Pocket-Gazes
Night depressed—
black spirits, spiders,
demanding, retorting,
an empty vessel, titanic with trauma.
A downturned smile, flagellate,
disillusioned, demoted, disinterested—
dystopian dysmorphia.
Dolls.
Masks.
Spills.
Blood.
Oxygen.
Water.
Decaying. Degrading. Devolving.
Despair, disaster, disappointment—
disappear.
The lexicon collapses inward,
a ladder whose rungs only fall.
Sand sighs. Water shifts.
Hands disembodied.
Faces detached,
checked out.
I flail,
a swimmer drowning in a teaspoon.
Watermelon empathy—
bloated, barren.
A clock face melting, Dalí’s sky.
I am Picasso’s fractured mouth.
I am Van Gogh’s shell-ear,
smashed on the rocks.
Amy Winehouse cries, hollow,
vodka-veined, restrained
inside a music box.
Maya’s muteness.
Florence’s failure.
Mary Seacole’s poverty.
Nightingale’s lamp guttering.
Angelou’s song stilled.
Seacole’s hands trembling empty.
Yet outward—
instead of inward,
instead of into my pocket-gazes—
there might be,
just might be,
a shimmer of stardust,
a touch of moonlight.
Hope, a dot of light
in a cavern of dark.
And yet,
it illuminates the sky.
The Black Sea of Hostility**
I express no willingness to engage in the metaphorical black sea of hostility. It is a misconception to believe that individuals are born with fractured souls; rather, such conditions develop throughout one’s life.
One enters this world devoid of sin, possessing innate virtues and qualities. However, I am not inclined to accept an invitation to your table, where the tablecloth is whiter than the pristine blanket of snow on Monsanto Lake. I will not participate in such gatherings.
Your opulent Gorham silverware glimmers, reminiscent of clusters of grapes hanging from a mountain. Nevertheless, I remain disinterested in both swimming in this sea or dining at a table rooted in animosity.
The children raised in this environment are instructed to disdain the clergy. Meanwhile, violence stains the streets of northern communities as politicians indulge in lavish dinners costing $2,000 per plate. One must question who is safeguarding the gates of moral decay.
The realm of politics is indeed tumultuous.
never loved cat ways
their tail-flicking arrogance
their unasked-for gaze
my family longed for one —
I yielded, keeping distance
stray kitten arrived
they all fawned gushed over it
but the cat chose me
the least interested one
who shooed and shoved it away
smitten by kitten
my heart disinterested
lurched to beat retreat
we're inseparable now
the kitten has claimed my lap
Made alot of mistakes in a life,
felt days of regret asking heaven why.
But that day you came in
like a gulfstream hurricane
thankfully wasn't one I let by.
Found myself out of the haze on a bright new jetway,
yet undeserved from my point of view.
One that almost didn't come true,
and so lucky for me that you knew.
Oh how stupid can one guy be?
Thinking back now..
how scared I was., of you.
Back to our first conversations
my attempt at seeming disinterested
like a vagrant court jester.
Then you leaned in close,
for the little kiss,
I almost dismissed..
yet still taste.
Still waited for opportunity to knock..
for life to take me away to another place,
where I could make an honest living,
earn an honest wage.
You go on now, run free awhile
so glad I got this chance to feel,
though I often tripped on my words.
I have these memories,
that breeze in a smile.
So many words I needed you to hear,
so many dances and last chances left undone.
Yeah, made plenty of mistakes in a life dear
but loving you wasn't one.
~~~~~~~~~This one never mine (A court jester's life)~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another season opens its doors, as the
Gridiron giants are ready to now play.
As once again, millions will have their withdrawl
Symptoms subside...seriously, they'll be gone in a day.
So as Summer begins to fade, into those glorious
Autumn Sunday & Monday nights, and all those lights.
Where fame and fortunes are on display,
And gladiators rise and fall among the fights.
For those disinterested, there is hope, as this
Compulsion, will only last a score & four weeks or so.
When after one super-manic Sunday, the withdrawl
Begins again, and those afflicted, won't outgrow.
A regular routine of wa istching the stars dance with darkness,
I found myself peacefully becoming aqcuainted with the moon,
?
My soul disinterested in Days empty luminous skies,
I anticipated to go to war with the sun
Time slowly became irrelevant
I watched Z's ride in on sheep,
charging with determination to have me surrender the holy Grail of espresso
i don’t think that i’m happy but i can’t pinpoint why
i try to clear my jumbled thoughts and just want to cry
one sided conversations- do my thoughts not matter?
i try to reciprocate with a silent nod or disinterested grunt
but my heart and mind can’t keep up the front
i care about every thought, quirk, idea, and trait
i need someone that cares just the same
In a world that rushes,
we step back,
disengaging from the flow
to observe, to reflect,
often choosing not to engage,
but to understand.
We, the outsiders,
interestingly disinterested,
bring a different lens,
a quiet strength,
contributing in ways unseen,
yet profoundly felt.
For the world needs us,
those who walk alone,
to bridge the gaps,
to offer new perspectives,
to remind the world
of the beauty in stepping back.
Robins seem to enjoy my yard
Awaiting the coolness of dewed mornings
To awaken the wriggling worms
A seasonal offering favored by the feathered ones
Dandelion waiters tend to the color and flavor
Serving up “all natural”, organic, pesticide free offerings
They can vouch for the claim
As they have managed the place for 30 years
A bold red Cardinal sits atop a fence post preaching
A Beyonce’ butted ground hog scurries away
Doves coo from within the safety of the hedges
A house cat stalks them from a windowsill
Buds dance to the music of the wood winds
A sparrow choir sings an opening hymn
As a disinterested hawk rides the updrafts
A chipmunk takes his order to go
Flock Plus One
Crouching among a gaggle of
dabbling Canadian geese,
a brown skinned child pushes back
long black hair,
intent on building a tidal pool
of which he can be King.
Extending a ridiculously long neck,
a goose wades gingerly into the water,
snapping his wings forward in a fluster,
indignant with the cold.
Another approaches the boy curiously,
black eyes assessing the construction;
haughtily disinterested, it continues ambling
along the inlet.
The sporadic hiss and honking of a gander
whose life mate is being wooed by another
doesn’t faze the child,
methodically tapping his palms
along the outskirts of his pond.
Another goose watches him,
unconcerned,
from her nest on a muskrat mound,
tiny hatchlings in yellow down
chirp soundlessly.
Spittles of rain dust the child’s
ebony hair
and the gaggle’s black feathers.
The cluster huddles around the boy,
having seemingly accepted him
as one of their own.
I tried to draw the attention
of the disinterested God
who builds the weather.
“Send us snow - just a few feet
make our Christmas fantasy complete”
I pleaded, but she never interceded.
Angels, that will-less posse of hers
only seem to watch earth’s slaughter
as the wind carries a warm disregard.
SEEING FROM THE OTHER SIDE
For years, one has entertained the notion
That nations and cultures can always mix
There are customs and appearances, true
Some might close their eyes, as many do
Also their ears, as language can play tricks
Races no longer separated by any ocean
Yet integration recalibrates one’s identity
More for others to feel safe and sound
Yet difference is surely to be celebrated
Whether or not all verbs are conjugated
But gentle friction is healthy when around
Seeing people as they are and want to be
Step by step, perhaps talk over the fence
But all be aware, there’s no time to sleep
The pace at which such acceptance grows
It takes many decades, as one who knows
National cultural norms are buried deep
There is no gain in perpetuating ignorance
Learning and adjustment aren’t just words
It needs the occasional slap in the face
To recognise what passes for normality
But on further thought, is quite arbitrary
Turning away disinterested, is a disgrace
Embrace the new, mix whey with curds
ACCEPTANCE
I am a tower of ice
clear and cold
standing tall
yet the day is warm
it is very difficult to reconcile
but that is my one challenge
to you
and to anyone
here on this deserted beach
looking at a disinterested blue lake
on this silent day
yet the far horizon seems to never care
on how was I formed
or became like this
is it time that I melted
none can answer these questions
yet now will I remain frozen for all time
or perhaps I might let the pleasant warmth win
and finally be accepted in this world
can logic be intimate with emotion
a cold sleep
under chilling dreams
mostly
bones find each other
a dirt path
in the tall woods
the ill-bred trees
as usual –
darkly
disinterested
rabbit running
helter-skelter
down the track
heading at me
it is being chased
by what
I did not see
behind my shoulder
a deadly scuffle
I keep walking
my steps
are less shock proof
Back home
taking shoes and socks off
naked feet flounder
bones hang loose
again
My Thoughts On
Smash & Grab
Miracle Man
8-15-2023
Some big cities now enforce a change in their law,
which allows an enclave to freely smash and grab.
What offenders deserve is some “Shock and Awe”,
but lawmakers have chosen meaningless confab.
They allow hoodlums to freely take from another,
they smash and grab things that have cash appeal.
Their chosen way of life is to take from some other,
and what they can’t bum they’re willing to steal.
Must decent people live and work in constant fear?
Because some other can’t or won’t earn their pay.
Daily cries go out but the disinterested don’t hear,
They should do their jobs or get out of the way.
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