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Zywa 1d
The holiday guests

stay away, I imagine --

a quite poor reason.
Novel "Buiten is het maandag" ("Outside, it's Monday", 2003, J. Bernlef), part 1, chapter 10 --- Collection "Unseen"
Ken Pepiton Apr 1
I gotta ask

myself, am I mad, or is this that day, again,
did we make a plan to finish something again,
and not do it, again?

I do believe, we have settled that both ignore and
believe are verbs in a modality, meaning

if you do not do it, yourself, it does not get done,
I believe ignorance is an active state, sold as faith,
evidenced by things unseen,
substantially manifested
in the peace you hoped
to find, being yours
to make up, in your mind,

and let it drift into reality, as we breathe our
insides out,

there could be a word for that.
April 1, again, and now **** is legal in Berlin, we won, again.
There were black shoes, black shadows
white cuffs, white clouds
black shirt, black boards
white belt, white butterflies

You tell me, your world is black and white,
I ask you,
"Is that all I saw?"
What more, my dear pessimist, you jeer,

So, I say,
Well, of course,
there were blue skies, blue scorpions
white doves, white daffodils
red roses, red blooded hooligans

You tell me, typical American -
so patriotic,
you bleed the colors you fly,
and die draped in your pride,

but I see you
in your myopia,
your dull diatribe of patriotism

I understand you

you are blind to the mind of your soul
you only see
what I tell you
you only see
what you consume
you do not see
what is between
the slats
of your window

when they shut
you do not peek

when they open,
you imagine night has turned to day
when they close
you prepare your bed for the night
despite the noonday sun
you are a prisoner of shallow waters
while ankle deep
believing no one hears you
shrieking - how the world has changed!
unaware that the shores move
in ballroom dancer rhythms
sweeping back
and forth
along the bay
because the seas are alive
but you are standing still

not even the earth
beneath your feet
is still,
despite holding your entire reality
in the insurmountable expanse
of its grasp

Yet, should the earth shake
and rock you
should the hurricane blow
and displace you
should the mountains tumble
and smother you
should the sky open its celestial gob
and expel you
should the mother open her subterranean maw,
and swallow you deep
would you, deeply, care
that the possibility of it all
was an open invitation
a sealed letter
that was never
at your behest
to open
and display its contents

I, too,
have bequeathed upon you
a sealed invitation
to the worlds I paint
with these jigsaw vignettes we call words
and all
you had to do
was open the seams

not with a file

a file to cut the purse
the bounty
of the promised speech
I ask you
that you but pry open my soul
with curiosity
and peer within the tattered layers of my story
my lives
unlived & overwritten
letter by letter
slip in that noodle protracted by your pineal eye
and taste the essence of the realities
you have failed to purchase
that meander about the words you,
chose to ignore
like the milk around alphabet cereal
or the broth around alphabet soup
or the fine-grained blank spaces
the parchment
the canvas of woe
around the words that comprise
a stack of divorce papers
or an exam
or the dread of a long-awaited raise...

for a moment
ignoring the obvious
the letters,
the sentences and paragraphs,
the divorce papers
the exam
the pay-bump,
and just look
at the parchment - the fine-grained,
thin sheet of sophistication
touch it
taste it, maybe,
run your hand along it
the surface of it
or the edge of it
***** your finger on the corner
slice your finger on the edge
the paper has a malice that invites
your masochism
curiosity is power
but also
peer deeper

turn your head about
lower it, sideways
down, and
press your ear,
left or right
against the parchment
the paper
the papyrus
the product
hear its screams
that chainsaw
like a thousand hatchets
splayed out
dancing on the circumference of
a taught merry-go-round of death
cutting into the mother
the father
the child
the tree
cutting it open
that it may be cut again
pulled apart
­glossed - maybe
matte - possibly
the choice is yours
harvest the living
for the living death of your divorce
your exam
your raise
massacre those families
not just the trees
the bears, the deer, and the little fox, too!

I'm green with envy,
thinking about all that potent pulp
coming your way
the smell of it
place yourself in its abundance
the smell of industry
its factories
academies of excellence
an office
a school
a registrar, magistrate, Corporate HQ,
the Pentagon, the Taj Mahal,
Big Ben,
the daily mail of any place where
the morning paper
is LAW
should this be the first time
you heard the screams
just imagine being a tree
coming to pay respects to your family
smell that death
as you creep in
look about you
at the carcasses
strewn about
in neat, pedantic stacks labeled, A4, A3, letter,
fax or snail mail?

My world is plenty black & white
& white & red & blue,
but it's also got screams,
and the stench,
the carcasses of the forest's children
fit for your pleasure
to tear up,
chew up,
gum up with saliva
and shoot through a straw
into the neck of a fellow butcher
and laugh
laugh and snarl and howl and cackle

you never dared to kneel down
pay reverence to the
in the parchment
you let the blinds close
you dared not peek through
you let yourself rot there
in the closet
of your mind
in the dark
and when I say, I'm sad,
you say,
"That *****."
You don't ask,
what's around the sadness,
what came before and what could after,
what's in the folds of sadness,
guilt, regret, and loneliness kneaded in

you look at the sadness,
the dull blue,
and you say,
that's blue alright,"
then you close your coffin
and go to sleep
This poem became so much more than what I was expecting at the outset, and I love it, LOL.

Aidan Feb 9
It’s amazing, it is
How people can go about life without a care
How people can say one thing then the next
It’s amazing, it is
You think that you know someone
And then they turn around
Saying the opposite of what they told you
Why does it happen you think?
Why does this confusion happen?
Why does anything happen?
It’s amazing, it is
How can someone hold so much inside?
How can someone be so bottled up?
Bottled to the point where they may burst
Bottled to where they may blow any time
How can someone be so isolated?
Maybe it’s by choice
Maybe it’s because they feel it’s the only way
Maybe because they haven’t found someone
Someone to confide to
Someone to trust whole heartedly
Someone they know will be there
Someone they know will support anything
It’s amazing, it is
How some people find it so easily
How some people can be a group
And then be so close with a few
It’s amazing, it is
How someone can feel so alone
When they have people around them
When they have ears willing to listen
But the only ear they want
Is someone pushed away long ago
Someone that offered but the way panicked
It’s amazing, it is
How an opportunity can go by so fast
How an opportunity may not come again
How small the time limit is
But you know what’s really amazing?
How we can contemplate this in our heads
But never verbally
Because of this is ever put into words
Then something has become real
Something has been put into the world
Something that one may regret in the future
Now that’s amazing
mjad Jan 12
You consume my thoughts
You're across the globe, for you it's 8am
I know if I stay up until 3 you'll be awake then

But why why why
Do I do this to myself
I have a man that loves me more than anything on earth
Yet I just want to hear your words
Manipulate you to go from texting to calling
Because I know the things I need to say to get you falling
I want to slip back into the old routine
Of talking and talking for hours on end
You made me laugh like I've barely laughed since
I laugh with my man but it's different with you
You know me absolutely through and through
Meeting in adolescence giving us both an advantage
A sense of vulnerability that any new person just cannot seem to reach
Hurting us both as we know we cannot keep a hold
On the people who give us all of their love
Their life
Their future

But what are we doing
Talking just talking
We know what's off limits
Not tempted not lusting
Just missing the old and wondering
If you feel the same way about us too
Do you feel a sense of why why why
Scared to death of any other feeling
To see you in person would break me?
Would it break you? Or is that what we need?
A moment alone for clarity
To stare and take in what the years have done to us both
Pulled at our skin and our hair but
Not our eyes
Not our souls

We remain the same
Twisting through the air sensing every thought
Knowing every consideration
Time would slow down
We would be patient
Waiting to see who would speak
Would we need a translation? Do you still know everything I mean?
Are you still the same person?
How has time changed our twisting souls?
You're across the globe
Away from me
Away from you
But it feels like nothing new

Just temporary distance
In between a forever affair
New people will come and go and come and go
Yet you and I will stay twisting in air
But I'll marry the man I am with
You might be in attendance
Will it **** you? Will it hurt me?
Maybe eventually
It's a neverending question
How are you? How have you been?
I ask you about her you ask me about him
We stay on the shallow end of the pool
Neither really wants to look the fool
Asking for answers on the deep end

Why why why
Do we do this every year
I stare at my ceiling all night long
One more hour and you'll be awake
But I can't wait
But I have too
He is for me, not you
God this is hard to believe
That our souls are so intertwined you live in my dreams
And I skip through yours

No need to ask we both know it's true
And I can tell it's been eating at you
You've been busy and I've been waiting
And all these empty words we keep saying
Leading up to what we really want to know
Why me? Why you?
When will the years pass fast enough that we forget our past
When will we move on and no longer look back
Probably never

How do we tell who we love
Oh sorry I still talk to you
But not like that I promise
There's nothing amiss
Maybe we're twin flames
Spinning around getting hotter
Burned with each other's names
Zywa Dec 2023
Dad cheerfully asks

about my boyfriend and soon --

he nags for details.
"Grote acht" ("Big Eight" - route of two circles in dressage, 2005, Vrouwkje Tuinman), chapter Eleven (years old) #2

Collection "Truder"
Francis Oct 2023
Many hats on my head,
Many titles to claim,
I find it fulfilling to be,
Everything that motivates me.

One day I’m a fireman,
Another day I am a jailer,
This day I’m a poet,
Tomorrow I’ll be a mailer.

What’s funny is this,
A name and a shield,
Is merely a buck for a meal,
My ignorance is so bliss.

These paths are not me,
They are merely a guide,
For me to find whomever is me,
On a security guard’s salary.

To make films or to weep,
To keep jails or to sleep,
To fight fires or to leap,
Into this pen of little sheep.

Why is it that I,
Aim to be that guy,
Who’s career should imply,
That I’m “something” till I die?

An artist,
An actor,
An experiment of all factors,
I try hard to be somebody,
When I’m already my own everybody.

I’m exactly what I need to be,
In this world of all these faces,
Masks grow tight around these cheeks,
Why aspire to climb mountains,
And reach such heightening places?

I’m a detective one day,
An electrician by night,
A silly little dreamer,
Always ready to take on flight.

I’ll pilot this aircraft,
And spread my wings a’sailing,
Without prejudice or hesitation,
I may not always succeed,
But I’m never failing.
Between graduating high school to present day, I was a filmmaker, private investigator and aspiring police detective, volunteer firefighter, correction officer and now government-paid security guard. Today I write poems, while I wait for inspiration to make another film— yet I also want to paint and write novels, poetry, and more stories. I have always defined myself based on what I do and my accomplishments. Yet why I can’t I ever define myself based on me? Either way, I always seem to accomplish my goals.
Zywa Aug 2023
The heart and dagger

on the dark jar lure me, ask --

me to pick it up.
Novel "The PowerBook" (2000, Jeanette Winterson), chapter "EMPTY TRASH"

Collection "Loves Tricks Gains Pains in the 0s and 10s"
Zywa Jun 2023
Very puzzling is

the miscellaneous news:

Hów did it happen?
Novel "Kind tussen vier vrouwen" ("Child between four women", 1972, Simon Vestdijk, written in 1933), § 12, pages 523-524; novel "Terug tot Ina Damman - De geschiedenis van een jeugdliefde", chapter 3-I

Collection "Inmost"
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