The wind blows your words to my deaf ears,
and I wonder,
where have you been all this while?
I grew up believing I slipped
through a hole in the sky
to trudge this sand.
My mates went to school,
but I stayed back, always waiting for bells to ring
and bring them back on pitch
to kick the round play joy.
My father debarred my scents
from seeping through his walls
because of his wife.
So I thought I was like our Saviour—
only that unlike Him, I have neither mother nor father.
I took to the street,
and it welcomed me.
It groomed me
and taught me how survival looks like.
I made it big through the backdoor.
But here you are,
telling me you are my mother.
From whence did I come—off the hole in your womb?
Mama… or mama-to-be…
please let me know.
Remedy Rhythms
Sometimes writers block
Sunrises at dawn
Sometimes secrets revealed
Render revolver
Rivers soothing recedes
Reckoning subsides
Rain randomly pouring
Sometimes a hole in the sky
Life ripens rosaries
Good deeds to kindness remedy
Rent is paid
Giving is a good day
Better to give than receive
Knowing to reasoning
La da di lay
La da di la
Nothing is real,
isn’t that nice?
La da di day
La da di night
Everything breaks,
but it burns so bright-
and when I twirl
the world’s in my eyes…
La da di doo
La da li da
Spoonful of jam
There’s a hole in the sky!
Oh my.
We’re all gonna die!
Sweet sunny love
Deep ocean light
There’s butter on toast
And ice-cream on pie
La da di wrong
La da di right
You can be brave,
but you can never be smart.
It isn’t dark
Just a plight
And there are stars in the night!
Right..?
The cry
A warm August day
A child
Drawn to the ornamental pool
A surface of lilies
A mother calls
Her child
A face
Whiter than the lilies
Floats in the light
A scream
Pierces a hole in the sky
A fraction of a second
Nature is silent.
Then it gears up again
Ad nauseous
Tornado
The hole in the sky
is just above my house.
I look up...
and see,
that...
"He",
looks
down
at
me.
He keeps His eyes on my every move,
as He knows...
I am truly
lost.
I find that if I cut a lens-size whole
in a cardboard box then place that box
over my head the stars
arrange themselves
into, not the named constellations,
but ordinary oddments once lost then found
and eventually junked.
I find that if I see a dead raccoon
on the road I will automatically
recite the El Maleh Rachamim,
(the Jewish prayer for the dead),
maybe it’s the pajamas they wear,
they only wear half-pajamas, but then
I am only half-Jewish.
I find that most concentration camps
are left open, and you never know
which abandoned factory once was one.
Finding stuff keeps my mind from wandering
just long enough to find a hole in the sky
where lost things have fallen through.
A truck driver passes through
a hole in the sky
His rig self inclusive,
his load staying dry
Eighteen wheels of redemption,
the manifest signed
Delivery as promised
—his docking sublime
(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
Morning wears dark clouds like veils.
They churn among themselves and drift to the west.
They drift as spirits above wooded hills surrounding me.
A bare field waits to be planted.
A hole in the sky glows with opaque light.
Standing alone, I wonder where it will take me.
Standing alone, I ponder about those at home and those who left.
Silence leaves me with echoes of my thoughts and reverberations
of heartbeat.
Dauntless hawks making circles ride air currents, going higher and
descending.
This morning soliloquy stirs beginnings of a poem.
Shadows of a well-lived life linger.
A well-lived life recalls others.
Sorrow is the looming sadness
brought forth by the past
through a hole in the sky.
An image within an image.
A scene of a winter window
a young girl with pigtails peers
out of at nothing in particular
but the last hanging ice-sculpture
bowing the gutter above her.
Her eyes are glassy like that
lone remaining vestige of holiday
warmth and heavy like the gravity
wishing away all the promises made
to visit again and keep in touch;
the last gift to unwrap that
her mischievous orange-headed
cousin rips from her hands
and hides away to be discovered
some years later beneath the
stairwell under a calico-checkered
wool blanket, frayed, the day of her
mother’s funeral, with no
accompanying apologies made
as her soft hazel eyes slowly
fasten a river flush with sadness
for her young adult form, slender
and beautiful, to swim through
next summers and all the way
back to the house that stole her
mother beaten to death by the
cancerous sun, so she can
watch once more the icicles gather;
watch as they droop into puddles of
sorrow’s fulfilment drip upon drip.
A murky pond into which an orphan dives.
The Sky Is Falling!
Every time I look ‘round
I see more pieces…
Of sky on the ground
And then I espy The hole in the sky
Where the pieces of sky
Have fallen down
No one listens
No One pays heed
No one hears my warning
This time I’m not
Kidding around
The sky really is falling!
Did I hear you right in the noise high
you said to me with a deep conviction,
there’s a bright hole carved in the sky.
I asked you, is it not your imagination?
The pained years uncover on my sight
the full moon fixed on my gloomy sky
turning into a silvery hole in the night.
I didn’t ask my insipid intelligence why.
Did I see right in the deep darkness sly,
I said credibly to myself with assertion,
there’s a bright hole dug in the grim sky.
I didn’t ask myself, is it not frustration?
If in the night the full moon digs a hole
you find no pathway to the moon to walk,
you enter the tunnel imploring the soul
to take you out of the maze you’re stuck.
You said to me in sheer apprehension,
did you do it right in a lunatic confusion
to enter the hole, the mind out of action.
I asked you, is it not soul’s sublimation?
October 25, 2017.
What's to be when life goes by,
Swirling around like the eight satellites,
Written in dilation with time implied,
Spiraling towards a hole in the sky,
The angels sing while others tend to cry,
A long journey as the soul and spirit combines,
Four edges creased and the universe unifies,
These human habits are left behind,
Kiss and hug with every said goodbye,
Tonight lets dance waiting for stars to align,
For in the end we are the coalesce divine,
Crafted gently but not of an earthly design.
(2017)
We are the nothing
We are the others, the never wills, the nothingness of death.
We are nothing, you are less; spineless, useless, worthless, blessed.
Burn it to the ground and ground it down;
I love falling apart in your arms.
Everyone is going around, falling down to the ground;
We feel like the world is coming to an end.
Burn it down, burn it down.
Everyone is an angel and everyone is a devil;
All we become is ashes and dust.
Bite the hand that feeds,
Down on your dirty knees;
Who are you that we should trust?
There is a great big hole in the sky;
I think it’s time to die.
There’s nothing left to do,
But suffer fools like you.
Something inside me burns with hate;
It is you I have to kill or save.
Clinical and cynical;
We are nothing to the grave.
We are the nothing inside of you,
We are the nothing that you breed.
We are nothing,
You are nothing;
You are nothing like me.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The celestial succedaneum
is our glory hole in the sky
we insert our hardened psyches
(of course sheathed in
a condom of ignorance, so
as not to be infected
or infested with the ghastly
blandness of verisimilitude)
into it, and
Thrust
while our hardy
imaginations feverishly
imagine
God.
Thoughts and Thinking
There’s a hole in the sky through it I run
Living where the sun doesn't shine
The shooting stars disappear in the sun
Looking for something that's just not mine
Now here's a well that won't run dry
I won’t exist on the profits of pride
I'm getting closer to the eyes of a lie
I believe I'm seeing the end of the line
Don't push my back against the wall
All doors locked tight, private lives
Two in the morning all alone in the hall
Dragonfly whispers ” I’m living high”
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