For many years,
I didn't own a
television.
I didn't want one.
The news gave me
anxiety, and most of
the movies were
horrible.
Bad actors,
terrible acting
and predictable plots.

I wasn't buying any
of it.

My Dad loved
watching movies.
He often used the word,
contrived
when summarizing them.

I remember watching
The Grapes of Wrath
with him.
After the movie, Dad talked
about leaving in his will,
a list of his ten favorite
movies for his seven kids
to watch sometime.
He wanted us to know
him better.

He forgot about it and died
a few years later.
I always thought Dad had
too much faith in mankind.
But, after watching The Grapes
of Wrath again, maybe he
didn't.
I hope we all live until
we die.

Poured measured and forged
mistakes debates
fears and many years
Son of a Son to a Son
tempered
to remember
assembled
never
dismembered.
I am the blacksmith
you are the sword
a father not your lord
God plexed tenacity
steel tempered capacity
every boy deserves favour
my time is gone
be bold stay strong
love ad's character to labour.

hell, I thought, and pain
and death and ****
all around me.

hell with no escape,
pain without relief,
death amongst the living
and **** compiled
in the mirror
in front of me.

what I needed was
an act of decadence
to break the staleness,
something spontaneous.

so, I took back my last
swallow full of whiskey,
slicked back my hair and
grabbed the first woman
I saw by the hips.

I pulled her closely to me,
and then kissed her
very passionately.

she pushed me away
almost instantly and
as I turned around,
she hit me in the back
with her purse where
I heard threats of violence
come slithering through the air
from her boyfriend’s tongue.

I bade them all adieu
and walked out the door.

I was an imp without a care
knowing that I have lived
up to the very thing
I want etched on my grave:
regret nothing.

From the shattering came the still
It was a peace of sorts,
That dew caressed morning,
Songs of dawn chorus trill.

This world will turn without you,
The wind won't breathe your loss.
The silence will speak in volumes
Of dusty shelves that time forgot.

First we must remember,
And then we shall regret,
Crawling back toward the shadows
Beg the darkness, let us forget.

And so we never learn,
Sat at tables forever turning
Burning hunger never ends.

In Loving Memory of Annconcillia Bonareri Kombo.
Beside your bed we sat, in silence and prayer,
Hoping for flickers, for breath, for a stare.
The minutes crawled slowly, the darkness too deep,
But you stayed still, in your quiet sleep.

We whispered your name, we begged, we cried,
Held onto hope as the hours passed by.
But this time, Mama, you didn’t fight
You slipped away softly into the night.

No final word, no parting sigh,
Just heavy air and one last goodbye.
The dawn came cold, but your warmth remained,
In stories and memories your soul engraved.

So rest, dear Mama, in skies so wide
We carry your love on the other side.
And though you never turned back to see,
A part of you still walks with me.

Originally  written by Micko.
April.2025.©️
All rights reserved.