#afghan
the process of crocheting an
afghan is about just that
the process
you make an afghan looking
forward to the nights you will
curl up under it and relishing
the way it fits over your
legs when it's halfway finished
or thinking and hoping
how much someone you love
will love and appreciate
your gift of time and callouses
weaving a container for whatever
emotions you need contained
i realized this that first winter
deep in february when i began
my long nights of scrap yarn
desperately trying to piece
something together out of
the not knowing why
i told myself that this was it
the sum total of my works
the item they would fold up and
place on the table next to the jar
of my ashes come september
and it was done by march
a slow and roundabout way
of pushing myself through
the suicidal smog
smeared through my mind
my friends had blankets wrapped
around them that bright morning
of the anniversary we all cried together
my tears falling on my afghan
i made them each an afghan
plus a few more
always pushing myself
to look forward
lost count of how
much yarn i used
how many stitches
passed through my hands
but by the time the next
march came around i
had made or charted
out five more
to fill the void
clawing at my insides
spent a year making
myself another
in tight ripples of
time and television
and now
my fingers
slow
and stop
seven afghans
in two years
is an accomplishment
that might send the
head of even the
highest caliber of
grandma spinning
i have no more afghans
left in me to make
so instead i crawl
down into bed
two i made
two from friends
and one from
my mother
and lie
head pounding
eyes puffy
void of energy
in the space
between my afghans
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
Explosions and gunfire wherever you walk,
not knowing your fate as the hands whirl around the clock.
Blood running like a river through the streets of rubble,
body parts scattered around - each one of them has crumbled.
They've declared a war again like many times before,
not caring about the civilians; battle commences more and more.
History is repeating itself time and time again,
it seems as if they cannot from bloodlust abstain.
This is about the innocent lives that'll be inevitably lost,
their precious and innocent souls are the greatest cost.
Their last memories will be that of brutality and threat,
and watching their family die randomly one by one; like a game of Russian Roulette.
Masses of skeletons and piles of bones
will litter the lanes as common as stones,
and their names will always remain unknown,
and as they perish they will do so despondent and alone.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 7:48 AM UTC
Surely you have seen
that famous photo.
Steve McCurry’s
“Afghan Girl.”
Piercing green eyes hint
of innocence,
yet so much knowledge
of the world.
She is young,
unable to hide that
behind her veil of cloth.
McCurry was able to find her
years later
for another picture.
In this one,
she is weathered.
Hair grows thick on her forehead,
eyebrows give away her age.
The green eyes are beautiful still,
but no longer have the
sweet wonder
of youth.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
another cool bullet
to the head
a sudden death of
an American dream
the smart uniform
of a young officer
pressed and squared
sharp as a West Point salute
lay blood stained and crumpled
in a lifeless heap on a hospital room floor
the furious efforts of
heroic triage teams comes to naught
trust, respect and idealism
lie victim to an assassins whim
the dreams of another young patriot
prematurely commended to a cold grave
forevermore his body to moulder
returning to earths royal dust
an assassins work speaks
hard blatant truths
we somehow
refuse to hear
leave Afghanistan
to the Afghans
its time to exit
the ungodly places
that betray our dreams
and ****** our children
Music Selection
Tom Jones
Green Green Grass of Home
Oakland
3/1/12
jbm
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC