How easy it is to paint people
With one color,
With one broad brush.
Over time the various
Colors on your palette
Swirl together to form globs
Of gray.
And now your monochrome
Judgement renders your world
A bleak, barren desert of ashes.
No longer do you see the world and its
People in its colorful splendor.
Some become acclimated to this dulled
Perception that has taken hold.
A perception that dominates the
Senses and gradually turns the brain
Into gray mush.
Undead they become, starving creatures
With the urge to devour.
To hurt.
No empathy. No compassion. No feeling.
Others, thankfully, know better.
Palettes must be cleansed regularly,
Layers of dried, crusted paint scraped off
With patience.
Then fresh paint is restored.
Fresh perspectives, encounters, and knowledge
Passed down by models to the artist.
Yes, we are artists.
We paint the world as we deem fit,
Plastering on others one’s own
Values, morals, and ideals.
But the true masters of this craft go beyond,
Discerning the vast spectrum of colors
That compose a human soul.
But that takes time.
Years of experience and keen observation.
But possible.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
They tell me I should smile more,
But I’m just lost in thought.
I like picking at my scabs and sores,
Each one an emblem of the battles I’ve fought.
Some people find solace in Summer
With its mirage that all is right.
But I thrive in the chilled Winter,
Relying on my inner warmth and light.
Go ahead…
Call me a dark cloud raining on your parade.
Call me a moping miser wallowing in pain.
Call me a bloated tick thirsty for attention.
Call me a filthy sinner unworthy of redemption.
Flimsy words deflected by my impervious mettle.
Don’t you know steel hardens in the furnace?
Leave me be, let the storm rage then settle.
Only then will I break the water’s surface.
Afterwards, I’ll mount a drifting log and ride along
Down sorrow’s stream until I reach the estuary.
Where purity meets the brine from tears’ song
And entrust my fate to the ocean currents to carry.
Humanity always seeking absolute bliss,
Condemning suffering to fathomless pits.
But under the covers of sleepless nights
Amid the sobs, wails, and blistering spite…
Out emerges a self-revelation,
A subtle truth whispered in the dark.
Cathartic release through meditation
Only bestowed by sorrow’s mark.
They tell me I should smile more,
But I’m just lost in thought.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
There comes the golden trumpet
With its boorish tune.
It claims that brimstone is falling
From the heavens, threatening
To mar all that is pure and white.
All are spellbound by his naked words
Stripped from the usual ethereal facade.
Promise of prosperity rings in their ears,
Since the land of milk and honey has run dry.
But wait…
Look at the hunger in his eyes,
A fervent lust for power and glory.
Look at his thin skin, orange and tempered,
Burning like coal in a blazing furnace.
Look at the cohort he assembled,
Corpulent swine from the swamp.
Surely, he has the mob in mind.
Throw chocolate to keep them quiet.
Put on a show to divert attention.
For the truth is glaringly clear,
We have been played for fools.
When the smoke subsides…
A repentant dog with its tail between its legs, ears back, comes out of the rubble.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC
Be a man
Said the father to his son,
Men don’t cry,
To this social construct we
Must abide:
Masculinity –
Equated with strength and
Emotional reserve
Femininity -
characterized by
Fragility and sensitivity
What if strength is much more?
What if strength has no gender?
Strength
The ability to be yourself
And pursue your aspirations despite
Social pressures and ridicule
Strength
To maintain composure and show restraint
When feeling threatened rather than allowing
Fear or anger wrest control.
Strength
To sympathize and tolerate
Those who think differently than you.
Lioness prowling the savannah
While the lions enjoy their slumber.
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
She twists and turns under sheets and covers.
Sleep evades her as fire burns her cold skin.
Darkness shrouds like tapestries of terror
Warding off consoling light –
“Let me in… let me in.”
Boards creak and nails scratch the walls
Inching its way towards its fidgeting prey.
A monstrosity stands before her eying the
Trembling body –
“Let me play…let me play.”
It leans forward to her ear and whispers,
“I know what you’ve done, what a shame,”
Its serpentine tongue licks her cheek.
“I thought you were better, free from blame.
But you’re like the rest, foul and unclean,
A lump of mass and unfit to live.
Unworthy of redemption, so obscene –
Let me give… let me give.”
Sobs erupt from her quivering lips and gasps
For air from the weight of her filthy sin.
It caressed her hair with its skeletal, scaly
Hands, and kindly asked to
“Let me win… let me win.”
But a streak of light from the rising morning
Sun sent Guilt back into the dark.
A new day, a new beginning, an
Opportunity for a fresh start.
But from the depths of what has been,
There it waits for you to
Let it in… let it in
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
Rainbow cascades down the clouds
In all its colorful splendor, only to
Ingress in a land listless and gray.
The people watch in horror as color
Invades them, the contrast, repulsive.
The children scream and run to their
Mothers, pointing at such anomaly.
“Don’t look, my dears. Such filth your
Eyes must not witness.” A curious
Bystander inspects the rainbow and as he
Lay his hands on it, color makes its way
Up his arm, flushing out the pale visage.
His hair the color of earth, hazel eyes, and
Garments, a fiery crimson and tint of
Sunrise. Pandemonium erupts as the
Man of color stands before the crowds.
“Mom, why does he have color?”
“Keep your distance, my dear, he might
be dangerous.” The man of color walks
Down the street as people scurry away
In fear. “You! Hands up!” Commands a
Squad of armed officers and they proceed
To arrest him. Cuffed, he is taken to the
Town jailhouse and studied by a team of
Physicians. “How do you feel, Sir?”
“ I feel happier than I ever felt in years.”
The man of color surmised he was free,
But little did he know he was imprisoned
By the town. Marked. Stigmatized. Reviled.
A freak who lost it all for showing his true
Colors. Ostracized and alone, why live?
But one fateful day, the man of color found
Purpose, and discovered an ability to infuse
Color on any object he chose. It didn’t take long
For his house to burst with vibrant blues, reds,
Greens, and yellows. He hurried outside to
Breathe resplendent hues onto pallid flowers,
And took a step back, glowing with pride.
Onwards he dashed to town to impart color
On the bleak streets and its ashen inhabitants.
“Hold it right there, freak!" Yelled someone from
Behind. "I saw what you did, and I can’t let you
Pass.” A shot was heard and a bullet pierced
Through his sanguine heart. Falling to his knees,
The man of color kissed the ground and
Declared, “May color come to those who love,”
And breathed his last.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
Pawns of a game, a guessing game, a game
Where chance rules supreme.
Dice roll with stardust, driven by cosmic winds,
with whim at the bow and wheel is its own entity.
Everyone seeking cheap tricks, but to no avail, only
To walk a common road, traversed by paupers and kings.
How to win the game? Well, winners and losers are
Indistinguishable, like grains of sand to the naked eye.
Deceiving shadows loom about the playground.
What can be a rabid monster shredding flesh
Might as well be a mouse nibbling on stray kernels.
There are no rules, despite the libraries of doctrine
And laws of man which change with the season,
Reflecting the customs of various regions.
Players argue at the round table as to what the
Objective may be.
Perhaps survival of the fittest?
To harbor joy while making a pittance?
To love wholeheartedly, for good riddance?
One thing’s for certain.
The game will end, some way or another.
Let’s have the thrill of our lives, while it lasts.
Let’s entertain the impossible before we pass.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
There is a day when dreams are
Exiled, left to waste away --
The dry sands of tomorrow.
Magnificent dreams,
Too daring, ambitious, demanding,
Cast aside, in hopes that they’ll
Flourish on their own.
We’ll dream once more…
Tomorrow
There is a day when opportunities
Are swallowed by the tides,
And sink to fathomless trenches
Never to be seen again,
For there might be another one…
Tomorrow.
There is a day when unspoken words
With the potential to change a life sit
In one’s tongue, embittering over time,
Since someone else will speak them…
Tomorrow.
There is a day when the Earth will perish
By exploitive and negligent hands.
We were all aware of what was to come,
So let us amend our ways...
Tomorrow.
Somethings simply just cannot wait.
Perhaps tomorrow is a day too late.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
Dress that can feed a village
For a hundred years.
Pompous talk, cocktail cheers.
You wish she’d choke
On her caviar.
Your very best, always subpar.
Palace to house a single soul,
When you’re scrounging for
Coins to live off the dole.
You cringe at the sight
Of other’s success,
Secretly yearning for their distress.
Why, oh why, should I settle for less?
Their life’s a luxury, and mine’s a mess,
Even with all my sins confessed!
Envy corrodes the purest mind.
Cataracts, leaves you blind
To the riches you yourself possess --
Family, love, and health in excess.
And all along you never knew
That those you envy, envy you.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
Hair gray, glistening with wisdom.
Wrinkles carved by life’s ordeals.
Eyes blinded by decades of vigilance.
Ears failing from listening to our distress.
Hands shaking, frail from lifting spirits.
Legs aching for always leading the way.
Throat sore from hours of discourse.
Back curved, encumbered by our worries.
Heart swollen with unconditional love
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC