The Tenant
I gave the darkness horns so I could point at it.
I gave it a face that was not mine,
a throne outside the skull,
a name to curse when the night went wrong.
But look at where it sits:
inside the gold curve of my own head,
close enough to whisper,
one clawed hand cupped over the eye
that would have shown me everything.
It never crept in from outside.
I fed it here. I called it enemy
so I would never have to call it mine.
Every blame I handed off to hell
came back by morning, wearing my voice,
the same old flattery, the same old fear,
the same small pride that could not bear
to be the one who did it.
The eye keeps burning through its fingers.
It has always been open.
It only asks that I stop looking away.
So let the horns come off.
Let the mask slide down to a mirror.
The thing I feared was never at the gate.
It was the hand that wrote the story of the gate
and sat here all along, still holding the pen.
dusk settles soft on memory’s gate
ancestral light drifts inward like a whispered guide
I sit near my gate
The dusk wind bends the tall grass
My old shoes touch dirt
after meditation at the Holocaust Memorial
he prayed where the soldiers once held guard
today he himself does not have to fight anything
accepts residual cognitive emotional dissonance
armed with the fact that Higher Powers know best
the balancing act of closing a door while
keeping it open for miracles just the same
when a turnstile turns into sacred beginnings
a tentative future without expectations
Once, you loved and welcomed me.
Now, I'm at the gate.
Once, there was peace and love.
Now, only vitriol and hate.
Once, there was democracy.
Now, we tempt the hands of fate.
Once, there was infinity,
Now, a sideways eight.
Once, there were hopes and prayers.
Now, it is too late.
Once, there was eternity.
Now, a headstone and a date.
Our love . . . a forevermore love,
in my heart it will always flow;
even though you have gone above.
Darling, I am full of sorrow,
oh, why, why did you have to go;
will visit your tomb tomorrow.
Visions come to me of your kiss;
as I walk past tombs row on row,
oh, your lips gave me such sweet bliss.
In my night dreams I see your face,
you come to me as a shadow;
and my fingers caress and trace.
I am shattered and heartbroken,
my soul is weeping, weeping woe;
oh, many words left unspoken.
I stayed with you till the last breath,
and will come in sun, rain, and snow;
for this true love will survive death.
Darling, meet me at heaven's gate,
when for my soul dark death will crow;
but years perhaps will be our wait.
Death, the dutiful dismal doorman waits,
Depressed, opening each eternal gate,
Kneeling right, glowering at Heaven’s Gate;
Bowing left, grinning wide at Devil’s Gate.
With all souls passed through their eternal gate
Death drags Hades, gate left and immolates.
Without the lighthouse,
How would they see ahead?
How would they navigate?
Cargo ships from the far east,
Bound for the west coast ports
Of America, require lighthouses.
I heard the fog horns as the ships
Slowly made there way through the
Gate under the Golden Gate Bridge.
For me, it was soothing for sleeping.
For the ship's crew, it was Sight and
Sound making music on ocean waves.
For the ship's crew, it was sweet port.
I can't imagine sailing and ttugging
Without the assist of the lighthouses.
I can imagine a very gratifying relief
when in sight of the lighthouse after
so long a journey.
Sitting in a corner,
My wings still rest beside me.
The gate stands open—
I just don't remember
how to fly.
I used to chase the breeze
And loved to hum every rhyme
I remember every wild ride
The storms that broke my stride
Nonetheless,I got up again for a new flight
The bruises on my wings are far less,
And my own mind
Still pecks at every feather.
The dark horizon is gathering shadows
The dark horizon is gathering shadows.
All the vanishing wings,
And here I am—
Marooned away
Will I learn to fly one day,
Or stay caged away?
I was sitting on the corner, stoned
When out of the blue, my dead aunt phoned
How could this be, she rests in peace
Right beside my loving niece
I answered the phone, and my auntie said
"I know you think that I am dead"
"I'm alive"- my auntie moaned
Or- could it be that you're just- "Stoned"
“Sorry Aunt, I made a mistake,
It wasn’t you it was uncle Jake.
I must admit I’m a little high,
I cannot walk but I can fly.
I’m with my ganja friends, we’re all blotto.
Here’s Bob Marley, he says “Hello”.
They’re in a rush coz they are late
Any time now they’ll close the Pearly Gate.”
Collaboration poem: last two stanzas are mine.
(2nd Place in Charles Messina's The Stoner Collaboration Poetry Contest)
I was born to be a lover, yet became a name left behind.
I welcomed every spark, but never peace of mind.
So I closed the gate and stayed inside,
hiding all the parts I used to leave open wide.
I built a life from quiet air and afternoon light,
convinced that love belonged in someone else's sight.
Then a question found me where I stood—
if I was born to be a lover, why not love myself for good? ???
The nail bites deep in the wood as per plan,
The carpenter does what he thinks he can:
No plan can counteract the destined fate
Of an amber tree crashing on a gate.
I gaze into frosted panes.
Rose petals are tumbling
borne of hidden dimensions
where time is closed.
In scarlet gold murmurations
the starry air beams
with an iridescent delight
and choreographs holy felicitations
beyond a silver gate
of cedar pearl.
(A Thomas Kinkade painting)
Beauty captured
in artful strokes
where sandpipers dance
and sea lions sunbathe
as the sun sets
in the bright horizon
faraway
invoking dreams
mingling with destinies
floating sailboats
passengers watching
in a trance
the rustic romance
between the sea
and the sun
the ocean water
ignites
sparkles
waves reflect
the sky
set on fire
colourful clouds
move softly
above
the Golden Gate Bridge
standing tall
contrasting
the beauty
of nature
with the tenacity
of man-made structure
Lets meet by the gate and jump it
Hands intertwined as we share nothing but short breaths
In the heat
Our shoes beat into the brush
As we forget what's behind us
And when dusk becomes our dawn
And sweat flickers against our foreheads
We can get up and walk back
Then jump the gate.
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