If I blink, would you blink?
If you blink , would I blink ?
If we blink, would we blink at the same time?
If I blink, I would miss a moment of your funny face
If you blink, You'd miss a moment of my lovely funny face
If we blink, we would miss out on one another
If I blink, you may vanish
If you blink , I may be gone
If we blink , we could diminish
If I blink, I could miss your disturbing gesture's
If you blink, you would miss my funny face I be making back
If we blink, what will we do to amuse each other?
If I blink, what would I do without your dramatic irony?
If you blink , who would call me Drama Queen?
If we blink, what kind of drama will we strive without?
If I blink, you could be gone
If you blink, I could be gone
If we blink , both of us would be gone?
If I blink , Would you blink?
Dare to miss a sec within a blink
He’s gained an audience over the past few years.
Colluding with his missteps and his demons.
Shining a bright light, center mass.
Waiting for applause.
So proud of the spectacle he’s tied
together with sinew and charred hearts.
He chuckles as his puppets squirm.
Promises immortality for such a small
price. What is a soul anyway?
But blood is pouring in from stage left.
Skeletons drumfire, and pile over
the catwalk.
He’s still smiling.
Perspiration falls from a brow intent on
not furrowing.
He’s shown his teeth to a crowd that
now knows why he’s put so much
effort into making tragedy into comedy.
The spotlight crackles.
And he can see the crowd.
Faces scoured by truth.
Nobody is laughing.
The seats are empty.
But the stage is brimming.
The edged remains of his
crooked dreams huddle closer.
The cold crimson fills his lungs.
The gurgling - drowning laughter.
He prays for curtains.
-James Kelley 2019
The dark muddy puddles on road, by rain
can’t bring, I thought, the times bygone again.
My latest home in town’s posh colony
has well buried my past travails and pain.
The days I whined and ran with agony;
the days I starved and craved for small money;
no more exist in memory. I laid
a lid on that dramatic irony.
For great windfall I gained of late, I bade
good bye to mates, for me, who cried and prayed.
Forgot the days I drank rice-soup in grange
with friends and pools in which we splashed and played.
Better were days of need than these deranged,
in binge, in spite of piled fancy mélange.
My food tastes sour; and bitter my Champaign.
I got riches; from me but sleep estranged.
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