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“wordlessly watching, heartlessly helping “

an early morning insertion,
says writes a love poem of
necessity, no formal request,
but as I am quiet bound to
her chest rhyming rising, falling,
she, caught between eyes closed,
but ears open, in pretense of deep
leaves me treading words,
“wordlessly watching, heartlessly helping “
borrowed for reuse, as waves
that have been here moments ago,
but only now just splashing me
to a place of inspiration, I look
up at the jambalaya of verses,
and declare myself satisfied,
both in love and wish this:

a completed poem that satisfies a
noisy urging~surging to tell her I
love her without disturbing her
peaceful state of drowsy and
permitting me too
(thinking pause)
taste a piece
of peace, so
well completed
8:56am 10/4/2023
Andy Chunn Jul 2
I did not know about the world, I grew up on a farm
Into the city I was hurled, it was cause for alarm
I found my solace and retreat, with tenants of the zoo
The animals that I would meet, were friendly to me too

His gentle eyes of wisdom bright, a creature to behold
This proud gorilla was a sight, a mighty presence bold
With grace his muscles ripple strong, a testament of might
His chest beats rhythms’ primal song, affirming his birthright

It was his eyes, that knowing gaze, that brought a world untold
A look that pierces through the haze, to help nature unfold
Quietly he would sit each day, he hardly ever moved
Indifference to what one would say, with nothing left to prove

In the primate house time would pass, I’d watch the people too
A few would yell or tap the glass, with nothing else to do
The gentle eyes would glance at them, and then would move along
But I noticed as I watched him, a glimpse of something wrong

I had observed this same old friend, and recognized that look
An agitation on his mend, I read him like a book
His annoyance was clear to me, although no one would know
I would have to wait and see, his anger bubbled slow

A thickened strong glass-like front wall, with concrete all around
Completed the habitat stall, so safety there was found
And then that fateful day arrived, busloads from nearby schools
Their youthful spirit was revived, by breaking all the rules

I sat there calmly in my chair, as they all crossed the line
The noise and chaos filled the air, I watched him for a sign
Unmoving he just sat there bold, I saw it in his eyes
Not sure of what might now unfold, nor what might now arise

The kids were knocking on the glass, and taunting my best friend
So I was hoping this might pass, and safely find the end
Then all at once he sprang to action, and struck the front glass wall
The kids were screaming, losing traction, I watched them as they’d fall

The shock of sound and vibration, that centered from his force
We now got an education, and feared the mighty source
That havoc and confusion reigned, the evidence was clear
His power need not be explained, as you could feel the fear

They ran out every door and gate, they disappeared so fast
My heart dropped back to normal rate, the fright was now the past
And just like that, we were alone, my friend looked down at me
And as he sat back down at home, as plain as day I see

Those knowing eyes and slightest grin, his laugh at our expense
Though when his movement did begin, my fright was most intense
With grace and strength he taught us all, his realm untamed and free
Sometimes it takes a bantam brawl, gorilla comedy
Anais Vionet Jun 12
There was a homeless lady,
one afternoon, outside the hospital.
Was she homeless? I don’t know.
She had a ladened shopping cart,
which, on TV, is kind of a signature.
We were inside, waiting for an Uber.

She was outside, in chiaroscuro relief.
Dressed in bright, multilayered, mismatched
florals and brocades, she reminded me
of a gypsy. There are still gypsy caravans
in France. Are there gypsies in America?

She wore boots and long strings of beaded jewelry.
They would have had to have been glass, I supposed,
but tinseled with the glitter of those pop spangles,
she looked, en bloc, the richest and the poorest of us.

She wasn’t young and she wasn’t old. She sat alone,
on a short retaining wall, her cart within guarded reach.
I noticed her because every time I glanced over, she
was watching me with the dark unblinking eyes of a bird.

She had an easy confidence, in the wild, sitting safe
and protected by her clam, obstinate shell of boredom.

What must I look like to her - with her tangled hair
and unwashed face? Me in my permanent pressed
hospital wear, diminished by over-washing. A doll
behind glass, whose whole life is patterned by plans?

Our Uber pulled up, the number matched and as Lisa
opened the car door, I gathered my things and looked
back but the gypsy lady was gone, leaving a blank space.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Obstinate: "stubborn people who refuse to change in spite of reason.”

chiaroscuro = an art style using strong contrasts between light and dark
en bloc = at once, both

*I used the term Gypsy because it’s the most instantly recognized. In the UK, Gypsies is a legal term used for their protection act. The French say ‘gitans’ but they are more popularly known as the Romani people or Tinkers, and Travellers. I’ve read that the term “Gypsy” can be used as a slur but not in the context used here.
Zywa Apr 23
Getting old, no time

anymore to keep order --

in what I witness.
"Het Bureau - Afgang" ("The Office - Failure", 2000, Han Voskuil), page 260, Maarten Koning, Frans Veen and Nicolien Koning (1984)

Collection "(Not too bad [1974-1989]"
So many people walking by,
So dead,  but still alive.
They're all in a rush to
Get in line.
Familiar faces,  with their smiles
As blank as mine,
Open eyes and empty minds...

Stuck in their patterns,  day and night,
With no release in sight,
They live and die inside their hives...
From nine to five they keep their
Masters satisfied;
White collared slaves who don't realize...

They drown their pain in
Beer and wine,
Illusions of good times.
Just leave your hopes and dreams

Check your emotions,
Leave your happy at the door.
Drowning depressions while they're lying on the floor.

I see the sadness in their eyes,
The truth behind their lies.
See, they can't laugh,  
and i can't cry...

They form the pieces of the same machine,  and I?
I'm standing by,  

Watching your world through

****** eyes...
This is actually an older poem that I once posted here, which somehow ended up deleted. It was written by me and my fiancé during the best and the worst times of our lives. I was a ****** addict for 3 years during college; we both were. After losing him to an overdose in 2013, I finally managed to get off the hard stuff. But still I miss him every day.
Zywa Apr 5
We have ordered musicians
but can we pay them?
Give them some tea

.....Listen, the trees are falling
.....Lovely, the sound of axes
.....cutting down the orchard

.....The times are changing
.....Play! I want to celebrate!
.....You can leave after that

I don't know, I want to go
Why have we grown so old?
I remember everybody

was happy, without knowing
why, didn't we discuss it
time after time! It is over

We'll die anyway
while life goes on
as if we have never lived
"The Cherry Orchard" (1904, Anton Chekhov)

Collection "Different times"
Zywa Mar 4
With wide arms I listen
With hands full of green ears
Polyphonic whispers of fluff
Fine traces of sound
on the bench

A woman and her daughter
look around, the girl stares
and says with wobbling legs

I'll be a mum just like you
with a daddy and a child
who thinks this is the most beautiful place
of all, the whole world, the universe


The girl plays with a ball
pulls a flake of my bark
asks: is your name scratched in it?
What is he old, isn't he, triple thick I think
and those lumps, would he be sick?

Her mother laughs and takes the picture
she wished to have had of herself:
the girl, and I incognito

not as wise, not as full
high and wide
of past as I am now
and smaller than what I know

of all the people
who caressed me
of all the wishes
they shared with me
Collection "Ifless"
Zywa Dec 2022
Out of fashion, out-dated
there's no help for it, so let me be
unattractive, rejected
because I show myself so conspicuously
and attract attention needlessly

That's how I'm seen. I am seen
and the whispering amuses me
although nobody talks to me

And you let me wait again
until the reception calls
that you are there

So I just sit here
looking out the window
I am used to it, there is nothing to see
at the back of the hotel
and it is getting dark

You always were impatient
My make-up took too long for you
and you sat angry in the car

but if I behaved exactly
the way you had conceived
you could really be sweet
"Hotel Window" (1956, Edward Hopper)

Collection "NightWatch"
lua Oct 2022
the meadow watches me
eyes hidden in flower buds
while i run through the tall grass
chasing after a ghost
its blurry form shifting colours
like the sunset and sunrise
sweat drips
down my cheeks
maybe i'm crying
i can't tell, really
i just know that
my lungs breathe clean air
for the very first time.
Mark Toney Mar 2022
wasting well water wishes
while in wastewater wading
waiting waist-high wailing
weeping, wailing—
what a waste!

wasting well water wishes
while we're waxing waning
waning waxing waging
waging, wasting—

wanting well water wishes
while whole world wishing
wasting wishing wanting
wanting wishing—
whole wide world!

welcome well water wishes
while we're wakeful watching
wakeful watchmen warning
warning watching—


Mark Toney © 2022
Poetry form: Alliteration - Mark Toney © 2022
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