"adjournment" poems
Bored meeting again,
And we’ve assembled ourselves,
Well situated, to see the clock,
Later arrivals take the leftover chairs
And the words begin to drone.
Pencils getting pushed,
While we’re thinking, how’d we get here;
We left in such a rush,
Our brains are scrambled mush,
When suddenly there’s a silence-
A response is now required;
More murmuring and muttering,
Chair legs being squawked,
Drawings on white boards,
Handouts passed about:
We wish that we just had the guts
To get up; walk right out.
Our lives are lived in neutral,
While clocks hammer out our days;
We owe our every bit of food
To something someone says.
This meeting feels interminable,
In so many different ways,
And just when we’re most sure, we’ll die-
Adjournment comes; the end.
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 4:23 PM UTC
~
she paints in
well-articulated strokes,
in shades that boldly
show the seeker,
she brushes
in the open
window
the painful colors
of the searcher.
somewhere
in between,
she is the
doubter and believer;
on the edge
of learning who
and what she is;
struggling to chart
a course for
who and what
she will become.
she knows at least enough
to know her present
is not enough,
and knows too much to
call an ending
to her painful search.
she is trapped
between
lament and expectation,
between
pain and exaltation.
she is beautiful
but caught on
an ugly razor's edge.
between
the past and the future,
present...
but so distant
on this search
to her existence.
the if's, the why's
behind locked doors,
away from all
the peering eyes,
the adjournment
to her journey,
her acceptance
of acquittance;
her debt discharged,
the charge expunged;
forever free,
her best revenge.
~
*post script.
for she who came to us with broken wing,
who cannot move forward without
her own acquittance of her past.*
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
He came here, and said, in passing,
“The town meeting was adjourned
due to the tower.” The expanding
image of the tower, and the shadow
of the adjournment creped and dovetailed,
until dissolving perceptions at the periphery
changed into what remained of the familiar
and washed away in diminishing September
twilight tributaries of great modern rivers, now
adjured, now forgotten. But, despite adjudication
and adjustment, a question remained, became a
void in the forest, flattened its shadow, biding its time.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
The civil fight for peace, the conquerers for might.
Clashes over vision shall breed eternal night.
The eyes and ears are one, the difference is in sight.
But man the wall you shall in war there is no wrong or right.
Only victors, victims and losers eternal is the night. The morning is adjournment, the day is just respite.
True darkness is as cold as the sun is bright. A telltale sign in natures eye there is no wrong or right.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC