Long Comfortable Poems
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Cold winds, the assassins of startled vegetation,
blow in with late autumn. Snow arrives
to cover the terrain with blankets
of white, pristine feathery snow; meanwhile,
some bodies of water turn into ice.
As the sun hangs low in vales of shadows,
December silently creeps in.
Skunks, raccoons, squirrels and other small mammals
also have crept in silence . . .
to hide inside secluded spaces against the cold’s encroachment.
Their breathing, heart rate, and metabolism slow down.
Waking periodically from their torpor,
they feed and then go back to sleep.
As cold-blooded as the enveloping snow,
snakes slither instinctively into crevices of rocks
as turtles and frogs burrow into mud.
Bears, having feasted in the fall,
now hide in their dens in a state of deep slumber.
How silent and tranquil is the realm of nature’s creatures
hidden from the prying eyes of us humans.
Some of us become almost as sluggish as the animals
squirreled away in their nests of twigs and leaves.
We feast like the pre-hibernating bears.
In a festive mood or perhaps feeling sadly forlorn,
we are more likely than in any of the other seasons
to hide away inside our own abodes,
especially when soft pearls twirl from twilight’s sky
and winter lays down a thick quilt of snow
beneath a canopy of sparkling stars.
We waken, at times like this, to our world abloom with snow,
grumbling at times about having to shovel our driveways
or to travel on roads slick with ice or snow.
Like the hibernating bear, I prefer in winter
the tranquility of comfortable slumber.
Nights in winter stay dark longer.
Our heart rate, breathing, and blood pressure drop low
as drifting into the deep of dreamy sleep we go.
Ah, winter, let me sleep in your quietude
as though I were being buried in the wondrous snow
of your slumber land.
The ghost of Harriet Harris abhor real
disillusioned, disenchanted,
and disembodied (incorporeal
spirit of mine late mother) doth feel
displeasure toward this sole son seal
ling himself most every day inside
the one bedroom flat, a bargain deal
asper costs pegged to monthly
social security disability as sole
income intended to support me,
and the missus, who does not troll
the internet for employment,
and in fact exhibits no goal
to supplement marginal roll,
out sans unearned income, especially now,
(no surprise I wanna be a bachelor)
cuz finances teeter on cusp of red hole
mainly whereby two sizable
automotive costs (within a
six plus month period) sunk me soul,
and psyche on the point
of despair, where goal
to be alive undermined
nearly being penniless
and this communique not aiming to trawl
for sympathy, nor remuneration,
which latter would definitely draw scowl
upon countenance of eldest daughter completes
University study (housed with her eminent beau
within city of brotherly love), awl
so this papa disinclined to apprise her
meager finances put me the dole
drums mainly aforestated a cup pull
of hefty car repairs
spurs impetus to burrow self like a mole
whiling away hours of each twenty four hour
listening...perhaps for me the bell will toll
(at long last mitigating this
deplorable strait no life atoll
where today hard pressed
upon Highland Manor knoll,
and basically undifferentiated from yesterday),
budget restrictions limit choices, hence I stay
inside, where the brutal cold oye vey
also contributes preference
to remain comfortable at
60?Fahrenheit until April or May
solitary (trivial) purrs hoots
occupy time, to allay
writing, reading, meditating,
exercising... staves off ennui
until...these lovely bones turn brittle,
and shock (wave) of brown hair turns gray.
In the lowest of it all
One rises
Shining like that lone star
Brighter than all other stars
It rays glistening.
Bright light peeping
through the shells and
walls of the heart
peeling and melting dark shades
Lighting paths that
lights have not in ages seen
Bringing glints of happiness
and wide smiles
Healing and mending little pores,
Shedding brightness inside the dome.
Making two as one.
Cleaning up messes.
Making whole.
reviving dead plants.
making flowers bloom
Oh the beauty it is to behold
Radiating in all its glory
What a relive from pains,
hurts and sadness harboured
Oh what joy
What peace
The search comes to a standstil
Triumphant has love become
And then
The clouds formed
The blue sky turned black
The beauty faded
Flowers died and lost their bloom
Leaves dried and trees withered
How so soon darkness over came the light
The search for light began again
Darkness no longer a comfortable companion
Either way it goes
Far away at the end of certain tunnels
Glimmer ray's of hope
Just maybe,
This Light has come to stay.
I have zero tolerance for Ignorance
especially when it's prone to cause violence.
They who claim to see the forest for the trees
appear to be the ignorant moral majority.
That's why I'm off to live in the wilderness
where ignorance of your world for me will be totally bliss.
The rest of the world can then feel free to kill one another.
It won't make any difference to me one way or the other.
I'm no longer a part of humanity.
I'm a misfit. I don't belong here. To most, I'm the freak,
yet I seem to be the only one promoting harmony and peace.
Continue living with your ignorance in your comfortable homes.
I'll rough it in the wilderness blissfully ignorant and totally alone.
I'll stay out of your world and you best stay out of my world of tranquility
or I'll show you just how violent this pacifist can be.
2nd and 4th grade years were marked with an arrival of a tiny one in the house
Inspecting the lightning bolt on his forehead carefully, the kids named him Pikachu mouse
With delicate pink ears, black bitty eyes and a long gray tail he looked very cute
To make him feel comfortable, we got him a cage and some shavings of wood
Also a water bottle, an exercise wheel and a bowl for food
His mom was a pet mouse at a friend’s house
She gave birth to twenty miniature babies who needed a good pet house
Having the whole cage to himself was something new after coming from a big crowd
With a lot of interest he built tunnels and burrows underneath shavings of newspaper and wood
Playing and talking with him used to be kids’ favorite pass time after school
To inspect him with great interest and curiosity, they would take him out
Walking around the house by holding him in their hands, they loved to do
Offering him a peanut and watching him nibble on it would keep them amused
Spotting him playing on his wheel, they thought was very cool
Observing his every small action taught them about mice rules
It felt very soothing to watch him cuddle in his self-built tunnel and snooze
Our household became thrilled to have had Pikachu as our very first pet mouse
so much is held within silence, that has yet to be appreciated
while everything that is nothingess, yearns to be satiated
and elated with understandings that are demanding
too much
I've been searching this whole time for what was already there
as the the crimson and hazel eyed me down with a stare
to remind me just how kindly that life remains unfair
unfair in words that could never be expressed
forever leaving my heart with not but a guess,
a request that keeps me utterly hanging, still
un-changing between two crooked dimensions
simply, only longing for the attention
spent my words trying hard to be cheap
while sanity seemed to take the back seat
I could only try to keep calm for so long before
I tasted the meaning of this beautiful song
sing to me the meaning of what it means to smile
perhaps just to lay in the sun for a while,
in comfortable silence that's just understood,
i get it, you get it- its all good
but maybe im just dreaming and it wasn't okay
for the clouds seemed to cover the sun on that day
should've just stayed and spared my last change, then maybe
my words would be slightly arranged.
but this deranged state of mind can find reason for being,
it's just another feeling that to experience is fleeting.
in the end I remembered I had a voice,
with the realization that happiness is always a choice.
calm relaxed comfortable solitude
we seek ourselves, and a good place to hide
slowing ourselves down in the comfort of magic places
the beach, the skate park, the ocean, the woods
in reverence, we seek the nurturing healing powers
ethereal, nature comforts us and breathes life into our steps
do we stay until the break of dawn or meet at our communal place?
the choice is ours. We chill, relax, loving our safe place.
A voice within tells us to travel, and we do.
Meeting like souls, building a campfire of trust.
Exuding snippets of trust and companionship
Cherishing the strength given to us by our magic place.
In the wee hour of the morning I hear my spirit calling, I wasn’t sure how to respond to it but my emotion made me answer it.
It was extremely dark outside and the street light on the other side spilled over the roadway took me safely to an exotic scene. A bird sitting on the electric line chirping away as if it had something important to say. I gazed at it for a while and all of a sudden, my spirit began to cry.
The morning was extremely quiet and I could feel the blood running through my vein and my breathing exposed to the raw air circulating in the atmosphere and I walk along the lonely path looking for an escape route, but something kept dragging me back to my youth.
It wasn’t my childhood friend or the vicious lion in the den, it was the tree house I built in the mango tree and the swing I made in the navel orange tree, that continues to point me to something that is symbolic to my prosperity.
I am not a Tomboy but I can do lots of boy things and I master the art of climbing tree ever since I was a baby. I can still climb to the top no matter how tall the tree grows, there are some things in tees that gives nourishment to my soul and there are some things that you never grow out of you even when you are old, they stay with you for life, because those are the things that keep you alive.
The clouds resting on the sphere laced with tangles of hope staring directly at me and stroking my back from the far end of the sea and it kept searching for a comfortable spot to spread out its lap, but the furious mountain would not allow the wind to blow on the other side but I continue searching for the destined spot in the early hours to confront the solace in the wind.
I stood there for a while and gazed at the morning stars gliding underneath the clouds as daylight forces its way out of the dark and heavens weep for the dignity that is bubbling up into my heart and I could hear the earth whispering in my ears and wind start howling in the distance.
Let the wind blow and bring fresh energy to your soul; let the wind blow and show you which way to go, let it blow the stagnant energy from the atmosphere, and fill your lungs with clean mesmerizing air.
The clouds are moving again and the sky is clear and daylight has explodes in the heavens and you must follow the path that will lead you out of the dark and elevate your nobility.
Before the ink, the silence was a throat
too wide for breath, a hollow-hoarding room
where syntax slept in dust, a formless mote.
Then came the stroke—the necessary doom—
that etched the first shaky consonant of home.
We named the light, and naming made it fear,
a brilliant terror cracking in the air:
And in that sound, the echo was a tear.
The lexicon is porous. It accepts
the slow encroachment of the sudden “gone.”
I’ve seen the tense shift while the subject slept,
the “is” dissolved before the “is” was done.
I hear your laughter, a broken, brittle run,
a syntax in the doorway of the mind
that leaves the quiet, comfortable behind,
a shape I cannot hold, but seek to find.
I have attempted to define your hand—
its knuckles, a syntax of necessary stone—
but language is a shifting, sliding sand,
it takes the shape of all that I have known
and breaks it down, a solitary moan.
I know the definition of the wait:
a vowel stretched until it cracks with weight,
a verb that acts too often and too late.
If I could pull the vowels from the air
and rearrange the grammar of our loss,
I’d make a structure sturdy, stable, fair,
a monument that does not pay the cost
of every single, sudden, final frost.
But every word is stolen from a sigh,
a breath that knows it only needs to die,
a sky that mimics emptiness to fly.
The inevitability is, in turn,
a pivot where the poem starts to break.
I feel the syntax of the darkness burn,
the structure of the longing that I take,
the shape of every mistake that I make.
I find myself within the space
between the first and final, fast embrace,
a memory I cannot quite retrace.
So let the lexicon be what it is:
a porous thing that lets the silence in.
I trace the syntax of the final kiss,
and find the ending in the way I spin
a language from the skin, and from the sin.
The tide returns, the lexicon is wet—
The words are drowning in the sharp regret—
And I am learning, slowly, to forget.
Forget the sound, the shape, the solid hand,
and keep the empty, loud, and lovely air.
I understand the way the broken sand
creates a new topography to share,
a syntax in the middle of despair.
The ocean does not need a name to be.
It is the final, endless, opening plea,
a memory that only lives in me.
Some work to escape loneliness
Others drink to forget
A few take a more measured route
On a slower journey
Towards a tranquil place
Called sleep.
I myself like to sleep
Anywhere. Anytime.
Is OK by me.
But just when I feel warm
And comfortable
Sleeping my life away
Nighttime slips away
And grudgingly allows morning
To barge in
As always, uninvited and unwelcome.
Sitting on the edge of my bed
Legs dangling to nowhere
I shiver in the early stillness
Feeling alone and vulnerable.
Paralyzed, I beg for more time
Please a little more time is all I ask
To gather strength
To face another day
But all I hear is the ticking of a clock
Reckoning each spent minute.
Not sure of how my day will begin
Or how it will end
I pause to collect my thoughts
And a smile creases my face
Because I know a secret
That I jealously guard.
No matter what happens today
One thing is certain
When the sun goes down
And nighttime descends upon the world
Sleep will tiptoe back to me
Holding me close to breasts
As she always does.