"comprehends" poems
the angel amongst us
~for Alexander, master splasher~
*flexibility is important when poetry writing in a warm tub and a long day ahead is scheduled; so willingly accept the autocorrect
for I am both an experienced poet and bath soaker and
believer in wondrous mystery and unexpected fumbles
that lead to to miracle touchdowns
~•~
the two mathematicians examine the angle, measure the degree of difference at intersection and bless it with an identity,
calling it by its name,
perhaps obtuse, perhaps right, perhaps both
two sets of eyes examine the angle,
study its ****** expression
the old man says:
see the angle on the clock formed by the big handle on the twelve and the little hand on the eight?
this is angle of eight o’clock:
time to stop the splashing and start the get-readying
for we have miles to go before the ocean can say hello!
little angel says angle no go
and slashes the water with both
hands to establish the firmness of his views
and change Einstein’s time from present to future
the angle depends on the perspective of the viewer
the old poet comprehends leaving a warm tub is a regretful thing
but he measures the degree of difference at this
intersection
of time and bath and blesses it with an identity
“time to go”
the angle of my angel is now 2 pointed arms, pointed straight up,
at the twelve o'clock,
as he stands up in fevered protest,
my arms sweep his little legs to
a point at eight o’clock,
angel, commenting on his swift flight
disputes the grandfathers physics
"no go now,
now go later^"
though the angle is unchanged
the perspective of time and space
(and traffic),
yet differs
one sees an angle,
the angel sees time
eternally folding in on itself*
that is the angle amongst us
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
Living is a cross
That any one of the rock-faces
Comprehends.
We are drawn
To many seas.
We drown wholesomely
In the failures of confrontation.
The rain
Drenching
Our doorsteps
Has nothing to do
With the simplest desires
And lacerations
We bring
To the smallest acts
Of living.
The child
On the broken catwalk
Hearing the sounds of our hunger
Without understanding
Throws echoes back
To the earliest abandonments
Of love.
Minor devastations preceding
Horror
Resonate the ineffable.
The mothers that wake
At the slightest sound
And the fathers that
Smoke all night
And the rest of us who are
Vigilantes from the demons
Of oppressed sleep
Find at dawn the clearest
Images of bewilderment.
Even the best things
Collapse beneath the weight
Of ignorance.
Living is a fire
That any one of the wave-lashes
Comprehends.
_________
Source:
http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml
16.3k
Simplicity is so simple that
our mind are not well informed
in it's simple formation.
Simplicity is the ultimate
form of sophistication.
In it there are complexities
and it's quite interwoven.
Beautiful in its form.
It shows us the beauty of
creation telling its own stories
with peculiar history.
Nature is so deep and
captivatingly beautiful.
Intriguing in its own way
and profoundly awesome.
It's amazing how much of
it we really know.
Its so confounding how
many people really comprehends
the principle back of it.
In simplicity nature speaks.
Spirals of things visible are
so complex that it's configuration
and formulas are of simple nature,
only to be deciphered by a simple mind.
The mind of man is sophisticated
and complex but simple.
It's rhythm pulsates within the
intricate formation of the spirit behind it
making it one of the most simple
but not so understood things of nature.
Like a jigsaw puzzle it's sophisticated
complexity is made simple by a sound mind.
The mind has to be disciplined
to decode it's hidden ciphers.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 6:14 AM UTC
I keep myself awake at night...
Because if I fall asleep
there is no doubt
that I will dream of you.
I am utterly afraid
to fall for you.
Yet what my mind and body do not understand,
but my soul alone comprehends,
is that I have already done so.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
Shadow of life
Always has your back.
Loves your reflection of character in the sun.
It accepts your flaws and splendors.
It wishes it can remember your actions.
It can't cause it has no brain.
Only you can remember what you've done.
It's underneath your control
It feels lonely without some light in your life.
It knows a new day will be around.
It's seen in every direction like a Queen.
It's on a chessboard wondering where you want to go.
It wishes it can touch you.
It wishes it can make you king.
It wishes it can help you with your ambitions
It can't cause it knows it takes time.
It understands confidence.
I loves to walk with you.
It loves to run with you.
It follows you when your in love.
It wishes it can wipe your tears
It can't, but it acknowledges your pain.
It loves to be hugged.
It loves when you hug your soulmate.
It questions if he, or she is the right one.
It loves when you drink coffee.
It wants to feel energized and alive.
It watches when you drink alcohol.
It dislikes you when you pass out.
It loves when you stay hydrated.
It knows, i't wont help it's shadowy skin.
It wishes it can take care of you when you're sick.
It can't but it knows you are the doctor at heart.
It knows when you become young and old.
It knows, it will vanish when you're dead.
It wishes to see you in heaven someday.
It wishes it can hug you when your in solitude.
It can't comfort you, but knows you need someone.
It Comprehends your exertion.
It wishes it can move again, cause it's your friend.
It wishes it can talk, and meet your new friends and shadows.
It can't but it's comfortable with who you have in your life.
It wishes you can give it a name.
It knows you can keep the same same, or change it.
It misses you when you are sleeping.
It wishes it can get rid of the monster under the bed.
It can't get rid of the monster, but it knows you grow.
It wishes it can fight for you.
It can't fight your battles, but it will cheer for you.
It wishes it can take care of you.
When you can't take care of yourself.
It doesn't want you to be afraid.
Cause then you are afraid of yourself.
It loves you for who you are, so don't run.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC
Learning never ends
No matter how deep we dive
No one comprehends
A mystical path, everything's alive
No ordinary tends
Before has not abjured the hive
Exists a grave in each bend
Meat from the fat one may rive
Scarcely a trend
At the end, shall he then thrive
Time, no one spends
In the state, one in a million may arrive
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 3:11 PM UTC
I.
So far as our story approaches the end,
Which do you pity the most of us three?—
My friend, or the mistress of my friend
With her wanton eyes, or me?
II.
My friend was already too good to lose,
And seemed in the way of improvement yet,
When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose
And over him drew her net.
III.
When I saw him tangled in her toils,
A shame, said I, if she adds just him
To her nine-and-ninety other spoils,
The hundredth for a whim!
IV.
And before my friend be wholly hers,
How easy to prove to him, I said,
An eagle’s the game her pride prefers,
Though she snaps at a wren instead!
V.
So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take,
My hand sought hers as in earnest need,
And round she turned for my noble sake,
And gave me herself indeed.
VI.
The eagle am I, with my fame in the world,
The wren is he, with his maiden face.
—You look away and your lip is curled?
Patience, a moment’s space!
VII.
For see, my friend goes shaling and white;
He eyes me as the basilisk:
I have turned, it appears, his day to night,
Eclipsing his sun’s disk.
VIII.
And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief:
“Though I love her—that, he comprehends—
“One should master one’s passions, (love, in chief)
“And be loyal to one’s friends!”
IX.
And she,—she lies in my hand as tame
As a pear late basking over a wall;
Just a touch to try and off it came;
’Tis mine,—can I let it fall?
X.
With no mind to eat it, that’s the worst!
Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist?
’Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies’ thirst
When I gave its stalk a twist.
XI.
And I,—what I seem to my friend, you see:
What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess:
What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?
No hero, I confess.
XII.
’Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
And matter enough to save one’s own:
Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals
He played with for bits of stone!
XIII.
One likes to show the truth for the truth;
That the woman was light is very true:
But suppose she says,—Never mind that youth!
What wrong have I done to you?
XIV.
Well, any how, here the story stays,
So far at least as I understand;
And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays,
Here’s a subject made to your hand!
2.1k
The understanding of the stewardship of time calls attention to the accountability of time.
The knowledge of time management promotes the accomplishment of God's purpose for man.
The understanding of the time enhances the fulfillment of life ambitions on earth.
Learn to number the days while applying the heart unto knowledge;
knowing any time wasted cannot be regained.
Redeeming the time demands the knowledge of time management,
acknowledging the fact that the time is short.
Understanding the time curbs procastination in every area of life;
knowing that procastination is the killer of destinies.
Be accountable for the time spent with the understanding we cannot turn back the hands of time.
Be conscious of the time spent with the knowledge that time is man's greatest treasure.
Beware of the time spent with the knowledge that time waits for no man.
Let us seek to understand the time while applying the heart unto knowledge.
Let us strive to redeem the time knowing the days are evil.
Let us struggle to fulfil the time while our mission on earth lasts.
Who then can understand the time,
knowing every minute counts.
Who then can redeem the time,
knowing the days are evil.
Who then can fulfil the time,
knowing we are governed by time.
He that acknowledges the time can understand the time.
He that understands the seasons can redeem the time.
He that comprehends the mystery of time can fulfil the time.
Let him that seek to understand the time,
seek the counsel of counsellors.
Let him that seek to redeem the time,
strive to understand God's purpose for man.
Let him that seek to acknowledge the time,
Struggle to heed the principles of time.
What then is the reward for understanding the time?
What then is the reward for redeeming the time?
What then is the reward for fulfilling the time?
He that understands the time will accomplish God's purpose for man.
He that redeems the time will make a difference in his world.
He that acknowledges the time will achieve life ambitions on earth.
Hope you find time out of every time,
knowing we all seek to redeem the time.
Time is a Treasure not a Leisure.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
met my maker
*not for the first time,
two acquaintances periodical,
two boon craftsmen, artisansals,
bs-gab-talking about who is surely
the better poet, glinting, side-splitting,
raucous laughter in our dueling self-mockery*
*neither takes the other too serious,
but of each other, we take endless,
never satisfied, insufficient, each needier
for the rapper inside and repartee, adoring
our jiving unique camaraderie, all-the-while,
knowing our balance unequal, but not caring*
*for as equals we meet, to revel and reflect,
revealing things of each other that only we
know, meant not for sharing ever, for these
webbed strands binding, at same time, release,
permitting a tough honesty tally, truth not a concept,
unnecessary, for how could we ever hide our love mutuel*
*we sitting bestride and beside, in ye old, weather-beat-down
chairs Adirondack, having come hewn from trees centuries old,
now overlooking the Bay, we eyeing a solitary fisherman whom,
we both knowingly aware, metaphor for that day that will come
to collect me away to a new locale, where we will yet still needle
each other, with mercy unforgiving, not for our misdeeds, for never*
is forgivenessasked for or given, not taboo, but
holy unnecessary for such is the way the between the
designer and the artifact, the poet and the poem, the craft
and the object, gardener and her fruits, a cellular understanding
that comprehends the interlocking necessity of our natures, that our
shared endings, are a duelity, both finale and gateway to our next poem!
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/462537/how-i-observed-the-day-of-atonement/
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 7:46 AM UTC
Stuck inside my head
This is where I fled
I can't find my way out
The bars are much to stout
I scream and shout
I fling about
Searching throughout
There just is no rout
I'm stuck inside my head
So much is left unsaid
I've lost so many friends
In here there is no wins
Going round the bend
No one comprehends
Thoughts just condemn
Slowly sink and descend
I'm stuck inside my head
This is from where I bled
The bars were just to stout
I couldn't find my way out
©Pauline Morris
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
i would compromise
--i compromise. i appear to i mean,
with peace-demeanor customized for show
paraded there and there, obeisant nonsense
in a confidence of meek to render compliments
crowding infancies of all
for the sake of art
i bend my frame about cliche
to have a human dragon claim
"the real persists unknown"
and gather at a sacred dolmen
fascinating morals sung beneath the stars and sun--
you said there was a butterfly
tasting at my skull, shaking with uncommon music too..
its skinny, immigrant feet abuzz
within the world they called a One, wings on pause, my eyebrows in flight.
a blanket iris cries warmth
in clusters hung ripe, filming over all
a native ceremonial, falsepolitik
i pluck at them atop a fence
obscure for comforts masking truth
discarded, found, fashioned
into furniture for candled houses
built with children's sons
where families try to see
a clearing in the warping
mirrors saddled with a dripping time no illustration comprehends
. wooden beams help it rise and dim,
the sunny lie, genuinely fake,
authentic trick of aeons hidden in the true
-- growing young, stemming back
to foil brighter undiscoveries for otherwisely
patient basements full of heirlooms,
sheik dining areas all
nodding over cheap wine we still manage to squint up at nothing at
in apple layers
symbolizing tidy crimes invented ceaselessly,
serving existential voids--
grace, fall, stumble catch
acquired tones of oak or berry--
other fruits would do, or none,
as i still feel
praised by your rejections --
when indifference gains a sweetness
like a novel vengeance won
i am indulging villainy
workshopping staling norms,
garden dark as cultivated loam.
where i am words
mooding intellect to torment,
faun complexity awry
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
I wish that I could tell you that life gets easier
that its not so bad around the bend
a soft whispered lie
to help you with your struggles
a half felt truth to mend the cracks
a hand to hold out there in the dark
a voice of reason that comprehends
a mirror to hold that reflects
the beauty of what you need most
a love to comfort the sea of tears
you're drowning in
and I would be whatever you wanted
and sink down to your bottom
and be the air to fill your lungs
and be the thread and needle
to stich back all the pieces
you've lost and broken
and flow and pulse within your blood
and be the love that makes
all this misery worth living through
and be the silent truth
waiting around the corner
that's not so bad
and the wish that turns to the reason
of why life gets easier
but I'm afraid that the words from my lips
would only be an illusion
of gun smoke from deaths revolver
as it is death that makes liers
of us all in the end
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 5:17 AM UTC
The things Ive seen have brought about the things I aspire to be. Yes she inspires me to be all I can be. Tho, my actions are unpleasant today. I hope she understands tomorrow. I hope she comprehends my actions and statements like the lady that's long left this nation. She knew me better than me now no one can see this pain that afflicts me. The voices that drive my mental, insanity, is the answer to the question they haven't asked. Long ago in past I meditated on my sanity in hopes the facued of being normal would last. Self medication takes place when the ice hits the glass and the taste of ***** and codiene numbs me face. Tho now when I see her face feelings of love take place. I love this girl tho it hurts me. I see the anguish in her face sadly I have placed it deep inside of her heart. Though one day like alchemy I'll make love from the pain. I wish to extend my days with her, because I can't explain the extent of my happiness when I'm with her. Tho she's yet to truly know me the different personalities within me. The dreadful things I've seen, the caged beast that lives in my words, the worries of life, the twist and turns of my brain, the differences in each name. Mentally my brain is split in three, tho, physically there's only me. So she cannot see; that the poet brings peace to me, Jay is a few pieces of me the good the bad and the ugly that's what most people see, Jaykhuan is at the root of me the grimey, the dreams of people shooting at me, worse than the ***** I'm expected to be, and still smarter than the ****** trying to flex on me. So you see Jpoetry mends these words of pain sewing them on a string to stitch beauty in my brain. Jay always escapes but I hate for Jaykhuan to get out his cage. The criminal who hides the pain. Tho at night she soothes me happily. I've finally found what happiness can be her life and family bring happiness to me. So motions of devotion grow strong in my heart, but my heart hurts because I've caused pain to her. Tho willingly I'll endure to ensure that our lives will be drawn out successfully. I'll endure her pain the silent tears in her name, and hope the grand scheme of things won't turn her away. The drugs in my vains take away my pain, but can't numb the disappointment in her face. So I hope, pray, and believe that she'll learn me so she can see, can understand the actions that overtake me are not just for me but for us. It breaks me when her anger makes her cuss. Tho for us I'll remain tough so down the line this love will bring love to both of us
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
Dearly Beloved,
I will never know the reason why I wrote this letter to you.
Perhaps, an obsession? infatuation? out of spite? out of loneliness? or Love?
Some questions are best left to be unanswered.
With a humbling regret, once more, i have to knocked upon your door and disturb your solitude with these words and Truly, i am sorry. Yet, i have to tell you about everything.
You have become a reign deep within my heart and conquers it. From my inner works of reality to my fantasy. From my waking hours into deep within slumber, only you whom remains.
The thought of you is a forever in my present. Some days, it is faint and small, yet, it illuminates this mind of mine and fills with an ecstasy could never comprehends. Some nights, it is unbearable, echoes of your fleeting words howls through the void in which you have left me in- haunting me towards the endless nights.
From the moment that we met, Dearly Beloved, in a -glance, you put my mind into a trance and within that moment i am reduced to a thing that only wants you in my life.
In those days, i had grow sick and weary and know nothing upon being touched by Love. I’ve put it all inside my lips, and how long have this tongue tried to let you know. I failed and upon being a coward, i fade and recluse myself into the midst of isolation. And so it goes. In despair, this heart still beats to you and forever it aches towards the longing of you.
Dearly Beloved, as days turns in to weeks and as weeks turns into months and as months turns into years, deep i was in denial of loving you. And so it goes.
Revelation came of what have i become, A Fool.
Yet, i was too late, you are there and i’m still right here. And so it goes, the distance grew. Here, in my silence, i was drenched in my own tears,
Yet, from this suffering stems an understanding which Reason and Love keeps little company in this realm. And if the cold, cruel reality offered me to choose between the two, Dearly Beloved, i will always choose the path which leads to you, every time.
Now, feast your eyes upon the fool who can writes.
Every ink writes the words, the sentences and the stories in which in every language - solemnly belong to you and this fool will write until the day come in which you consider me worthy to be envelop in Such Beauty. For i have been struck with the cure known as Love and if you ask the reason why. There is no why and The Fool have no answer to tell.
It is simply is
It simply Love,
It is simply human.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
Cut, cut, cut.
This is true.
There is no other
Way through—
Feel my head.
It is heavier than God’s,
An Iberian sculpture
Jam-packed with *****
Misery blackens it.
Sweet Lady,
I want a Picasso smile.
No one comprehends!
I am all alone,
A Buddhist bud
Rising, falling, rising
Choking on its
Indelible, sick scents.
Those silver hooks
Cast nastiness,
Smirking
“We got her again”.
O heart,
You fill me with irony:
I cannot adore someone
Unless they adore me.
You never do me good.
I’d throw you out
If I could,
Sitting around
Bored as a Leopard,
Syncopating Satan :
You amuse me to death.
Pretty boy,
Dumb girl,
Beaten mother,
Hateful Father,
Make me numb.
My skin is a sky
Of Samurais.
That is that, that is that.
**** me.
I won’t come back.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
He doesn’t know me
Neither do I, him
There is a lake between us
It is full of fish
Those fish are not his.
Neither are they mine.
The connection between us
Is that those fish do not
Belong to us
The fallen sky is still in the pond
I can see the fish diving through
The cloudy hillsides
There is no doubt that it is the fish
That stir the clouds however slightly be it
Are there fish that are undaunted by birds?
If you wish, peer into the sky in the pond
I kept wondering whether he was witnessing all this
Also, whether he comprehends my reflections
I couldn’t envisage what he saw in the pond
Neither did I have the time for it.
O, let him think whatsoever
He has a cigarette in his hand
That I too have a cigarette
Is another bond which we share
I feel that the fumes from my cigarette
And the clouds are friends
Isn’t that the reason I get vexed
About the clouds in the lake, floating, dead
His is not like that
One can see it in his face
He has no cares
He must be smoking to **** boredom
He is darker than I am
That too is a bond
But he doesn’t know
That I am actually fair
And that I am only pretending to be dark
Perhaps he was fair too once
Would he have got dark when his mother left him, forgotten?
I don’t think so; No, he is dark
The pond belonging to the clouds
The sky fell into
My smoke fumes that roam in the company
Of clouds
Me, who is not dark..
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
The Red Herring travels a divergent path,
alone in presence,
master of mind.
The Red Herring comprehends what he hath,
bearing little thought,
to the wake behind.
The Herring passes content with isolation,
alone in essence,
possessor of mind.
The Herring cares not but for his destination,
bearing some thought,
to the wake behind.
A herring finds his final place,
alone in absence,
chaser of mind.
A herring now knows his destination was never a space,
bearing absolute thought,
to the wake behind.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
SHAKESPEARE'S MIND AND ART *
In the memorable words of Ben Jonson,
Shakespeare, the great Bard of Avon,
"Is not of an age,
But for all time."
Endowed with a brilliant mind,
Worldwide knowledge and intuition,
He comprehends the changing trends
And creates enthralling situations.
With his amazing knowledge of man's nature,
Creates admirable, everlasting characters
Like Hamlet, Macbeth, Caesar and King Lear,
Rosalind, Miranda, Shylock and Portia.
Skilful blend of wit, irony and humour,
Youthful merriment, song and dance
As well as poignant scenes of sorrow and remorse.
Dialogues lively, powerful and spontaneous
Enrich all his comic and tragic scenes.
In his inimitable way, he describes -
How "..the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven
And as imagination bodiesforth
The forms of things unknown,
The poet's pen turns to shape
And gives to airy nothing,
A local habitation and a name."
The world cherishes his poems and plays -
A perennial source of delight and solace.
******** M. G.Narasimha Murthy
Hyderabad, India.
(Copyright: MGN)
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
I realized today the world isn't as perfect as I thought.
Well, I always knew, but I never had proof.
Or a realization.
And until now everything was covered in a veil.
But as I realize this, and become less naive things become harder to accept.
I understand myself more often, but what is that worth when all I see anywhere is the ugliness of the world and its people.
I'm too young to have known that life is meaningless..but all the same meaningful.
But how do I tell the ones that I love that I don't feel the need to be here anymore?
That I do not want to be here..?
How do I tell people that I believe we have no other purpose but to be here?
And by being here we are only destroying things.
I am puzzled at this, and I wish to not have this mind.
I wish to not have this body.
Please give it to someone who wants to live.
I have this privilege of a physical body, and a mind that comprehends adequately but I do not want it.
I'm tired of knowing and seeing.
Bring me back to an age where nothing hurt and nothing was thought.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 2:38 PM UTC
People Assume iTs Addiction.
The Reason To My insane thoughts
And Actions, is because of
The Substance.
Saying iM Confused, Slurred out
Living unrealistic
Out of it.
Making Stupid Decisions
Saying They Can Help Fix Them
Oh Really? Well Your Wrong.
My Love For Dope is
Too strong and realistic.
Also Has The key To my Death Wish
Provides Me With
Everything iEver Wanted
Just iN 1Line 1hit.
iWill Continue Using This Drug till
IDrop Dead.
Dont Argue With Me Saying
"Thats What All Addicts Say"
Ican Stop but idont want to
iDont Fein For Tweak. Like iHave
Said A million times
And still noone comprehends
This is The Reason
Im Still living.
Found A Reason to love myself
Makes me happy
Without iT? Im rowdy Yes, its affecting My
Image, brain and body.
Dose iT Look like iGive A ****
iTs Killing me slowly
Thats the point
Idont want to live. So i chose a slow
Death.
People around me **** up
My high
Gets me upset cause i just wasted
A hit
That puts me in rage.
Point iS iWont Stop , nomatter what
You say.
Or type of treatment you think
Is best and have hope it changes me
me to not
Smoke dope. Nope! My mind is set
Dont you get it yet?
Never will iregret iCould careless
About my family relatives &
Friends.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
She ascends the plane. The plane might ascend.
She immediately comprehends
How on earth will she stifle her cries
''You won't be on earth'' her head replies.
The metal box purrs and roars to life
She doesn't have time to say her goodbyes.
...Tempestuous earthquakes in the sky
Preposterous thoughts infect the mind
Of falling, falling through the clouds...
Fear take hold and pulls her down...
Faster, faster into the ground...
Awakes. Inhales. A bawling baby fails
To lift her dropping spirits. Exhales.
Relief. No mask required to breath.
The hell that dwelt inside her mind
Was deeper than what's beneath.
Complimentary napkins to the head
On board cardboard digested
Fear is weaker but it clings
Like a constrictor on the wing
'Snakes on a plane' she thinks
A smile that's almost willing
Surfaces, but the plane shakes it away.
Smiles are reserved for better days
For now she's bolted to the chair
She returns to the nightmares...
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
The sun fell swallowing the garish light of day,
As the creatures of night came out to play
They were of all sorts, all shapes, all sizes,
But to one accustomed to their dance, there were no surprises.
But young Thomas did ignore these nightly friends
And drifted to sleep shunning the beauty which no one comprehends.
The skeletal folks, with wide eyes and graceful tendril
Did love the small boy, and sent him many dreams oh so tender
This night was strange, something amiss,
And a vile silent creature did slide out from the shadows
For young Thomas was placed in bed without his mother’s kiss.
The poor dream senders shrieked not knowing what to do,
They broke their oath to keep hidden and entered the room
They called forth to their dancing friends outside
All entered to guard the young one in stride
The silent creeper, was of a darker world
In his eye crept shadows, in his tears only blood,
He remained unseen to the human eye.
Muffling Thomas’s screams and cries
His bony arms stealing all the boy’s sweet thoughts
Tying innocent minds into painful knots.
With little success the boy’s twilight defenders,
Did claw and pull at the monsters limbs, attempting forced surrender
But to no avail, in a final attempt, a haggard frightened being, cradled,
And he left into the night as that was all he was able
The others ran after, as the monsters’ fiends leapt up from hell
The night creatures fought and in vain they did yell
For they were outmatched but joys must prevail!
Thomas’s family must not face the fate of dreams gone stale
The frail creature whisked Thomas away to a beauteous place, fairy dust
He worked away the dusk, to be rid of this distrust
But this night could not end, for the hellish beast
Took away a bit of Thomas’s light, just the smallest piece
Thomas, poor lad, brought something dark
That lives on in him, rooted in his soul,
Best love your children, show them, and mark,
Before creatures of hell, not night, do take him whole.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
Little mouse shakes erratically;
spasms and quakes under the butcher's knife;
comprehends, for a moment, finality;
becomes nauseated with fear.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 1:59 AM UTC
“*I suppose I will never lead the ordered life my father led.
And I’ll never live in the kind of house he lived in, with its rituals,
its dignity, the smell of polish.*”
Leonard Cohen
<>
the orderly of an individual life,
guided by the guardrails of family life,
superimposed upon it by a calendar of religion,
that layers into you with a cyclicality of communal ritual,
that rules, guides, tides and hides you subliminally, the individual,
in ways that forever alters how one comprehends the meaning of
belonging
the oven~heated, banging smells of the kitchen,
the hubbub, frantic sounds of a Sabbath eve prepping,
vacuuming house cleansing, far more than just a cleaning,
the young boys in their jackets, white shirts, for Friday night
candle lighting, the girls in Sabbath frocks, assisting Mother,
but by
Saturday morning sermon time
those boy’s shirts
were always untucked, sweaty and always less white,
from running around outside synagogue from playing Ringolevio,
for which you were justly critiqued by a mother’s glare-stare
this play-within-a-play poem,
played out in homes nearby,
for community was very defined by geography,
and the candles of Sabbath oft visible in every home as
Fathers & sons returned home from Friday Night services
where the Sabbath’s peace was welcomed like
a new bride.
but the knowledge that this scenario was occurring in
homes around the world in almost identical custom,
lent a larger perspective to even the youngest, of a
belonging
As for me, I passed on that life,
not as well as it was given to me,
but as best I could, or honestly, desired,
but because I the individual inherited these
ways, words, knowledge and sensations and deemed
failing to transmit would be a grievous denial of a heritage
were I to not gift them this order,
the dignity of these rituals,
the pungent smell of a polished home,
a life of intuiting
belonging,
be longing.
Feb 18, 2024
Feb 18, 2024 at 10:09 AM UTC