As your own harsh jailor, keeps you
Chained up in the dark
Fight the fear now; beating off
What of it shouts down
That wishful-voiced, repetitive
To leap which mind-wall.
An exultant escapee-
The sound of midtown!
I fail, miserably.
Tonight, it was
the mad dash
to the grocery store.
I had just run 6 miles
in the 80-degree dying day
and I smelt like it.
I looked like an extra
from a bad horror movie,
or an escapee
from the local asylum.
My hair was loose
and wild, a half-made
nest for the robins,
no doubt.
My makeup had
rearranged itself
in odd places
across my face.
I just needed coke,
chips, and who knows
what else.
No one was looking at me
and I wasn't looking at them,
until...
"Miss Jen!"
Ahh!
I've been spotted!
I spoke in mumbles
and the usual
babbling nonsense
and sculked away
after I met
the whole, unimpressed
family.
I managed a joke,
horrible and trying,
yet there was
mutual understanding
in all our fake chuckling.
I was wearing my black
bike shorts, Panama Rocks
tee shirt, pink sneakers,
and I smelt to high heaven.
I grabbed a jar of triple
succotash, as if
intentionally.
Earlier, I was well kept
and wearing a ladylike dress
to a friend's birthday party.
Then, I had it together.
Who can maintain
that level of normality
for a whole day?
I'm not going
to the grocery store
tomorrow.
Up at the roaring sky,
Twinkling stars say hello;
Though dawn draws nigh,
Yet sky's face brightens so.
Hidden is moon's face,
Among them all- sparkling stars...
Though its reflection has such trace,
Yet stars glow on it many scars.
The brilliance of the sky tells,
Nature's beauty beyond art.
Though to sketch such spells...
Skills talent learn to rare heart.
Open mind lonely wonders of God,
Oh so great is His doings to all men...
Though mystery to men seems odd,
How reasoning puts all into its den!
Like the bright morning stars' lights...
I miss out of lateness in bed's fondness,
As eyes watch off cautionary delights¡
Awaken by clear sky's light alertness.
I pour out my heart; empty doubt.
I fly my mind at zero; fill conviction...
And stop my wandering eyes scout,
If it won't cling unto its addiction.
As much as I try,
I switch from sky to sea.
My eyes did cry...
To learn from a devotee
In order to swim at ease,
So to avoid early goodbye...
Or be labelled an escapee
By luck gets death's sea dry.
Switching modes:
Holds up grace,
To learning right codes ...
To run through such race.
On dawn’s crystal face
mauve clouds frame tinged horizon
with hued hill curves.
Pearl streams mirror sapphire sky,
emerald trees line jade banks.
Nature’s splendor charms me,
an escapee from urban life.
Shaking her wet ears, uncertain
How her purpose may be best served
Stagger concealed in immersion
Shown the pasture that she deserved
Frolicking safely within a flock
Diminutive trot to the beat kept timid
Faithfully bides time, tick clock
Offer of grace to God signals her limit
Wool washed, cleansed by clan
Coddled offspring wrapped with cotton
Shepherd held title, simple plan
Dinners prepared, archaic ideals rotten
Bristling beneath her softness
Fibres frayed at what her life signifies
Dismayed to only boost profits
Loyal lamb follow is forsaken sacrifice
Fuming, she rips off her fleece
Livid lion malicious marauder dormant
Roars revenge, discards peace
Trek to reckless, divorce her informant
Taught to shelter, even in harm
Trust husband’s will, cutlet finale fate
Savage feline, leaving the farm
Sleek escapee lapping blood off plate
Sacrificial Sixteenth November
Once, this hollow
in a washed up fish head held
an eye. Now it's just a skull,
an escapee from a crab pot
where it hung as bait to attract
a wandering claw.
I cradle it in my hands,
its flesh picked back to bone.
I see through its ghostly eye
into a submarine world of weed
and waving fronds tipped
with leathery fruit, spiked urchins,
dancing sea worms
and teeth readied
to seize unwary life.
All seems horror, hidden menace
beneath sand or tucked away
in crevices. There, poison barbs,
razor teeth, gullets big enough
to swallow whole lay in wait
and dream beneath
moving shadows.
And then, cast down from above,
a barbed hook baited
with subterfuge, sharpened
to anchor hard in flesh
and be hauled up to drown
a victim in air.
Fish….forgive me for having
commandeered your eye,
but I have done so to honor
your short life
before I lay your head down
on the soft sand and let
the tide take you away,
forever.
Chill confines a diary of absence
as September keyholes a papered wall.
A smirk tears a face--escapee silence
--styles wall with nothingness, dead ends AWOL.
A bottle of spent wealth parlays about ...
tangled weaves justify the performance.
Pebble leather worships darkly, blacks-out
a ghosted pundit building blocks, mischance.
Cold fashions the well, tilt pour sands reserves.
Alas, pitched secrets facades of falsehood,
its prisoner scopes round a war of words,
sheathed arrogance knells myPhone, knock on wood.
Crinkled gone days lay ... flattery goes on.
Scrawled lines drown, looming voice curts; "My Dear John".
Out of my beachside window
I see the dawn, red each morn.
The seascape a blue-white scene draped,
Upon the green and yellow of the landscape,
Of vegetation and ocean adorned by belt of sand,
By hiss and fizz, roar and rumble, of waves relentless,
Surging into the shallows and spreading gently onto sandflats,
Like a bride's embroidered lace wedding veil impelled gently by the breeze.
For every day here, is a celebration, a marriage of earth, sea, wind and waves.
A scene repainted every morning by the sun that rises from the sea,
Blushing the attendant clouds with red, orange and yellow flush.
Casting bright sunbeams into the clouds above.
My window a canvas on easel, for the seascape,
Painted just for me, an escapee,
An obsessed devotee of sea.
I was distracted
and could no longer recall
the thought that had just
occupied my mind.
There was only
the pleasant afterglow
of whatever it was,
a sweet residue lingering
in the place where
the thought used to be.
I was annoyed
that I'd let it go.
Most of our identity,
our past, is like this,
a vast ocean of formless haze
floating between small islands
of what's remembered.
Sometimes, that haze is toxic,
sweeping in from an unnamed
place with it poisons
deposited by an event
long erased of detail.
Others come in gently
as a feeling that settles
like perfume, driftings
from a contented moment
of love set free of time
and place, an escapee
from memory.
It can be electric.
Who we are
seems mostly hidden
in that vague region
where the aura and lint
of our lives accumulate,
too ethereal for memory
to hold captive and replay
in the now, no more than
mere notions arising
out of the nowhere
from where we come.
It was the sign that stopped us
And then we saw the stone
Dedicated to an escapee
Who had died there alone.
We read the inscription
All the time being aware
Guards in the tower watched
Every move we made there
Halte Hier Grenze!
(Stop this is the Border)
The sign displayed
To avoid any possible disorder.
Behind the wire were the mines
Then the strip, totally bare of green,
Raked and swept twice a day
So new foot prints can be seen.
In full view of all
The observation towers
Directly in line with the stone
And commemoration flowers.
He is standing there watching us
Bins lens reflecting glare of the sun,
Slung over his shoulder
His loaded automatic gun.
Is he the one who shot the man to
Stop the attempted freedom bid;
If it wasn’t him for certain
One of his colleagues did.
Halte Hier Grenze
What was it all about
Not to stop people going in
But to stop them getting out.
Such a state of desparation
That so many did their best,
And so many failed and died
Just to live in the West.
We took the mandatory photo
And then we didn’t linger,
Just turned our backs and walked
After giving him the finger.
We heard of the ambush
And we remembered George Bush:
A Radio-Announced Ambush
And we made for some bush,
The man in my front continually push …
One hell of a Lazing Runner
While my heart was Bunsen Burner.
Quick was I to condemn his speed,
Ready to it with fuel feed,
Sure survival was The Rare,
Whenever it became Guerrilla Warfare,
Smart shooters picking off their targets
While The pursued chiefly his teeth grits,
Doing the thing like a Mad March Hare
And choosing to not a lot care.
The man in my front was A Lousy Escapee,
Running and you’d think An Amputee.
I have seen the black face of his Kenyan father
With whom he didn’t go farther:
an absolutely Black Papa
Describing not the Diaspora Rappa,
His loudest trumpets for Jomo,
As Barak’s nearly were for The Homo:
Safer A self –reclaiming returnee
Than an ever groping escapee:
Better Kenya’s social leper
Than an American on paper
And heard have I of his unique white mama,
Who wouldn’t the flame surrender to coma,
Rockier getting than Nigerian’s Zuma
And quite the cougar of America’s Puma…
All that for fanciful catchers of History
And zestful peddlers of exciting mystery,
For say it I still
A-top our tallest hill:
The guy was all along full American,
To his boxers so, less Republican
His returns of cheers completely Un African
Ascents of staircases for the Mexican
His oscillating heard during speeches
Electric fan-perfect, no breaches…
Abort this try to find out
And –please- don’t fail to shout:
Ex-president Barrack Hussein
Lost only to the American smoking sin.
Pressed into cavity, wardrobe holds captive
Constrained where space is a premium
Love lodged squashes logic, lungs ravaged
Quicksand scenarios draw a dreamer in
Denigrated to respondee in his spare time
Hung on railing to wear at convenience
Smiling nicely to speeches of a shared life
Passed opportunity pops my congenial
Friendliness strung with fun doesn't endear
Resists my charm like chalice poisoned
Realms kept seperate lest wretch interfere
Rationed portions bring a brief rejoicing
Abruptly leaves, impetus sprung immediate
Swum mosquitoes among murk spread
Sting truth beneath a furtive fable feeding it
Sore heart can't receipt his ebbing debt
Cement devoid of tears ceases to imprison
Desert sand manuevre accomplishes
Shatter of shackles farewell shadow limits
Dazzled escapee has copious oxygen
2nd January
Sacrifice won't suffice
A leaf,
floating downwards,
comes to rest upon grass.
Escapee cutting off the bonds,
unaware of its impending demise;
the umbilical cord severed,
now page-pressed memory;
dried skin cracking,
A leaf.
As time goes by, the anguish shall abate.
To double back my trail, to hide, to wait
for an unwelcome love to go away.
Long distances can quench the wanderlust,
but lust of wonder. Wonder is a must,
but lust is never worth its outlay.
I call upon you both, time and space,
to help the escapee, summon the ghost
of common sense, the coldest and the most
atrocious words to flee from love's embrace.
My dear poems, stories and essays,
forgive the poet: he was too engrossed
in wonder to remember Robert Frost
who said: "The muse is cold, when hearts ablaze".
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