Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Aug 2022 Sk Abdul Aziz
Heather
She loves me
He lusts for me
They need me
You long for me
But I am alone
Slow down so that the world
doesn’t go by too fast.
Anything that is hurried
Will almost never last.
 Aug 2022 Sk Abdul Aziz
POSSIBLE
A Skelly with thick skin,
that's the way we grow again

How else is a skeleton
supposed to walk and grin

Together, talk and better
never seem to stop and sever

Connections

You have to open up some windows
To be present with a new borne crane

Unless you want the glass to break
Graceful in its twice over pass the lake

We fashion the past as a sacred bundle
Face it and carried even through the fumble

My tribe like fallen leaves
cast Aside

Scattered and palming shade,
last the vibe

what's left when the seasons pass my guide
Abide my tattered and clawing mass arrive

It's hard but I promise
I'm smiling behind my mask my guy

Realize nothing in a vacuum
It's an ever laced chain reaction

Why did god **** Cain and faction
Cause he wasn't able ; redaction

The burden is less
when you know how to share it

The falling of mist
Pulls back at the hips

Future proof as fallen soldierS
I'm getting the gist.
I’m at an (outdoor) dinner, with Peter, some of his doctoral-student friends, professors and their spouses, to kick-off the Fall semester and Peter’s second year in the doctoral program.

“So, what impressions did you take away from your time at the Large Hadron Collider?”
A 60-ish professor asked Peter. In this setting, as a student pursuing his doctorate, Peter’s comments will probably be noted and there’s a watching anticipation.

Peter is a tall, pale, scraggy, 25-year-old with unruly, deep-cove-blue, almost-black hair. Tonight, he’s dressed in a brown, distressed Italian lambskin leather blazer that I got him in Paris, as a fall semester present and his usual, dark, neutral shades of brown. To break those sleepy colors up I also gave him a soft-caramel-brown tie, inlaid with tiny, yellow, rubber ducks.  

“Two impressions, really,” Peter begins, “First, the Higgs Boson particle was discovered a decade ago - but since then we haven’t seen any notable results - the particles we expected, when we expected them. Of course, “no results” is an important part of the scientific process,” he continued, “and those researchers still deserve their doctorates, but it isn’t ****, and it won’t win any Nobel prizes.” He has the room’s attention.

“Secondly,” he says, looking around for reassuring eye-contact, “experimental particle physics is a very expensive business.” This observation generates nods, toasts and laughter all around.

When the reaction dies down, he gets another question.
“Why do you think we aren’t seeing better results?” another professor asks him.

“I think the problem,” Peter twists his head as he turns serious and begins his reply - and by the way, he looks adorable in the soft light of the dancing Japanese lanterns - “is the lag between the theories and our ability to experiment. It takes so long to build a collider, that theories out-evolve them. The apparatuses we have now - like the Hadron Collider - were designed based on theories from 30 years ago.” Again, there are nods and thoughtful looks before the professors move their questioning to the next student.

Later, we’re in the common room of my dorm suite, huddled together, talking hushedly on an overstuffed loveseat while others watch TV or read. “OH!” I say, still in a whisper voice, like I’ve just remembered something interesting, “You know what I heard - about the doctoral physics program?”

“What?” Peter says, I have his unblinking attention now. After all, I was talking with professors and their wives and shards of information are precious, not unlike atom particles, so he’s openly curious, his head tilted in focus.

“I was told, I say slowly and earnestly, “by a reliable source,” I begin playing with one of his shirt buttons, “that doctoral students,” I pause for maximum effect, to indicate this is important, “have equipment that’s 25 to 30 years OLD - outDATED equipment..”

He’s on to me now, and he starts to lean into me and grin. “that might not be able to get the JOB done!” I finished, busting out laughing as he caught my underarms with tickle fingers. I shrieked with delight at my own joke and his reaction.

“We’ll SEE about THAT!” He says while playing my ribs like accordions, producing newer and louder squeals and mutual giggles.

“Hey!” Anna said, turning as she paused her “Better Call Saul” finale.
“Get a ROOM!” Leong suggested, sarcastically, in mid-popcorn scoop.
Lisa eyed us annoyedly over her Chemistry book.
Sophy rolled her eyes, smiling and blood-thirsty Sunny barked “Get ‘er!”
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Shard: a small piece of something.
We mere mortals too often forget who is actually
in charge on this spinning spaceship, we call Earth.
We are but passengers, ungrateful ones at that, we
use up, litter and destroy, we foul the very air we
breathe, our excrement and discarded waste clogs
and pollutes the oceans, creeks and rivers.
We callously **** other living creatures for sport
mounting their heads as trophies on our walls.
Not because we are hungry.

We are the only creatures on earth that make war
on and **** our own kind. Flawed, evil or just stupid?
Perhaps all these labels apply.

For our wasteful transgressions Nature will one day
purge us from the planet and we will deserve that
retribution. A dire and stark reality, but one need
only look around to see the direction things are going.
There are no lifeboats on this ship and no deity above
to save us.

And in the end the streams will again run clear, and the
air will be fit to breath. The green things will flourish,
and the small creatures of wing and four legs will once
again, rule the days. Humankind will be purged from
the earth, leaving nothing of any merit behind to mark
our passing. As if we never existed.
Scary? I certainly hope so.
Scary Enough to wake us
all up, reverse our abuse of
our ecosystem, save mankind
and the planet? Time will tell.
 Aug 2022 Sk Abdul Aziz
L B
You might be surprised by what people read
at the kitchen table
in the evening
with dinner to the side

As for where to die?  
At the kitchen table
like my neighbor Betty—

slumped over her newspaper
arms above her white and lonely head.
Long I fought the driving lists,
  Plume a-stream and armor clanging;
Link on link, between my wrists,
  Now my heavy freedom's hanging.
Next page