Zealous
by Ahmad ***
I am zealous sometimes
When it comes to my ideals
I can be zealous sometimes when I feel I am right
But sometimes I must also be willing
To see the other side
To understand the other person
Even if I might not make the same decisions
Sometimes understanding someone else
Even if it might seem hard sometimes
Can allow me to look past my own ideals
And my own truths
To understand the ideals and truths in someone else actions
For some people this is easier said than done
But usually
If I step back
I can look with understanding
And I can see the person behind the hurt
And the bad choices
And bad decisions
And all of the mistakes
And the bigotry
And racism
And apathy
To see the actual human underneath

I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that's getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I'm no sucker.
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold.
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don't care.
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled.
I am spontaneous and I am a bore,
forever forgiving, I still keep score.
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise.
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of glass, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind.
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused.
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
a habitual liar just keepin' it real.
I am witty and weird and mean-
I am what I am.......100 Aileen.

why I love certain men


it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly

but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now naked and shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet

perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems,
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list

****.
new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless,
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say

Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)

I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
because
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions

they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel,
which defines them by their self-questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,

what is the honorable thing?

this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end  
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,

what is the honorable thing?

some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient


here I stop

the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully

may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall

certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,  
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of

what is the honorable thing?

which by the by,

is why I love certain women too...

and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...

oh god, I do so love that best!

what could signal honor even more...