seazyinkwell - Hello Poetry

Again, the face that passes me With the same care-worn fatigue His lips are pursed, dark burgundy His hair flaming maize, his eyes whatever that’s left of the sky Again, the clock strikes dawn as the stars cleared He and I, we work hard, for a promotion I see sparrows playing hopscotch on the electric wires Summer steals his memory woods burns out putrid whiteness in his trodden path He and I, we cut sleep, drink cheap coffee I see sparrows die skewered, their heads smashed in by the bleached windows The sun catches them, clip their wings He and I, sweating like machines in our cubicles When he comes back to me, his hair singed with crude oil, the clouds are silent I can’t hear him through the lisp of my nightmare Hands, hands that typed on keyboards, that tied ropes, that sorted papers, that handled raw meat Fingers, uncut nails, leaves that sap veins dry in my arms He, the Icarus I picture outside my office window I, follow after Dante, as the week descends down to Monday

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Nov 9, 2020

Nov 9, 2020 at 10:06 PM UTC

Memo

Again, the face that passes me With the same care-worn fatigue His lips are pursed, dark burgundy His hair flaming maize, his eyes whatever that’s left of the sky Again, the clock strikes dawn as the stars cleared He and I, we work hard, for a promotion I see sparrows playing hopscotch on the electric wires Summer steals his memory woods burns out putrid whiteness in his trodden path He and I, we cut sleep, drink cheap coffee I see sparrows die skewered, their heads smashed in by the bleached windows The sun catches them, clip their wings He and I, sweating like machines in our cubicles When he comes back to me, his hair singed with crude oil, the clouds are silent I can’t hear him through the lisp of my nightmare Hands, hands that typed on keyboards, that tied ropes, that sorted papers, that handled raw meat Fingers, uncut nails, leaves that sap veins dry in my arms He, the Icarus I picture outside my office window I, follow after Dante, as the week descends down to Monday

19

So it ends. Life After I heard your Good News. I said — I had to step out. My chest heaves. Left everything inside. Passport. ID. Savings. I said: Wait, I will be back soon. Eyes said. You broke my heart. Everything is yours. Do with them whatever you please. You don’t get it. You smiled. I can’t wait for tomorrow. You said. I said: Sure tomorrow. Do you not see the cracks in my smile. The fissures of where it’s broken. Inside my wrinkles of two decades chasing, now lost. Step out into the cutting air Step in out of breath in my car in a weather so fair Tears slithering past sniveling grovel ground I use everything I own to buy a ticket for Elsewhere I lived like nothing. Eating scraps. Days clone into nights. I dreamt of nothing. Bug bites and frosts rise. A good news it is. So it goes, I left Haven’t turned back for twenty years. You come back to me in dashes Fractured sun streams Gregorian chants I say. I said.

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Oct 16, 2020

Oct 16, 2020 at 11:23 PM UTC

I said

So it ends. Life After I heard your Good News. I said — I had to step out. My chest heaves. Left everything inside. Passport. ID. Savings. I said: Wait, I will be back soon. Eyes said. You broke my heart. Everything is yours. Do with them whatever you please. You don’t get it. You smiled. I can’t wait for tomorrow. You said. I said: Sure tomorrow. Do you not see the cracks in my smile. The fissures of where it’s broken. Inside my wrinkles of two decades chasing, now lost. Step out into the cutting air Step in out of breath in my car in a weather so fair Tears slithering past sniveling grovel ground I use everything I own to buy a ticket for Elsewhere I lived like nothing. Eating scraps. Days clone into nights. I dreamt of nothing. Bug bites and frosts rise. A good news it is. So it goes, I left Haven’t turned back for twenty years. You come back to me in dashes Fractured sun streams Gregorian chants I say. I said.

33

America, land of the free Is it wild sarcasm or exclusive pedigree? Things are getting better Certainly it is for you But what about your neighbors Things will get better Said street walkers collect loot and spoils All you ever want is money, designer bags As bystanders gazed in cold blood What is eternal is never owned My years as an outsider has shown me: To love even if it is unrequited To question incessantly To see the humans inside the systems To never take Truth for granted What makes America great? I’m saying it not to flatter or frame Why did so many immigrants rush in? It‘s not what the ‘has been’, the ‘is’ that matter It’s the ‘can be’, the ´will be’, the ‘shall be’ The Dream, the Pride, the Fearless The organizers, activists, writers, artists Grassroots, gathered for a common good The pearls of blaze unstrung from the Statue’s torched hand East to West, ideas spun and in good faith, left human wills to run As long as you chase down the horizon, track down the rails of Apollonian glory There in Liberty you shall be found

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Jun 22, 2020

Jun 22, 2020 at 12:29 AM UTC

Untitled

America, land of the free Is it wild sarcasm or exclusive pedigree? Things are getting better Certainly it is for you But what about your neighbors Things will get better Said street walkers collect loot and spoils All you ever want is money, designer bags As bystanders gazed in cold blood What is eternal is never owned My years as an outsider has shown me: To love even if it is unrequited To question incessantly To see the humans inside the systems To never take Truth for granted What makes America great? I’m saying it not to flatter or frame Why did so many immigrants rush in? It‘s not what the ‘has been’, the ‘is’ that matter It’s the ‘can be’, the ´will be’, the ‘shall be’ The Dream, the Pride, the Fearless The organizers, activists, writers, artists Grassroots, gathered for a common good The pearls of blaze unstrung from the Statue’s torched hand East to West, ideas spun and in good faith, left human wills to run As long as you chase down the horizon, track down the rails of Apollonian glory There in Liberty you shall be found

27

Since that day, I’ve been silent sounds have died between my dented teeth memories churned in gratifying thoughts disgrace roared in the corridors of my ears from that day forward, every lie and curse you hurled back I am as quiet as the epilogue of time abiding my narratives, my past beliefs Waiting my turn, sharpening my words

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Jun 18, 2020

Jun 18, 2020 at 11:36 PM UTC

Words

Since that day, I’ve been silent sounds have died between my dented teeth memories churned in gratifying thoughts disgrace roared in the corridors of my ears from that day forward, every lie and curse you hurled back I am as quiet as the epilogue of time abiding my narratives, my past beliefs Waiting my turn, sharpening my words

8

Listening to your music makes me very bored So I headed downtown for the things I can’t afford I walked into the crowded lake till my feet got sored If the traffic questioned me I’d say I was lured For a glass of ice and an old album I stored It made four. I listened till the choir singers broke their last vocal chord. For years they trademarked desire, eventually it topped the Billboard the train got jammed midway, again this team had scored I didn’t say anything; I even signed the peace accord All the piano keys marched out my door, saying ‘cursed was my Lord!’ I couldn’t sing well, but I walked behind them with a sword Only my guitar slept soundly; at midnight it even snored

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Jun 10, 2019

Jun 10, 2019 at 5:42 PM UTC

Pop Music

Listening to your music makes me very bored So I headed downtown for the things I can’t afford I walked into the crowded lake till my feet got sored If the traffic questioned me I’d say I was lured For a glass of ice and an old album I stored It made four. I listened till the choir singers broke their last vocal chord. For years they trademarked desire, eventually it topped the Billboard the train got jammed midway, again this team had scored I didn’t say anything; I even signed the peace accord All the piano keys marched out my door, saying ‘cursed was my Lord!’ I couldn’t sing well, but I walked behind them with a sword Only my guitar slept soundly; at midnight it even snored

12

You simply looked at her, how the lights play upon her color Her hair, color of fresh rye, Her eyes, doppelgängers of morning sky Her skin, pristine and pure. It was all there, written upon their enchanted eyes It was all here, echoed in your doubtful heart Upon that stage, carpeted in red A voice sang and between glances you realized Those heels of diamonds won't fit you This dress of this shade of aqua Is made for her, will match with her eyes This necklace, segments of diamonds Is designed for her, will match her spotless skin These applause, smelling of suburbs Is waiting for her, will see their daughters in her You didn't look deep enough, your thoughts sunk along with the rest of you your darker complexion, shorter figure, narrower eyes If you have a daughter you will tell her she is not made for this, the world is not hers. So when they ask whence they should point the spotlights to When her eyes meeting yours, smiling, always smiling. 'I think you should go', you said the better choice, better voice, walk perfectly upon stages created by people like you. Even her pictures will look nicer But I saw you far off and I knew, she is no longer a person but an idol for you she is everything you wish you could be she fits exactly in the corset of your insecurity Because you are the one writing the script, moving the chairs working late nights, shifting the gears, cooking the food, perfecting her looks until every second of her is yours until your beauty drains into hers

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May 2, 2019

May 2, 2019 at 2:04 AM UTC

Colored

You simply looked at her, how the lights play upon her color Her hair, color of fresh rye, Her eyes, doppelgängers of morning sky Her skin, pristine and pure. It was all there, written upon their enchanted eyes It was all here, echoed in your doubtful heart Upon that stage, carpeted in red A voice sang and between glances you realized Those heels of diamonds won't fit you This dress of this shade of aqua Is made for her, will match with her eyes This necklace, segments of diamonds Is designed for her, will match her spotless skin These applause, smelling of suburbs Is waiting for her, will see their daughters in her You didn't look deep enough, your thoughts sunk along with the rest of you your darker complexion, shorter figure, narrower eyes If you have a daughter you will tell her she is not made for this, the world is not hers. So when they ask whence they should point the spotlights to When her eyes meeting yours, smiling, always smiling. 'I think you should go', you said the better choice, better voice, walk perfectly upon stages created by people like you. Even her pictures will look nicer But I saw you far off and I knew, she is no longer a person but an idol for you she is everything you wish you could be she fits exactly in the corset of your insecurity Because you are the one writing the script, moving the chairs working late nights, shifting the gears, cooking the food, perfecting her looks until every second of her is yours until your beauty drains into hers

40

Melodious, luminous a small plumage of sounds Found you, fond of you The first string laid across the back of Spring, you sing till my eyes grow rusted and my limbs frost with moss, you perch still upon the branches of my broken fingers, missing not a beat, a note, a loss. * Sing for this sunken world continuously, my one and only soloist

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Apr 13, 2019

Apr 13, 2019 at 1:01 PM UTC

Ode to a Spring Bird

Melodious, luminous a small plumage of sounds Found you, fond of you The first string laid across the back of Spring, you sing till my eyes grow rusted and my limbs frost with moss, you perch still upon the branches of my broken fingers, missing not a beat, a note, a loss. * Sing for this sunken world continuously, my one and only soloist

11

I exist; morning oasis, Counting down to the new year. Insomnia hits. All- Nighter. Writing, reading until dawn. I can't sleep, voices. : ) I talk, I laugh, why am I here, how did I become- Darkness pools. Scars of light. I rose into the earth. : ) I'm fine, happy what do you mean? No, that really is me. I pulled my teeth out. : ) Have you seen loneliness? With dark circular eyes. This red air smells sickeningly sweet. Limbs over there, like my store bought lilies, freshly cut. : ) What is sad is this, that you're forever happy, forever right, forever free, in the shadows, beneath your sightless dreams : )

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Jan 2, 2019

Jan 2, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC

: )

I exist; morning oasis, Counting down to the new year. Insomnia hits. All- Nighter. Writing, reading until dawn. I can't sleep, voices. : ) I talk, I laugh, why am I here, how did I become- Darkness pools. Scars of light. I rose into the earth. : ) I'm fine, happy what do you mean? No, that really is me. I pulled my teeth out. : ) Have you seen loneliness? With dark circular eyes. This red air smells sickeningly sweet. Limbs over there, like my store bought lilies, freshly cut. : ) What is sad is this, that you're forever happy, forever right, forever free, in the shadows, beneath your sightless dreams : )

28

Papers, Papers, Papers Whiter than aching teeth, Whiter than whites of tilted eyes, Whiter than funeral wreaths. My hands shake as I write this, Filed away myths; Stolen lined sheets My index finger chained by red tapes, words mix and ground breaks, I'm the one the world forsakes Yellow maize, littered leaves, all twisted into black ink and clean sharp white paper blades. -------"I am in a bit of daze," I tell myself, "look at those flaccid bits; there lay the logs who use to be the jungle of my childhood dreams." ------"Don't be amazed," I replied, "these leafless branches and twigs are for your Papier-Mâché degrees." So I listen to my second self once, the more logical cynical satirical one, Treading on the plot of their paper works, playing crosswords as anxiety uncork my thoughts turn to the bankable orcs, just as my career forks Maybe I should be like my mother, Marking numbers on a deck of cards-- waltzing with Chance. Maybe I should be like my father, Toiling for some rich men's grandson-- seething in Trance. Maybe I should be like the Other, Going along with the system-- thanking myself beneath a cap, a diploma, a piece of paper. I wore these books like bank notes tuxedoes, I was promised the world by the credits I borrowed. Must I go along with the mechanism of their game, or should I rise up against all odds Opposing, debating, rebelling against this bundle, this trouble, funneling me into no-tomorrows Or must I write it all down, in my prayers against their lawyers, who need no reminds Or must I shred, smear, and tear the papers with my own bare hands But what will I ever be to them, friends? A papercut, perhaps.

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Aug 19, 2018

Aug 19, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC

Papercuts

Papers, Papers, Papers Whiter than aching teeth, Whiter than whites of tilted eyes, Whiter than funeral wreaths. My hands shake as I write this, Filed away myths; Stolen lined sheets My index finger chained by red tapes, words mix and ground breaks, I'm the one the world forsakes Yellow maize, littered leaves, all twisted into black ink and clean sharp white paper blades. -------"I am in a bit of daze," I tell myself, "look at those flaccid bits; there lay the logs who use to be the jungle of my childhood dreams." ------"Don't be amazed," I replied, "these leafless branches and twigs are for your Papier-Mâché degrees." So I listen to my second self once, the more logical cynical satirical one, Treading on the plot of their paper works, playing crosswords as anxiety uncork my thoughts turn to the bankable orcs, just as my career forks Maybe I should be like my mother, Marking numbers on a deck of cards-- waltzing with Chance. Maybe I should be like my father, Toiling for some rich men's grandson-- seething in Trance. Maybe I should be like the Other, Going along with the system-- thanking myself beneath a cap, a diploma, a piece of paper. I wore these books like bank notes tuxedoes, I was promised the world by the credits I borrowed. Must I go along with the mechanism of their game, or should I rise up against all odds Opposing, debating, rebelling against this bundle, this trouble, funneling me into no-tomorrows Or must I write it all down, in my prayers against their lawyers, who need no reminds Or must I shred, smear, and tear the papers with my own bare hands But what will I ever be to them, friends? A papercut, perhaps.

40

Regrets litter in my soul as I look back Papers and pens that made my eyes gag This is the road I choose A trail where works and study suffuse This is the life I abuse A desk of overload books and a head with no amuse Should I sell my life to marriage, to money, to fame Or should I work dignified until my hair turns to grey flames I did nothing as my life is reduced I accuse myself of living the harder way Of peeling away my youth when the mind cannot sway I never will be like those on the island of green They were steps ahead before we came to be So life must go on and I would swallow down pain Palming other's sins, sparing no grin. But would it have been better, is it the best way, I work with erased antenna for medals harsh to the taste. My head tells me to move on, But my heart convinces me otherwise.

0

Aug 17, 2018

Aug 17, 2018 at 11:41 PM UTC

Mindful Heartaches

Regrets litter in my soul as I look back Papers and pens that made my eyes gag This is the road I choose A trail where works and study suffuse This is the life I abuse A desk of overload books and a head with no amuse Should I sell my life to marriage, to money, to fame Or should I work dignified until my hair turns to grey flames I did nothing as my life is reduced I accuse myself of living the harder way Of peeling away my youth when the mind cannot sway I never will be like those on the island of green They were steps ahead before we came to be So life must go on and I would swallow down pain Palming other's sins, sparing no grin. But would it have been better, is it the best way, I work with erased antenna for medals harsh to the taste. My head tells me to move on, But my heart convinces me otherwise.

19