Long Millimeter Poems
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I recall writing checks in my spidery crawl.
The TV then was a humming spaceship
with glowing innards that deep-scanned
all who glued their flickering, bug-eyed minds to it;
it abducted whole families at a time.
That same television
materialized microwaves as heavy as lead ingots
replacing bread bins
while ushering in decades of TV dinners.
“Radio Shack’ and “Block Busters’ were thriving
The short brutal war between Betamax and VHS
was long over.
Cars had not yet learned to speak.
Many men thought that learning to type
would be a waste of their valuable time.
We had to go out to get stuff.
Fish in fish tanks
were considered adult entertainment.
The long married kept their sex life
hid like a ‘sixteen millimeter’ movie
projected onto the back of their brains.
Camera film had to be sent away
to be often irretrievably lost.
The food pyramid was thought to be
the right way up – we were already fat-heads.
We trusted the nightly news.
Then the Net captured us,
we found we had many hidden talents,
some even discovered how to wriggle their ears
and both at the same time!
Motherland…
I am a desert, barren and hot.
Hoping for the rain, which I forgot.
Once, I was green, golden, and bright.
Nightingales singing night after night.
My fresh breeze at dawn was ever nice,
Showered me blossoms like paradise.
Year after year, I dressed up in green.
Green and reddish with white in between.
Until I became older than old,
All I have now is darkness and cold.
I lost all of my glory and youth,
Hope death is not the end or the truth.
I had so many kings that were tall,
Now, I am filled with filth that they crawl.
Tired of being a desert that’s old,
Thousands and thousands of years to be told.
Cyrus and Darius lived within me.
Now I am barren; how could it be?
I am now desert far from the sea;
They burned my soul so no one can see.
Empty and lonely, thirsty and dry,
hope for the rain and generous sky.
Hope for someone to answer my cry,
Wash up my tears, and don’t let me die.
I need a hero like the old times,
Come and wash me from all the crimes.
Come to me, my love, my lovely rain,
shower me with love, get rid of pain.
If you come back and shower me, fine
promise I give you, I'll drink your wine.
For me, rain is love; love is my life.
To live without love is endless strife.
I want to become a jungle of love,
making love and being free as a dove.
I am now dying, dying of thirst,
Hope for a drizzle; first thing is first.
1/28/20 Haloo
Note: Motherland is Iran, the birthplace of civilizations, a country with thousands of years of history. In the past forty years, there is a great tension between the government of Iran and the United States. This tension has escalated recently to the point of an imminent war between the two countries. The people in Iran are suffering from an authoritarian government on one side and sanctions and pressure on the other. This humble piece is written to give you the understanding that under a millimeter of skin, we’re all the same, the same humans, and humanities are the same regardless of religion, culture, and geographical background.
There, over the top of that garage, Look!
a magenta-colored cloud
against a clear blue background
And see! It’s head’s like a duck’s crown
its bill pointed, orange
And there! The feathered wings on either side
white and layered. They're real!
It’s not moving either. Not even a millimeter
Like when I was a kid. Suspended in time...
Oh, I feel a slight breeze now
And oy, the duck bill is inching forward
Its bill is losing its sharp point
Its neck elongating
O, please don’t go, my duck.
Ah, but you’re going… going
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A single ant, black as charred bark,
parts the silver skin of the puddle~
its legs dimple the water,
each step a tremble of tiny ripples.
The leaf, wide as two ants side by side,
rides its back like a ship’s wrecked sail,
tipping with the weight
of a world too large to name.
Legs piston through water,
dark and wide, a sea to him,
with this leaf, his bride.
Each step is a tremor in the tiny world.
A current whispers, but the ant
does not listen.
Shadows of giants loom above~
a boot, a wheel, the indifferent sky.
The ant pauses, antennae tasting fear,
then presses on. The far shore
is a myth worth drowning for.
Halfway, it pauses again~
not to rest, but to recalibrate,
rearranging the world
one stubborn millimeter at a time.
The wind’s rough tongue licks at the load,
yet still he drags his emerald barge
to the far shore,
to dry earth.
The far shore is everything.
in a room laced with gloom
his beats boom he dreams of wreckin' the mike
his momma's home she's alone
a sad song she struggles she fights
his lil' sis' is quite a miss
but them fives they do dis' they women so bad
but they alright except at night
for fives will fight you know a drive-bye’s to be had
in the ghetto he's a cello
if he's yellow he's bound to get played
his homies ain't no phonies
they drinkin' forties and lookin' to get paid
on the corner he's a gonna'
take lil' Jack Horner’s fo' they Christmas pie
sticks in his thumb pulls out a gun
ya' betta' run son he's one crazy lil' five
there's two sides to this lil' five
he's full of jive and has a heart of gold
if he jacks you fo' fifty don't give in too swiftly
he's kinda' shifty he'll want fifty more
his mom's on welfare nobody else will care
some fives they do stare at his lil' sis
on Sundays in church his soul he must search
at night he does dirt a childhood was missed
a baby born a bastard; things happen fasta'
the streets might cast ya' in the role of a wimp
a five from L.A. drivin' a six tre'
crime it do pay wants his name on the blimp
the U.S. government cannot prevent
this adolescent from goin' astray
not to mention juvenile detention
just another dimension of the American way
joined a street gang it's a ghetto thang
playin' the dope game he's a thug fo' life
original gangstas like this lil' pranksta'
he can't wait to shank ya' in the heat of the night
OG's got a mission some fives they dissed 'em
pranksta' can get 'em it's initiation day
the scene's a playground it's fin' to go down
babies they run 'round looks like a foray
closer and closer his heart grows colder
gettin' bolder and bolder his nine-millimeter jams
seventeen years old his body turns cold
his last episode hollow points rip his ass
a frontpage story didn't earn no glory
nature was predatory really dug his profile
he carried my name could not break the chain
he lived in vain he was my only child
Here’s an interesting fact about the color of our skin:
the section that holds the color is unusually thin.
I imagine to our creator…it was a snap…a finger flick
making the section with our pigment only a millimeter thick.
I’m sure she had her reasons…perhaps it wasn’t even functional
Perhaps she just wanted to make our world a little more beautiful.
Perhaps even though he was the creator he was inquisitive
perhaps he wanted to see how people of different colors live.
Perhaps after creating in us similar brains, and eyes and hearts
he wanted to give us a simple way of telling each other apart.
Perhaps she wanted us to look both outside as well as in
and see there is so much more to who we are than the color of our skin.
Perhaps her belief in her creations was both resolute and strong…
and she never guessed there would be reasons we would not get along…
My guess is he didn’t think it important…the color of our skin
which is why when creating all our pieces she made our color part so thin.
Perhaps our creator hoped…from the moment our life begins
We would use our brain, our eyes and our heart…to see past the color of our skin.
After all, if our creator made color such a small part of you…
and such a small part of me
If she didn’t think it that important…
I wonder…
why do we?
We write so much...
So many cutting words,
so many surgical verses,
So much poetry of carnage!
Writings that look equal to
scalpels...they cut us
with millimeter precision...
Bloodletting untied.
You write so much...
so many pudding words
so many are delicacies
so many are ambrosia...
These we ate with nutrient
pleasure...
So many other words
are liqueur,
distilled,
aged...
these we drink with
almost lust...!
Don’t ask, my friend,
How much of His breath our Lord
Has breathed into each of us*
If a cubic millimeter it is
Or
A cubic decimeter,
For it doesn't matter at all
Since HE is infinite,
And the infinite divided by any number,
Infinite remains
Thus, Into you and me, His infinity has breathed,
So, by following His Word,
You and I, my brother, my sister,
With
The passing of time, perfect we can be,
As our Father in heaven is perfect,
In His holy ways!**
© Demetrios Trifiatis
12 FEBRUARY 2015
*Genesis 2:7
“And the Lord God formed man of the dust of
The ground, and breathed into his nostrils the
Breath of life; and man became a living soul.”
**Matthew 5:48
“Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father
Which is in heaven is perfect.”
Who Pulls The Trigger
The degree of difficulty diminishes
conscience and justice dim
the fog of zealous denial.
A trigger is squeezed
each millimeter
an agony
each millisecond
a lifetime.
Sharp recoil awakens reality
SCAN QUICKLY TO SLOWY
ACQUIRE TARGET, RESIGHT
resist the pressure
of the trigger
resist the resistance to it.
Death comes
sometimes quickly
always slowly.
The finger compresses
time, life, right, wrong
milliseconds
millimeters.
In a large office
a “leader”
looks at his hands
examines his nails
SCANS QUICKLY TO SLOWLY
ACQUIRES TARGET, RESIGHTS
This distant trigger finger
compresses a button
no conscience
no justice
no connection
to faces
dying.
1/9/2017
submitted to – You Say You Want a Revolution – Poetry Contest
the waiter waits for what the eater repeated owes
weeder and seeder share one dish of blackcrow
bleeder feeds the pleater ancient historicity owed
debater fingers slayer through triptych meter foretold
delayer is the later is the leader
leader lagging leads what later already delayed
heater heats hot water for pessimistic bleater
feeder and the breeder share one tether eater
deletor utters what the reader couldn't shouldn't read
teacher unteaches creature its feature
teaser tases the taser tallowing the blind build
pleader prostrates before the greater hater
slater covers what rater refused believed achieved
render the neater a pasteurized fleeter from the feeder
the teeter is the tether
greeter is the greater
leaper breeds a crater
nature uncreates what creature features
break breaks the breaker breaking broke
killer is a living giving beater
seder sets the table for the bleater
x-ray sees breeder flayed through knot whole
meteor deletes what is the longest tiny universe
millimeter feet inches nothing measures unmeasurable
measure unmeasures the measured measuring
nothing inches nothing toward nothing's infinite Nothing
seer teases waker waking what was dreading dread
dread dreams the dreamed into undreamed un-being
cheater your emotional beater crawls you fastest dead
slayer and the greeter share one scarface tater
later is the delayer tripped into uncreated crater
discourse already dispossessed buffets the maker unmade by making
utterance utterless utters the unutterable
utterance utters itself into un-utterance
the mediator utters
greater grater grader enters the uncraterless recursion
recursion recurses into non-recursion
the poem unmakes its own ending ending
utterance ceases utterering