Not an easy thing
to be the father of sons,
(of daughters I have none).

Inevitably, you must
disappoint them;
inevitably, they must
turn away from you.

Embrace the necessity
of this distancing.

Do not become
an impediment
to the world
they must inherit,
the world that
you can never know.

Be joyful.

Trust that what
you have planted
will flourish
beyond your reach.

Dream the futures
you will never see.
- mce

It's not really a long time
to some people,

In perspective,
the length of
the average life,

something like sixty,
seventy years

or in some cases
something like one
hundred and two
give or take a few

some poor *******
live into the hundred
and teens

How unfortunate,
How unlucky,
what sins must you commit
to be trapped here
that long

Living every day
waiting on death
like children wait
for the swing set

It's a long time
to me.

In my perspective
it's not three years,

it's not thirty-six months,

it's not one hundred
fifty-six weeks,

one thousand sixty-
eight days,

twenty-five thousand,
six hundred
thirty-two hours,

one million,
five hundred thirty-
seven thousand,
nine hundred-
twenty minutes.

In my perspective it's,
ninety-two million,
two hundred seventy-
five thousand,
two hundred seconds

of missing your first
steps,
not knowing your favorite
food,
not reading you Goodnight
Moon,
missing your Second,
Third,
Fourth birthdays,

not hearing
one hundred
twenty-six
million

heart beats.

It's pain that scares
the gods,

that demands
absolution,

and one day
when you read this

Know that I loved you.
Know that I missed you.
Know that once we find
each other again

I hope I'm a lucky *******,
sinless and pure,
that lives to see
one hundred
and twenty,
then we can share our perspectives
on three lost years

A story I read yesterday
about a father and son playing chess.
They were sitting over the board for hours now
arguing who is the king.
Which of those pieces wooden on that surface flat,
should be the one to be king.
The son was thinking and thinking, but he could not tell.
Troubled after a while he thought,
why his father asked him that.
"Who is the king? Who has always been king?"
Countless times before they played,
the question always remained the same.
The father, his son, he persistently asked -
who is the king?
The son like his father,
he wasn't an easy mind.
He wouldn't give up to a question so simple;
He was determined to prove his father wrong.
So many riddles by his father he cracked easy,
but this one, just wouldn't come to mind.
Protect it! Protect the king!
- said the father, with warm smile upon his son.
And the son deep in thought with fingers crossed
was just looking over the board;
..even more and more confused..
Moments ago I watched something.
It was a memo for a dead man.
On a beach that man was the father.
He played with his child around.
They were swirling in circles in the salty air,
before he rode into his last sunset.
Then the question hit me again - who is the king?
The screen went dark and the lights flickered to light.
Elevating murmur filled with clap, filled the room.
I turned back and I saw..
That father, that child, over and over again.
..everywhere, the whole room..
One jumping around, one sitting calm,
one excited, can't wait for fun,
the other just looking for his last piece of popcorn.
I watched upon those daughters and sons,
and then I realised who is the king.

september has become
the cruelest month

reassembled
hollywood disasters
at their worst
flipped into reality

as if
   we had needed that
as if
   we had not known
      that life is fragile
      and tall buildings
      can collapse
   taking thousands
   to sudden death

what is the point?

to prove
   that one can bring
   disaster
   to the undefended?

to demonstrate
   that minds bent
   on destruction
   can succeed
   if they plan long enough?

what a waste
   of lives and minds...
and more to follow
most likely

does wordless violence
solve anything?

the heartless deed
the glamorous sacrifice
that calls for more
   and more
and more
neurotic spirals
of destruction, retaliation
and revenge
instead of global peace
now looms spectral war
born from self-righteous pride
the need to strike out
   fast and hard
against whoever fits
intelligence-created data
transferred to screens
   meticulously marked
coolly oblivious of the people
   who work and procreate
         and live
   in those fluorescent blips

domesticated energy
serves the omnipotent
   two millionaires’ sons
   turned public enemies
upon whose final global showdown
depends
the fate of yet more
   women
        men
           and children
to satisfy the need
for a just universe
where power flows
    undisturbed by laughter
   and the sounds
   of real people
        living
   in a real world

The serpentine
Hissed wit
Whip keen,
Quick as mean,
Flicked tongue
At open sores.
He fancied himself clever;
Surveyed with
Cold red eyes,
Called no one
His better:
This Master of deception.
Others never
Felt the lash,
The cat-tailed snap
Of lips that cracked
A child's
Self-perception.

On the train to Haifa
I think about my father
in wartime Palestine,
a different time, a different name
but the same place.

His memories of oranges and beaches
and warm, Mediterranean swimming
are the times he chose to rescue
from the six years when the world
was drowning in its own blood.

The weather is blue and grey
but the sun shines
like my father’s medals
on his blue-grey air force uniform
that entranced me as a child.

As the helicopter gunships prowl over Mount Carmel,
speeding north to Lebanon,
I wonder what times I will choose to rescue
from a land built out of longing,
but paid for in blood.

The road is straight,
No curves, nothing is bent;
I only see what’s right in front of me.
Faster than sound,
I whistle the air;
Not a speck in my eyes,
I’m head to head with my demise.
Broke loose, now things are right;
I’m enjoying this, I’m sitting tight.
Nothing on my back is tied,
I’m on my final ride.
I grab my throttle hard,
the wind runs by my face.
I smell that…
That concrete set me free.
This is the moment that I seize;
I feel lika a guy
in late Alzheimer’s disease.
Nothing can save me now…
Salvation is not what I need;
I need to no more need a need.
Just let me fly in these last seconds of mine.
From the time I got in that womb,
this was the plan for me.
I was born, even then life was late for me;
I guess you can call that, destiny.
I smile now, knowing that
my legacy will not have the same destiny.
Live on my boys…
You make sense in all there is.
Dear ones I love,
both dead and alive;
See me now,
this is the way I want to go out.
I’m a free bird,
with black I am bred.
Devil, hear me;
I hope you are the one to greet me.
I wear it all,
All those shadows of misty past;
But I also wear,
warmth of pure future hope.
Truckman, don’t be afraid…
I’m sorry I’ll spoil your truck,
with my red cold blood.
You sirens back there,
thank you guys for singing.
I know you won’t get it,
but thank you for making me king.
Ahh…
Spread-wing raven, it flies over me.
You dear raven..
You are the last sight I see.
I’ll fly with you.
I spread out my arms,
I stand on my Harley;
“Get the beer ready,
Martin Luther, Pericles and Marley…”
What a sight to behold;
Those black wings amidst the sun.
Nothing can stop me now;
I am most filled with life.
I was the reaper most of the time,
but now I finished the line.
The scythe is on me,
it’s me who I reap last.
Welcome Mr.Mayhem…
Spread-wing raven, splat down on the ground.
My guts are all over around.
Now I finally caught up,
the end of my road.

I want to know you
As I try
When you are happy tell me?
When you are sad let me know?
When you are down tell me so?
Distance is only a keyboard away
For you to let me know
What you think
And what you feel
Words can say
Words can express
Then use it
And use it as you will