by Wayne Wysocki
Objects in mirror
are closer than they appear,
Nothing is nearer
than what you will find right here,
So open your eyes, and see me,
forget what you've planned,
You can stop looking--
what you're seeking is so near--
Just reach, and I'll take your hand.
A world without them- BB Baloyi
How happy could we be,
Free from the suffocating grip of patriarchal might.
Living in harmony, with hearts full of light,
Full of life- sure we won't lose
In the hands of our "protectors".
Living in a world we call home,
Where we are not objects but humans,
Where justice rolls like thunder, shaking the ground,
Where we're free, confident, and unafraid.
How happy could we be, as women,
To live for our dreams, not just to survive?
To live in the present, not fantasize about tomorrow-
A future we may not see but only imagine.
To live in a world where oppressors are held accountable.
Where speaking isn't ridiculed
And our voices aren't just loud and clear but HEARD.
How happy could we be to exist,
Not as enemies of men, but friends of life?
In a world where our happiness matters,
Regardless of the ovaries we're born with.
How happy could we be?
Not in imagination, but in this nation.
How happy could we be?...
Yet, we'll keep living, hoping
For a better world for us.
I keep the pair of socks he never wore again
After he mistakenly taken mine instead.
I felt for him, but he didn't care for my pain.
I just wonder if I was ever truly in his head.
I keep a bangle as an exception for jewellery,
After another lover gave it to me generously.
I felt for him, but we lacked true chemistry.
I just wonder if I ever did love him fully.
I keep his lighter, our metaphorical fire,
After I mistakenly pocketed it after using it.
I feel for him, but I'm afraid love may expire.
I just wonder if we will grow more, bit by bit.
I keep objects from my objects of affection,
As I remember all the memories we share.
I felt for all, but I was met with deflection.
All but one lets me show how much I care.
As obvious as it may seem,
Our higher life we must redeem.
To get full value, its true worth,
It’s not a given at one’s birth.
First acknowledged, then understood,
Overcome ego, become good.
Use your energy to create,
Our deeper thoughts our true estate.
To share the truth that we have gleamed,
Our higher self must be redeemed.
Legacy: our thoughts repeated.
Shows our life is not completed.
Life goes on; it is eternal.
The body: only a kernel.
Objects
Objects devoid of
definite shape are
responsible, with the loyal aid of
tree roots, and to
bagpipe music, for the
breakdown of
the
Western Roman Empire (467 AD).
Arguing with inanimate objects
Can be very distressing
To them
My Roomba drove itself down the stairs
The Keurig switched to decaf
Alexa told me where to go
Siri filed for a restraining order
My iphone deleted the “find my phone” app
My robot pet brought poop into the house
When I hit the “autopark” button
My car parks itself around the corner from the house
My security cameras only watch what I’m doing
My drone took off with a raven
I googled “How to get rich”
It told me to sell my organs
I checked my heart rate on my apple watch
It said “faster – you’re still breathing”
While hiking my phone beeped
The message read…
You are entering a dead zone…STAY THERE.
“Objects of Affection”
Objects of affection
drop like white marbles
from the sky
we love to look
to our heaven
for all kinds
of angels
all’s fair in
love and war
when faith
and belief
in a stronger
unified existence
that type of love, denied
trust
walks out the door
along a fine sharp line
sucked into that endless place
where the black ball
is dropped,
compartmentalised
life interrupted
for the unheard
taken down
by the unnecessary
silent swift intervention,
interrogated, eviscerated,
true autopsy, denied
what is love
to the alienated
gone AWOL alien
true fabric
orchestrated
by the external
as something other,
superficial,
the internal, inconvenient,
briefly recognised
worthless feelings
buried deep, the complex
compartmentalised
non-copacetic;
by the artificial copacetic
written off blithely,
non-evolutionary
the revolution de-loused,
time spent of no importance,
touch and emotions
clinically extinct
love
unknown
life
unrecognised
of unknown origin
unidentified
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Sunny and her love-object have broken up.
It was a selfie-inflicted wound - a slapdash pic taken,
that like a puzzle, revealed more than intended.
We try and be thoughtful and considerate but
we’ve only recently escaped from captivity.
Perfectly nice people are capable of unfaithful deeds.
Isn’t that what so much of great literature is about?
Our lives are written in disappearing ink,
and it’s not as if all kisses are meaningful.
We stretch for happiness or for fleeting pleasure
- we’re not married and only vaguely committed.
What would tempt you - what could you actually resist at 18?
Or now - but maybe you’re a saint.
The Most Fragile on Earth are we,
The creative brains, forever enslaved
By the jealous mistress, the Muse.
We’re the folk Fortune never embraced.
Emotions wide open, tears on the ready,
A fetish to embrace the senseless pain
Of all humanity. We end up most often
With angina, the sweet angst that kills.
Are we mad, are we magnificent,
Neither we nor our readers know.
We flaunt not our work, its beauty
Keeps us safe and forever on course.
From one setback to another,
We sail past disaster and honor
Our peers who defied misfortune
Their poems are of enduring glory.
Theirs were the heroic lives
Of unmitigated suffering:
Long years of want, unmerited
Persecution, insults and taunt.
We honor them, the poets of our past,
Their sacrifices indeed were not in vain.
We’ve learnt from them and their work
The undying beauty of enduring pain.
There is nature all around us
Nature has many objects
So many trees are around
All an assortment are seen
In the forest a river or stream
It divides the forest in half
Logs on the ground long and short
Scattered everywhere on the ground
Many dead trees still standing
Do we hear the dead trees falling?
Birds in the trees nesting their young
Owls hooting from above a branch
Hikers followed those paths
A narrow path leads somewhere
There is an abandoned log cabin
Dilapidated soon falling
Cars are made of rubber in the land of US
Asphalt highways twist and turn in pain
Erased for your protection at the curb
Life is no ones fault but yours
May the DMV have mercy on your souls
May they require daily inspections in your homes
Stay inside away from stores
Closed but open to suggestion
Avoid shopping at all cost. Walk.
-Safety comes first-
Leave keys on the dash and tongues in the mouth
If you own objects throw them out
Souls are subjects of interest to the powers that be
If they bounce they become intriguing
Gum and coins can be found in the sofa
Couch potatoes can be found above
If you lose your keys don’t blame God
It is not His job
If you look real hard you will discover…..Rubber
Objects are another kind of trouble
You should let them be
Concentrate on the subject at hand
Find the keys
Authors Note: Why are cars made of dangerous materials like metal and glass? Why are they not made of rubber? Rubber bounces during collisions.
There are certain items kept
Sentimental objects are special
They hold the good memories
Some of us own one object
While some of us own several
It could be anything owned
Mine are several items
I treasure to my heart
I framed a Christmas card
A scene of Colpoy Bay area
A painting framed of Wiarton
My sewing table plus more
A stain glass wheel hand made
When the sun shines the colours
show
My statue dog Scruffy
An autograph book of poetry
Are sentimental to me
Your bottle
of Wild Irish
Rose wine
is a potbelly pig
bleeding in the tender
over-turned dirt
gnats linger near it
like kids do a birthday cake
when it’s about to be cut
I am under a blanket
thick as the snow that was on the steps
left from the blizzard of 1993
I keep light on a page of my diary
I sketch my dirty secrets in it
the ones no rose I will ever grasp
will ever know
and don’t ever think
you can make me tell you them
now you sit on a landing
a puppet
when it’s not danced
by magic
and that maybe have been left
to be just another piece
of my home to study
and to one morning
before my blood reminds me
it also has pain
that won’t go away
be chosen
to be another thing
I am obsessed with
revealing in a poem
Give me something round
Edges to life should be circular
Beware of the elliptic mystery
Rotate your marbles frequently
Give me something spherical
Two hemispheres in harmony
Held together with super glue
Solid to the core and spiraling
Give me something not Michigan
(Round objects are illegal in Michigan)
Balls and clocks are criminal offenses
Cops eat holes but not the donuts
Give me something curled up
Cylindrical in its composition
Rotund but not too obtusely cute
Circumferences should not be too cute
Give me something more articulated
Orbicular to orbiculated would be great
An object that orbits about itself and others
Held in both hands hollowed out loud
Give me something, anything with a shape
As long as it is not cube or rectangular
Squares and lines are grave mistakes
God forgives that which is angular
Give me something other than zeros
There must be light at the end of the tunnel
Ovals become more circular over time
Edges become less... once questioned
Give me moons surrounded by planets
Give me bald women who look ridiculous
We love them anyway from the bottom up
And the universe they came in on
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