"jazeera" poems
For years it’s been in my head,
your ****** face, life misplaced,
in a countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Élodie, God’s children wed
in al-Quds. Is He dead, has He fled, been replaced?
For years it’s been in my head.
BBC, ABC, al Jazeera, Haaretz…
no story the same, not one has depicted
a countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Throat constricted, mind conflicted, eyes red
from the pounding bullets our ancestors’ war has inflicted:
for years it’s been in my head.
You were only four, too young to understand a soldier’s hatred.
I dropped the remote as the casualties were listed,
recited in a countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
It’s 2pm, Élodie. I’m drinking. Two years ago this day you were dead.
Eyes wide for the cameras. For God, arms outstretched.
For years it’s been in my head
in a countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 6:55 AM UTC
I am the
Voluntary insomniac.
I suffer from no such misfortune.
Midnight to 3 is a blessing,
At night, I'm reality's surgeon.
Delving head-first into current events,
And philosophies of East and of West;
Jack Kerouac and Jean Paul-Sarte have me sweating;
And I look forward to Alan Watts next.
Lets discover it all!
How exciting it is,
I've been privileged as I am alive.
I read and I write,
Walk dark streets on some nights,
And on others, I lay and watch stars.
I am the
Voluntary insomniac.
On some nights I sit and sip tea,
Read Al-Jazeera's new headlines,
And depart upon intellects sea.
In the depth of the night
I become everything;
Every person, every move, every sound.
Every taste, every touch, every feeling, every thought,
I am the stars, the ocean, the ground.
In the present I become the future and past
And explore the great misunderstood;
Everything becomes clear as my boat starts to steer,
And my feet waver from where they once stood.
And on every sweet night, it doesn't matter how far
My ship crossed infinity's sea,
I am lost on open water forever;
I adventure eternally.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC