so now i ask bear,

what is ground hog day.



he says,

that is yesterday.



sbm.

Sitting in the park one day
Watching my thoughts cast adrift
I was graced with a strange view
Ghosts of the keepers of history
Revealed themselves to me
I heard the distant cry
Of the Ravens’ caw
Desperately seeking to
Impart their wisdom.
If only one would see
They’d know the
Lessons of his story

Kelly Rose
© February 1, 2017

I watch the water
beam from the sun
and that is what you call
making love
The Earth is the greatest poet I know.
I pluck at her expression
every so often
merely attempting
to translate her lyrics
into something,
just something
we can all feel and understand

I hate doctors
My doll has a fever
I cut her hair
Polished her nails
She 'a Mahsa in my eyes anymore
It took a long time for me to get used to
my father's loose-fitting clothes
Suits don't wear clothes  
Hanging on cloth trees
Why they have no humans within ?!
I'm scared
Blue heavens
Passing of the golden suns
through my hair
Not having my earrings
Not having my sister's eyes
I'm talking about my father's bicycle
My little white was feet not
touching the pedals !!!
I was laughing
hating this city though spending
my childhood in it
hating my childhood
Making no difference...
I must laugh
when beaten
or fondled...


از دکترها خوشم نمی آید
عروسکم تب کرده
من موهایش را بریدم
برایش لاک زدم
...دیگر مهسا ندیدمش
خیلی طول کشید
تا به لباس گشاد پدرم عادت کردم
کت و شلوارها لباس نمی شوند
روی چوب رختی ها آویزان بودند
چرا آدم ندارند!؟
!!! من می ترسم
آسمان هایی آبی
گذر موهایم از خورشیدهای طلایی
گوشواره هایم را ندارد
چشمان خواهرم را ندارد
دوچرخه ی پدرم را می گویم
وقتی مرا روی آن می نشاند
پاهای سفید کوچکم
!!! به پدال ها نمی رسید
من آن موقع می خندیدم
از این شهر بدم می آید
با این که تمام کودکی هایم
در این شهر گذشته
از کودکی هایم بدم می آید
...فرقی نمی کند
من باید بخندم
وقتی کتک می خورم
...یا نوازش می شوم

i am sorry
that i will not have
the time
to grow old
and my heart weeps
that i will not see
the world
just one more time
as it once was
i grieve
for all of the futures
that will not be
and the pasts
that will no longer
be retold
i lament day
and night
that it has come
to this

to be present
at
the end
as it begins

Lately, all the days have been turning into Mondays,
A job for the sun and a career for the moon,
A pencil sketched world with only shades of gray,
Stuck in sharp angles with no curves any soon.

Now Night is a Canson paper
Static with no signs of life

No room for poetry
nor the power of imagination

It's only a time for hours of sleep,
Eight to be precise

Behind the curtains
Dreams wait for an invitation

So I'm calling for all the stars to come nurse this disaster,
To bring back nights when staring out the window was enough,
I'm calling for them to patch all the hearts that ruptured,
To free those practical minds out of their handcuffs.

the heart
cannot repair
the heart
in much despair
the heart
missing these pair
the heart
feels the unfair

exiled from the venue
our writing brothers
their words expelled
by unseen smothers

swift the extradition
of a movement quick
the removal done
with a rapidness of click

no more seeing the
works they did ably create
our kinsmen vanishing
off the forum's slate

the heart languishing
without our kindred
being around
the heart so dispirited
their expression fell
silent of sound