand majestic and tall
while man's glory hardly rates a call
The cold Wind bloweth so surely we know
angels bleach the whiteness in the snow
The Forest lives to give beauty and art
wildlife and earthly souls stand far apart
The Sky singeth and the sweet earth reflects
Natures beauty opposite man's many defects
The Soul endures and stays the greatest test
that prove kindness and love serve us best
Robert J. Lindley, 06-26-2014
Poem | |
I want to thank 101 poets, when words have no limit.
All 101 spots full of flowing imagery and spirit.
Nathan Dilts my #1~writing for him was so much fun.
Nikko's, words are like a shot at roulette~smoking writes like a cigarette.
Writes of fashion from Michael J.~Compares nothing to the writes of Chris A.
Linda our Sweetheart poet~the opposite of Sidney the Mad poet.
John Loving iii, your voice and heart are nice~Through God your words are like advice.
Gert Knop, Dr. Ram, and Robb A. Kopp, the inspiration is none stop.
Andrea D.~her poetry can sure teach me
Sara K., Doris C., Karen O' Leary, Carol B., Deborah G., their all okay with me.
What if I left out Billy K., and Royal T.~how rude would that be.
Harry H., Frank H., Robert L.H., Daver A., and Ravindra K. K.,again how young are they.
A special hi 2 Mattew A., Wilma N., Gerard J. K, Sharon Rubel, and Marycile Beer.
Anthony N., Amy Sulivan, and Anthony B.,~three poets who's poetry are a hit with me.
Ryan E., Dakarai C., Jayne E., and Juan P.G. thanks for always remembering me.
Lynette C. where the H3!! are you~ don't U know we miss U.
Ruben O., John R., Thivia S., Tahera Manna, Katherine S, and Felishia Murphy~hello!
Heather Hill, Joe Maverick, Joy Wellington, Chuck Keys~smile and say cheese.
Audonus T, James P., Cecil H., Diane C., Celene C., Nicole S.B, and Susan Palli.
Kimberly H. Constance, Kevin S., Shelo Morbid~ write poetry that makes you think and hurt.
Delilah V. Jani-K. V., Debra Eckstein, very suave along with Grace E. Song Lee.
Michael G, Anderson T, Taha Effendi, Margeret Bailey, Mia Nuranti~ yes even you Francine.
HI! Sandra Stefanowich, Catie Lindsey, Emily K., Emilia R., and Carrie R..
James(JIMBO) ,Valentino J., Kelechi E., Randall S., Yasmin K., and Nette O.,hello!
Linda Milgate, David B., Jamecia B., Kris W., David Smalling, & Sylvia C., hi to all of tee.
a.k.a Lil Princess J, The Rockstarr's Princess this line is all 4 you.
Connie M. W., Daniel C., Daniel L., Sasha M., Kay'Sha T., and Raskin B.
Peter K., Bulinya M., Scarlett W., Ralph T., Larry B., Sharon T., & Sarah H.
Teresa S., Sydney P., Earle B., Ryland M., and John Freemen
Mike Butler, Rinki N., Joyce J., Robert A.D, Milton T., Pyhllis B.,~are all sweet
Guy-A.D., Zera M., Hintendra M., and Don J.
Every poet on the soup inspires me in every kind of way.
Might as well add my #1 Nathan D., all over again.
Don't think I forgot about Skat,~ We're like Siamese cat.
To all my poet friends who love paper and pen.
101, profiling friends.
Poem | |
We read each other so perfectly
two minds with a single thought,
when we combine, baby it's explosive
chemistry like ours cannot be taught.
The electricity gets me jumping
and attacks the heart's beat,
this experiment you concocted
has revived the frog's feet.
Like a volcanic lava lamp
an eruption of emotion flows,
the heat welds me to you
our bond that nobody knows.
We met inside this classroom
where my opposite attracted to yours,
like magnetized paperclips
we were linked right from our cores.
We're closer than Dr. Jekyll was
to his hidden self, Mr. Hyde,
but, I can take you by the hand
as we go along for the ride.
Poem | |
She slants her shining, golden glance
Across desert, mountains, rivers, plants
Greets her rising, true romance
In the purpling, opposite skies
Her lunar love, her heart’s delight
Soars to ever darker height
For each, the other’s perfect, right
It’s on their wings time flies
She seems asleep within the night
Yet always, somewhere, she’s brilliant, bright
Motionless in constant flight
Each day its own surprise
They’ll never meet – there’s not a chance
These partners in eternal dance
Of darkness, light – they both enhance
The world with their long goodbyes
As their crescent waltz achieves crescendo
Sans artifice or innuendo
Young children start to play Nintendo
While adults stir and rise
Poem | |
Most go into a relationship protecting and guarding their heart
I do the opposite, mine is open wide right from the start
Others have built bricks around theirs, that have to be torn down
I slowly put up a layer each time a hurt makes me frown
With each rejection, disappointment, another layer gets laid
It's beyond my control, swish, swish goes the spade
Unkind words, untruths, the layer of bricks climb higher
Until my heart is safely buried away from the crossfire
Now protected by the bricks, I become emotionally detached
Only now able to see why we were inevitably mismatched
People love in different ways and have different needs
Next time I'll find a matching heart, before I plant my seeds
In time, the bricks surrounding my heart will turn to clay
Then dissolve into dust, for I'm too optimistic to live in dismay
The dust will be eventually blown away by someone with a open heart
And thus be the reason why every other relationship has fallen apart
Poem | |
different drumbeats, separate Lives
he inhales the wind song, a static cling to yesterday
held in his heart until his melody fades
life, love, hope circle the drain
aging realist at one with his pain
love’s last aria, a melancholy oboe resigns with setting sun
when two are no longer one, the chasm widens between haunting roars
tribal drums on opposite shores
*For Brian's "2, 4, 6, 8" contest
Poem | |
The joke would enter the room before the man
"Where is the Line for the Buffet."
I heard the laughter and I saw the hurt in his eyes
He laughed along with them with practiced ease
Protecting himself, don't look too close please!
I felt bad
this man of substance is my friend
The person he presents, not real but pretend
A caricature of himself on lend
Each laugh a confirmation of what he sees
Stop laughing, I beg you please
collectively you add to his disease
Each of us has our own insecurities
My own is wrapped up in trying to please
I too have needs but inside I freeze
Measuring my words the things I say
Somehow, scares some people away
I want friends yet alone I play
Pretending that I'm okay
Please try to see me, I pray
I would never celebrate your demise
Look close there are tears in my eyes
I'm not happy unless you rise
Three men all different me not one of the guys
I accept you as you are
The gap seems wide but it isn't that far
Each is broken in a different way
Perfection not possible and that's okay
When I ask you questions
I want to hear what you say
It's not to throw your words back at you
Perhaps that's what some others do
You might think I gloat
but my heart doesn't play that note.
If you do well my spirit will float
For now, I'll ponder each thought
More is more, less is not
I have what I have you've got what you've got
Together we have quite a lot
Or if you wish, simply walk away
That's your choice
I've said what I have to say.
I reached out to a person with a hand of friendship and it had the exact opposite effect. Sometimes our intentions can be misconstrued, this made me sad.
Poem | |
War leaves scars. They are emotional. They are physical. They are spiritual.
My brother had proposed to my sister-in-law on Valentine's Day, and so it was on that fateful day, 12 years later that his and her lives would change forever.
My brother had invited his wife to the posh Phonecia Hotel in Beirut for a cosy romantic lunch date while their three kids were in school. They decided to sit at a table facing the window so they could see the beautiful view outside. They could see the azure sky touching the Mediterranean in the distance.
At first, they sat opposite each other, but feeling amorous, my brother asked Pam to sit next to him. She was facing the glass window.
During the meal, as they chatted, little did they know that a very important government official was passing on a street close by and that this event would mark them forever.
"On 14 February 2005, Rafic Hariri, the former Prime Minister of Lebanon, was killed, along with 21 others, when explosives equivalent of around 1,000 kilograms of TNT (2,200 pounds) were detonated as his motorcade drove near the St. George Hotel in Beirut."
This was only a short distance from where my brother and his wife were having their Valentine meal. The glass window imploded when the car bombs detonated, and my brother and his wife were thrown off their chairs. They were soaked in blood and for a while, found it hard to see or know what had happened. They were in a daze. The extensive bleeding was caused by the shards of glass they had been peppered with as the floor to ceiling glass imploded. They looked at each other and the ghastly sight was more than they could take.
In the mayhem that ensued, they were able to make their way outside the building with other injured people. Eventually, an ambulance rushed then to the nearby American University Hospital. It was nearby because my brother taught in the Business Department of the American University of Beirut, so they had decided to have a quick lunch in the nearby vicinity.
Extensive work was done on both their faces. My sister-in-aw had a tooth knocked out from the force of the impact as she was thrown to the ground. Her injuries were more obvious as she had been sitting facing the glass. Up to this day, my brother sometimes has pieces of glass make their way to the surface of the skin on his face, and he has to pull them out. That's how deeply they became embedded.
When later asked if they wanted cosmetic surgery done to cover up the zig zag scars on their faces, my spunky Canadian sister-in-law replied, "Why should we? This is part of our history, of what we have been through, and it gives us a great story to tell."
I wish I were as brave as she is. The three children had a hard time seeing their parents in this state. Pam had to stay in intensive care for a while and when the kids finally did get to see her, Dylan, the middle child, burst out crying and said, "Mama, I don't like what's happened to your face."
This is life in Lebanon. We have lived through the war. We have survived. We have scars that tell the stories. I have written a full article on this, and will post a few excerpts later.
We live in a spiritual battlefield. Christ came to rescue us, the wounded and the dying. He CHOSE to walk into the war zone. Jesus carries the scars in his hands and in his side of that rescue mission. He carries these marks for eternity, a sign of His great love and passion for us and for our salvation. He came to rescue the hostages of war....and "by His stripes, we are healed."
Isaiah 53: 5-
But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed
Poem | |
The way your toes curl when you first wake up, yes I have been there to see this.
The way your nose wrinkles as you start to laugh, to this also I have been witness.
You twirl your hair and click your teeth when deep thoughts keep you guessing
And the way your eyes alight with flame when no longer the answers are vexing
Your lips pucker without thought of a kiss when something to you is amusing
About the crazy ideas that I might be having or a book you might be perusing.
I have seen you in the embers of a raging fire, and on the waves that crash upon the shore
I have heard you in the whisper of a windswept leaf as it dances upon the forest floor
I have felt you within a single drop of rain that nature brings to cleanse the earth
I have tasted no greater flavor than this, the nectar garnered from a true loves birth
I have smelled your beauty within the aroma of jasmine, honey, mint and Cinnamon
I have known you from the dawn of time, the cadence of two hearts abridged as one
And when you go to bed at night for some reason my shirts are more comfortable
Than the many things in the past I bought you that your lips told me were unaffordable.
And I have dried the tears that flowed from your eyes when agony came to break your heart
Your brows would furrow as sleep would take you, tomorrow would bring a brand new start
But regardless of this and nonetheless you snuggle in close and at night you shift your pillow
To the cooler side the place that brings solace on the opposite poll of the weeping willow
Poem | |
Written by Maurice Yvonne and Seren
Crack that whip, jerk the line,
Let's start dancing it's no time to dine.
First you holler, then you sing
All join hands and make a ring.
Now if you please circle wide,
spread right out like an old cow hide.
Feed the Hogs, brand the calf,
Swing your honey once and a half
Now you switch on the heel and toe
Come gals and cowboys, don't be slow.
Allemande left with the corner maid,
Meet your own and promenade.
Everybody swing and whirl
Swing 'round and 'round with your pretty little girl.
Do si do don't you know,
You can't grab a rabbit until there's a snow.
Bow to you partner and the corner miss,
To the opposite lady just blow a kiss.
Chicken in the bread pan scratching out gravel,
get your maid & away you travel.
Lassies to your seats and gents you foller
Thank the fiddler and kiss the caller
Dated 11 October 2014
Poem | |
Heaven’s light source pure
Radiated light-years beyond
Man’s conscious knowledge
And cosmic understanding.
Various brilliant streetlights
Of the universe charting
Courses through stretches
Of eternal darkness deep.
God keeps this Starlight
True to his very word
For when darkness wins
The keys of enlightenment
Fall prisoner to Lucifer
Who controls them for
His advantage over Man
At odds always with God.
Starlight reflects the way
For mankind’s quest in
Seeking ethereal guidance
And spiritual illumination.
This heavenly pure light
Keeps mankind on track
Despite Lucifer’s intrigues
To do just the opposite.
Man’s Earth time is short
And his date with destiny
Finds his fate held in the
Balance of God’s Hands.
But there is always the
Chance to ask God for
His advice and help—then
Waiting for the answer.
And God’s answer is
Coming in different ways
And—at the end, Salvation
Is granted by the act of God.
Being in God’s arms and
Looking back the way Man
Came reflects that everything
Was part of God’s divine purpose.
God’s grace and protection
On each and every one of the
Stones on the way and back
Was part of God’s divine plan.
At the end it turns out that
Everything was planned
From the very beginning
By you and God together.
The godly part created in
Man is the divine guidance
Which brings everybody
Back into the arms of God.
Now being in conscious awareness
Of God’s plans and creation,
Man can enjoy with inner peace the
Starlight—Heaven’s light source!
Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman,
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
(January 30, 2015) (Unrhymed Quatrain)
Poem | |
So many ask me to follow them
through rusty gates and broken doors
Where will I be led
whom shall I follow
Are their directions better than my own?
Will I lead myself down the garden path?
Perplexed by messages
What will satisfy?
Is there meaning to life?
Blind guides speak loudly
painting pretty pictures on my mind
Enticing me with their magic
They speak like they know
They want me to see what they think they see
It is so close
just over the next horizon
Being at one with the universe
Peace, love, understanding
I pick up a book
It warns me
there is but one way
Directed to the only Son
A gift from the Father
The creator of all things
Earthly wisdom to be ignored
become as a little child
The opposite of all that I had known
A single narrow path
I am slowly guided along
no longer alone
I know who I will follow
I am on the road to home
Poem | |
Who am i
Am I the one that passed by
The moment for eye contact passed
In the blink of an eye
I will not know you, nor you know i
Doesn’t matter that you know me
As long as I know the answer to...
Who am I?
I am just me a guy
I am just me a 30 year old guy
OK. I am a 30 Year old black guy
That hasn’t yet found the reason why
Do you know who you are?
Does the thought of you cause you pain?
Would you find the answer strange?
The answer to the question
Who am I?
I can be anywhere found
My conscious logistically bound
In any town I ground
On any plane I fly
On any boat I'm afloat
At any mobile network range
Who am I? can never change
The answer is never strange
Who am I?
When I die will I know...
Who am I?
The tree in the forest question...Frustrating to the wise
Simple to the blind
Who are you?
you will find
The answer is not opposite to... who am I?
I know who you are
I only asked to see if you would lie
I knew when i asked myself...
‘Who am I?”
Poem | |
From the surface of
The moon, light reflected gives
Off that rainbow scene
For when the moon is
Near to full, at it's brightest
Opposite of her
And natures rains fall
Combination creates, a
Moonbow oh! so rare
Poem | |
Fall tumbles relentlessly on our door steps
young winter birds inducing provoking sounds scamper in trees
Watching winter crawling slowly under our feet.
The night rain wet the ground with sadness
washing away the environmental stench
purging the atmosphere of its infectious dew
And I could absorb fresh air in my lungs again.
I fell into a deep sleep shortly after nine but woke up
by my next door neighbor bustling activities.
Nice showers clean fresh air is the perfect night to
be drenched with sleep but instead I was on my knees.
An unknown burden overshadowed me, disturbing my spirit
raising my curiosity, causing me to ponder over unknown mysteries
unexplainable matters that doesn't concern me, yet they troubled me.
I soaked myself in prayer seeking for a plausible answer
And after praying I fell asleep again; a sleep that
I thought would be peaceful but here I am again
on an unannounced journey to the Far East.
I mysteriously found myself on a university campus in the Far East,
no paint, no color, everywhere was deserted, no one was around
except for dry leaves spreading out on the troubled ground
and dull trees astoundingly lingering in the autumn breeze.
I walked propitiously through the front door along a bare corridor
in search of a toilet to ease my body pressure.
A desolated corridor whose hope seemed to be diminished with the passing of time
a million feet must have trodden upon it, feet in search of freedom ,
feet looking for peace, proud feet, dirty feet, bloody feet, stubborn feet.
Feet looking for revenge and feet marching to the destiny of doom.
I moved anxiously from door to door but every door that I opened I saw
Asian toilet embedded deeply in the ground and clean water flooding all around.
I opened another door and found a western bath filled with clean water
I kept walking along the corridor but all the Asian toilets were flood with water.
At the end of the corridor I found one that was completely dry but there was no toilet inside except for PVC pipe fittings planted firmly in the ground.
I tread along the opposite side of the hallway still searching for a toilet
but only rooms whose doors were removed and leaning helplessly
in front of them occupy the other side of the stricken corridor.
I anxiously left the building and a slim young man in his early twenties
wearing shaded glasses ran behind a reception area outside the campus ground
and pretended as if he was at work, but that was only a deception.
As I walked passed him he tried to reached out to me
He complained about someone who has treated him badly
and pointed to a friend who was instrumental in turning his life around.
A sizable crowd gather around him as he illustrates his painful story.
He and his friend took me to the other side of the campus where
a larger crowd of young people had gathered for a wedding
some were sitting under large beach umbrellas
While others congregate in groups all over the campus grounds.
I walked upon a platform where the wedding ceremony
was about to take place but daylight suddenly exploded in my face.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Poem | |
In an abyss of mar;
I was sunk.
My thoughts swimming;
in a pool of masquerade shame.
A dagger in my head;
All I could see was an evening of score.
With a flip of a hand;
Like an angered red dragon.
I breathed fire and redemption;
In the midst of rage and terror.
I had blood on my hands;
All I could hear was a cry from the soil.
In a faction of a second;
My heart had raced.
Thoughts crumbled with confusion.
A wanderer in the desert of oz.
My legs felt like shattered glass.
And all I could think was vengeance.
He had tainted her hands;
Abused them in pain.
She had screamed inside.
A caged animal in a circus.
Unfamiliar territory scared her.
And all I could excrete were tears dry.
With a bow he had decorated her.
A misdeed he did.
It was physical for him,
Emotional damage for her.
Humanity lost inside a cave of bats and bears.
And all I could hear were screams.
Murder she wrote; the opposite.
Beauty like a bunch of roses; yes.
Heart like a garden of roses; yes.
A cactus environment she delved;
With eyes wide shut.
All I could hear were whispers.
With pique like that of a tiger.
I bore teeth, muscle and archery.
Blinded by a trim cloth of red.
A knight’s tale it foretold.
He had hurt my offspring.
All I could see was night.
Emotionally; I covered him with guilt.
Overt, I smeared him with shame.
Physically I scathed him; barbarian.
A man’s title he does not deserve.
Physically I had marked him for the world to see.
And all I could still see was darkness.
He had hurt my offspring.
All I could see was red.
© Herzel Poshiwa.