Poets, like
madmen and prophets,
are banned from
the Kingdom of Reason,
as they are
the progeny of the sun
(the sun who illumines as he blinds)
and the siblings
of the rays
who never tire
of beating
the world into
magnificent new shapes
that fascinate us
all – including
Unwavering Moon whose
lonesome secret is to be
madly in love
with the rainbow.

© LazharBouazzi, May 26, 216

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Chilly wind kept blowing
steel poles  of the swing
felt colder to  the  touch.
earlier,
chained seats  moved  high up
voices shrieking crescendo-ed
seats went higher,
wind became harsher
motes of dust hit the eyes,
and were forced to close
:::::
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speed lessened, then came to a halt,
the shrieking....the hands scooping sand
the giggles, the laughter, the cheerful air
all vanished...except the path of shoe prints
rushing away....and marks of tiny fingers
struggling to grasp anything to hold on to,
desperately...even the sandy ground,
but in vain.
:::::
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loud whispers of the wind rock the empty swing
pained, terrified souls.....are hardest to comfort
a cold fear breathes.....invisible eyes, stay alert
trust fled into the air.......phones are yet to ring
minds drown in dreaded scenes
they freeze better sense
:::::
the chilly wind, blows on.
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Sally

Copyright December 27, 2017
rrab

The telephone lines hum even on a clear still day.
When I lie on my back and no wind disturbs the leaves,
I can still hear the call of whispered conversations,
Along the copper wired humdrum messenger .
Margaret is pregnant again....joy or sorrow ?
Johnny Underwood died last night ...drunk or sober?
“Don’t say that on the phone you never know who might be listening”
And Ellie the ever eavesdropping Post mistress indignantly cries,
“How dare you insinuate I’m listening”
The vibrating copper linking souls to an engaged tone.

It was a
suicidal game
of self-destruction,
as I walked slowly
on the white winter ground.

Four or more
sleep deprived nights
because of some
drug a doctor prescribed
that nearly fried
my already fragile mind.

For the first time in my life
I decided to give cigarettes a try.
Cancer be ******
because I had already been
******* condemned.
So, I smoked them.

Pushed to the edge,
I punished myself
with cold indifference
popping the last bits
of this sick prescription.

Earlier,
I asked the doctor
if I could take these
before I went to bed.
I guess he didn’t
listen to a word I said.
Was it his ignorance
or merely negligence
that nearly did me in?

On the fourth night,
I watched my best friend
collapse from his asthma
because he was
running to call the cops
to come and save me.

His efforts made me laugh,
as I indifferently considered
just finding a place to hide
while I waited to wither and die.

The last lantern flickered
reflected in the black water
while raindrops made ripples
and little waves were formed
in the wake of the wooden boat’s
unsteady movements.

No cars or clocks to hear
just the soothing percussion
of light rain falling
on a saltwater world
of an eerily clouded night.

The empty vessel
loses itself in
the same ocean
that claimed
the men who had been
rowing out for some
grand late-night fishing.

Each attachment, whether to things or people, is a form of entrapment which takes us farther and farther away from freedom. To be truly free one must be completly detached. However, without attachments where does one find their purpose?

The streets are fresh
with the withering flesh
of sensuous conversation.
Tiny bits of floating fragments,
plump and succulent,
pass stranger’s ears,
plain to hear
even though I fear
few could ever take them in.
This is the reality in which
I drown just to swim,
a sea of unclear sounds
and half *** observations
made to clutter my notebook.