Transistors fizz
Electrons bustle
As robots claim
The daily hustle
The hinges creak
The oil of words
Is missing from
The mindless herds
They oft parade
With heads bowed low
Quite frankly,
Nowhere else to go
As hooked in tasks
In ruts with traction
Replace the normal
Human faction
Robots make robots
Or so I'm told
They replicate
The lies they're sold
Perpetuating
All that manic
In ways that seem
Somewhat satanic
The robot wars
Are not to fear
Just realise that they
Are here
Dispense with screen
Release your mind
In un-robotic ways
You'll find
The beauty of
The world around
When eyes you lift
Will soon be found;
Through trees and rain
Bare feet on grass
A world machines
Can ne'er surpass
The pores of life
Should breathe it in
Beguiled no more
By wars of tin.
Is it you
Who sits beside me when l am sitting on my bed alone
Are you the slight breeze l feel
When the source is unbeknown
Are you the movement so close beside me
When l turn and l am on my own
Is it you…
The more you say, the less I hear,
The path ahead remains unclear.
The same old cycle, round and round,
I watch your lips move, without sound —
Lips that only speak in comparison,
Counting stars instead of choosing one.
The moon is whole in every shape it wears,
No one measures it, no one compares —
But I was counted, weighed, and set aside,
A star among stars, never the moon in your eyes.
You saw me at my best, my worst,
Couldn't tell the difference, either way —
'Cause you never took a glance,
And for that, I never stood a chance.
The beautiful impossible motion,
can we see, feel, touch motion?
No,
we see, feel, touch the results of motion.
Motion stands still,
until we use it.
We humans have no motion until we move,
walking, running, or maybe dancing.
Even weather has no motion,
until it speaks.
The winds blow with motion,
we then see the leaves move.
Everything starts out with no motion,
moving gives motion to the movement.
We can not see, feel or touch motion,
yet we can see, feel, touch motion in action.
What a wonderful impossible thing motion has been.
these signs of the times
I see everywhere I walk
I can’t understand
why I’m chased off of the block
why segregated we stand
inspired by Norman Rockwell's “The Problem We All Live With (Ruby Bridges)” 1964. symbolizing the struggle for civil rights and school desegregation in the United States
Dear Summer,
I remember when you felt like forever
When the days stretched so wide
They could hold every dream I hadn’t grown into yet
You were the ticking of sprinklers at dusk
The chalk dust kingdoms on cracked sidewalks
The way fireflies stitched tiny lanterns
Into the hems of our nights
I remember the warmth that clung to my skin
Long after sunset…
As if you were reluctant to let me go
I remember how we believed
Nothing truly ended
The bike rides and laughter
The barefoot sprints across the lawn
Would loop back again next year
Exactly as we left them
But you changed and so did I
Now your return feels like an old photograph
I keep trying to step into
Familiar and golden
Never quite the same shape
Still I greet you each time
Hoping you’ll bring back
One more echo of who I was
When your light first found me
Truly Yours,
The kid who never stopped believing you’d return
Thousands of candles lit.
They form hazy clouds
They gather, unseen,
in the hush between pews
where people were praying.
I felt them even as candles flickered
I looked around as I heard their prayers.
Each heart bent but did not break.
They were the echo of endurance,
They expounded their faith
Except for a few that hid
in the dim corridors of doubt.
I saw most of the candles dimming,
Smoke rose and wonder what memory carries.
High in the vault clouds gather.
I wondered about faith and doubt.
I knelt down and fervently prayed.
God, please give me light.
Into my silent world, stepped in a little girl
I chanced to meet her in my usual haunt.
As I sat away from the crowd on a park bench,
Saw her feeding some pigeons right in front.
It must be her usual habit, I guessed.
From her awkward movements, I knew,
She was blind and had difficulty in moving around.
But the birds circled round, as some grains she threw.
Though she couldn’t see the wonders of life,
A radiant smile lingered on her sentient face.
As a bird flew down and landed on her right hand,
She smiled a 1000 Watts smile with an innocent grace.
western winds blowing
gray storm clouds are arriving
taking cover now
i done stacked up cinder blocks to build a wall,
and hid my primary colors in the dark.
i grew so tall I forgot how it felt to fall;
instead, I permit my inner child to cry.
the ticking clock gnaws away precious minutes,
meanwhile I trace the scars upon a wooden floor,
I've run out of interesting, adult things to say;
instead, I permit my inner child to cry.
wax crayons smudge against my calloused skin,
mixing with the ink of bills and unread mail.
i've grown tired of the mask and the hollow grin,
instead, I permit my inner child to cry.
i press my palms against the bathroom glass,
remembering the kid with the grass-stained knees.
I'll stay right here and just let the world pass.
instead, I permit my inner child to cry.
A
teardrop
slips down
from my eyes
and breaks into
powdery
shards
o
o
o
it falls
quite unseen
a mute language
too deep for words
that my heart is
reluctant
to say
o
o
o
a
tiny
drop saline,
a single bead
falling down
without
sound
o
o
an aching
silence abides
young love
b
e
c
k o n
i n g b a c k
once tenderness starved,
t
u
s s l e s t o
s
s
e
d
into
love’s brutal
apex
warping sting,
in bated
breath’s requited ring,
wished upon the same star
in
each other’s resolves
POTD is often filled with sadness
Not often is there joy and gladness
Not much laughter fills this world
Little humour gets unfurled
Little gratitude for what one has
Woe is me I'm lost and sad alas
Lets have some days of poetic jokes
Lots of fun filled jolly pokes
Great medicine comes from laughter
Lifts the spirit for hours long after
POTD sometimes filled with glee
Are there others or is this invitation only me
Perhaps at least one day a month a Sunday
to be reserved for a POTD humour fun day
I wear your handwriting
read you
tilt to hear you
f
e
e
l
the reverberation
of your voice
within
my
body
~ reach you
e c h o
your sound
m o u t h to m o u t h
let my hand
slip
into
yours
fingers interlaced
trace you
beg you
guide you
to handwrite
the truth of us
in h i e r o g l y p h i c s
across
my
body
a promise ~
that every word
of yours
is absorbed
Once our home was filled with love,
from God up above.
My kitchen had delicious foods cooking away,
as children played near by.
Many family and dear friends,
laughed and loved in my rooms of old.
One by one they went away,
all promising to come back someday.
My once pretty garden is now all weeds,
even the birds will not come near.
I'm A Forgotten Home,
I once was filled with love.
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