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the best thing you could teach two another

is how to love themselves,
so they can return the favor;
now that would be a refund!
<>

the supply of words is not inexhaustible

neither are the combinations thereof;

what is inextricably true, of these two linkages

that is not exhaustive, is my endless delight,

in finding the ones that I’ve yet to contemplate

till you brought them waving to my eyes,

so as far as I’m concerned, you originate

delight daily, and that is the spark you create

making every day, the eighth day of creation of the world.






Sat Aug 22
2020
 Dec 2019 ajit patel
inreticence
-
 Dec 2019 ajit patel
inreticence
-
Someday,
I hope to feel it,

not just hear it,
but actually feel it,

when someone says
they love me.
are you generally happy?

a semi-innocuous query
now actualized as a two sided bladed poker,
hot stabbing me smack dab in
the chests hollow crown bullseye,
continuously,  as in all life long, and eternal longing for a
“yes”

it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that
refreshes with every breath;
a life long struggle for an accurate definition,
be a general of genuine happy,
that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction

as a human, one operates on parallel continuums;
slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years,
their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles
formed by
twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves,
marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost,
complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words  
  “The End”

a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong
with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours,
reality is
shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by
spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for
a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable
and a piece of a peace that comes and goes
like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read

the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand
you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing -

the opioids of the mind offers are rejected

the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall -
the place where the poems come from,
and go to die,
a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized
but never been and never left,
the crazy contradictions come in two flavors;
vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have
etched pathways cheek-chiseled

the city is a struggling strife for most,
the next red line on the side
of the measuring cup  and
everyone has a cell, a credit card,
and a measuring cup
<•>
here I stop can’t finish  
someone missing alerts me
to their real worlds troubles
making my complaints super superficial but
the silent running of the stilleto
cuts shallow
repeated hourly
the cut color,

pitch black
for the part-time writers, who write in deeds untill indeed

the mundane Mondays till the fully fried Fridays,
the too short beginning weekends when
you celebrate your lottery winnings,
mega millions of

chores

wheeeeeee

these some,
poet poem poetry, latter-day saints
yet to be arrived-arresting,
good lord,
writing time -
a time slot that doesn’t
appear on your unscheduled
cellphone
calendar

so this what needs remembering, us,

these days are the
storage days

the professionals screen stare, self obligatory
demanding the page output,
the disciplined work ethic,
self torture this work,
that they would pay to do

these some
access accessible accessories in actual time
when
a time clock is punching them back,
time immediacy, a mistress,
needing a wife’s daily attention

the rest of us accumulators,
hoarder-recallers; off-site monthly
storage unit renters for old reusable furniture memories

until the dissembling assembly of the pieces,
with the arrival of the year of the hour of the day
is an urgency spilling
and the consumption urge
eats you alive from inside out,
your patience is rewarded

no screen slave you,
just a spigot turned twice
and over flowing winks bring/ring
the-no-longer-stowed stored eye pics,
poems for a someday

and the waiting was worth the waiting price

some people
us, juggle jiggly *****,
tend to drop them all...
till we don’t...
May  ‘18
 Jul 2018 ajit patel
Lora Lee
Gently, she goes
as soft as a fawn
opens the window
and waits for the dawn
fireflies glow
wind caresses her face
as she sheds all the shadows
not leaving a trace
She dons velvet darkness
wrapped in its cloak
releases all poisons,
                 sylphlike,
             in smoke
She is preparing for battle
in her own, quiet way
She only wants wholeness
as she breaks through the gray
For soon she will weave
prismatic wonders of spells
her own inner aurora
lighting heaven from hell
For suffered she has
and it's time to forgive
unlock self-made prisons
and let herself live
and now as sunrise approaches
stars still in sight
she turns the skeleton key
and glides
into
             flight
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