At the old market place, there is a locksmith
The slipshod ancient road leads to his shop
In the business of repairing locks and making keys
For almost half a century, a dedicated soul
Right from a tender age he picked up the skills
Accompanying his father, to learn the tricks of the trade
Slowly he became adept at repairing the locks
Like a wizard, replicating the keys, for those have lost it
His name spread quite afar, for people sought his help
In times of trouble, as they were locked out of homes and shops
He knew the heart of each and every lock
Reviving at the touch of his dexterous hands
As if he used to command the locks to open at his will
Like a ring master at the circus
Each and every key combination were memorized by him
Recalling them like a mathematical genius
With the permutation and combinations, he found the magic numbers
He wielded the keys like the archer’s precision
Always hitting the bulls-eye
He knew each and every house in the town
For, over the years, everyone had come to him for help
He was the only one who knew the key to open any lock





© Amitav (Radiance)

Thank you,
I don't need anymore than this
just a deadbolt
and a locksmith;

To crack you open without a key.

Thank you,
I don't need anymore than this locksmith;
The bitter sweet symphony of just letting things be,
after letting you out to see the world beneath your feet,
I wanted to be the one to set you free.
Only, that wasn't good enough to me…

Thank you,
I don't need anymore than this
just a deadbolt;
and with a single pull of a kiss,
lock you up inside of me,
so you could never leave me.

Thank you,
I don't need anymore than this
just a deadbolt
and a locksmith.

Love crept up on me
and knocked at my heart
and I tried hard
to open it --
but the key
broke off in the lock
and now
I helplessly watch
as love is swiftly
moving far
                                                       away
from me.

my heart.
feels weighed down.
it has been carved out
the moment I feel safe.

you leave me
with the key I presumed
you would handle with care
the locksmith closed down.

luckily, I had a couple of spares
but, they are hidden away,
I thought I hid them well,
I spared them for safety.

I knew that they could not be copied,
they couldn't be recklessly handed out,
I'd done that too much,
had so much stolen from me overnight.

I don't think my life would bear another break in
I have one left and I've hidden it so well,
I don't even know where it is anymore.
Which I think in the end might be a good thing.

The person who claims that key will naturally know how to obtain it, even if I don't.
Considering they are the only one with the last copy.

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You are not mine
     and never were you meant to be
I have taken
     what does not belong to me
In doing so
     we were robbed at will's decree
Of forever
     replaced it with carnality
Although  it felt
     like everything fit perfectly
I watched my heart
     fight the lie relentlessly
For I have been
     long before our lives did meet
Tied to one
     who set his soul upon his knee
And I must go
     I'm asking you to let me leave
To claim again
     the key to our eternity

Hello, whale,
yes, you there wallowing
and swallowing crustaceans
with all your calliousity
and my insatiable curiosity.

What a laugh that calf
of yours was
when it frolicked up
to us diverse divers
wanting to be survivors
of its childlike impetuosity
and eighteen foot
preposterous, gargantuan monstrosity.

When you rose up underneath us
I thought you were going to eat us.
You scared me, whale,
when you flicked us with your tail -
the one you splinter yachts with
when you act as Davey Jones' locksmith.

Of course, I retired then
from my dive-in on leviathan,
happy to survive
your forty-five
tonne introduction.

Then you glided into gloom
and sang your eerie song
about your alien, baleen life
in vast, mysterious,
deep areas of oceans.

Good luck along the whale's road,
you mighty minstrel, you diva of the deep.
This diver hopes all humans and harpoons
will spare you and you can share
your song again.
God speed, whale.

It's another morning full of emptiness
when six is sick and life is nothingness
it's the same as yesterday as the days before
though today I am not alone
she's beautiful young insane
probably a *****
***** on dope
***** on dope
***** on dope
I don't even know her name
and she doesn't believe that my name Jan
we keep asking each other for our names
none of us hears an answer
we keep asking each other for our names
none of us understands
lying on my bed
watching a white ceiling
I think of helping her
I think of healing
she is sitting there
with her legs crossed
the mute child is slightly swaying
looking nowhere
Karla, Světlanka or a black-haired ghost
her door is closed
she needs someone to open it with
I do not know how
who will call the locksmith
who will call the locksmith
when none of can move
I feel like a *******
and she wants to be soothed
two flies are hanging on a curtain
in a blacked out room
I've been watching them for a long time
they are dead or just don't move
they are dead or just don't move
two flies

Head over heart into some distant fading darkness,
being pulled back into an almost familiar abyss.
You lost me at the outset,
but now I'm finding myself in this.

Your intent is to drown me, I know it.
I've told you far too much.
Placed every key inside your outstretched hands,
and now you're breaking all the locks.

Did I mean to let you in?
Is it too late to bar admission?
Is it even possible to get you out now that you've gotten in without permission?

You're not welcome in this place:
Intruder. Alien. Imposition.
But I'm so glad you're here right now;
please save me from this prison.

got locked out today
came home from the grocery store
and couldn’t get in
wandered around
knocking on a couple of doors
looking for help
no one answered
never realized before
that a house without people in it
can be cold as stone
an older couple down the street
let me in and called a locksmith
such gracious, neighborly neighbors

as I sat waiting on my peeling painted porch
on a cool cloudy day
memories burrowed up like a mole
about how I wandered dreamlessly when young
just wanting to survive
thoughts of future shot down
by relative poverty and low self esteem
perhaps it was just delusion
once thinking that I could be anything
I wanted to be

we memorize the ***** and chains
we place on ourselves
like once tethered elephants
never straying from our post
it took a long time to come into me
it took a long time to come to like myself
it took a long time to come to love myself
but at times I still doubted
feeling the pull of my elephant’s chain
the tug of my tether
while wasting away where I stood

finally got myself together
and made plans
it tickles me to think
how I made God laugh

Social anxiety is a crippling cuff
that restrains you to the solitude of your mattress

Fetal position ready for
the red little monster
whispering inbetween your thoughts
"youre worthless"
          ......
"they hate you"
because your mind has brushed upon
a poison bush
oozing self doubt and fear

& you know you can fight it
but your day has left you weak;
Unwilling to stand up.
Besides, the tissue surrounding your brain isnt a surface you can easily scratch..

Instant relief is not to be expected...
so, bear the irritation we must
till the light decides to bring with it a calm
The sun is an effective locksmith.

In my family.
We never lock the bathroom door.
we are not prudish,
we acknowledge that if we're taking a shower
someone might need to ****.

"If I keel over and die in there I want you to be able to find me
Not have to hire a godamned locksmith.
By the time he shows up
I'll have stunk up the place
Even worse than this ****,
And you'll have a hell of a time washing that out of the carpet"

For some reason, This confuses guests.

I'll never forget the day I was cooking scrambled eggs.
My date opened up the bathroom door.

in all her glory my 62 year old bapbap smiled at her from the toilet
"hey sweety, whatcha need?"

One of them was red and screaming
And it wasn't my Bapbap.

Last week I was taking a shower when I heard the phone go off behind my loud music.

My grandpa busts through the door with phone in Hand.
"Nicholas!"
Yes papa? I respond orderlly.
jumping naked quick out the shower
Assuming he was in pain.
Or needed medical attention.

Tell me what she's sayin'
he holds a phone out to me.
he's mildly frustrated, but healthy.
my wet hand takes on the phone.
She mumbles on the other end underneath my music.
"Huh?" I say.
Fumble for my spotify to turn my music off.
"sorry I couldn't hear you over my music. I'm in the shower."
"oh I'm sorry sir, We're moving dons appointment to this Tuesday. Is that okay?"
"They wanna move your appointment to tuesday. You okay with that?"
"oh jesus, christ. yeah that's okay."
Papa was not in need of any medical attention.
But now that my heart was beating a hundred miles a minute
I thought perhaps
I would soon
So when papa hobbled out,
I left the door unlocked.

The locksmith of my heart
By
Jude Kyrie

When the night is silent.
Deep into its slumber.
A bright moon smiles its bloom
as its doorway to outer space opens.
In the kitchen the dog sleeps.
Children making dreamy noises
In their rooms.
I feel the tips of her fingers
Upon my skin she is a locksmith
of hearts.
I have known her so long.
Familiar with its mechanism.
She uses the tools of her trade her fingertips
deftly and silently.
I can feel the tumblers falling
on the vault lock.
Her lips caress my skin
The combination has been broken again.
And the great door
to the vault of my heart
creeks open.
All my emotions and love
and desire are right there
in front of her.
She looks at the
hidden pirates treasure.
And takes from me
everything that she wants.
And everything
I have to give her.

Things are different and sometimes I wish I remained in the shelter labelled as The Indifferent where soap bubbles were as indestructible as bulletproof glass.
But you have a way of making me roll down my windows long enough to pass me nibblets of living and I wish you never reached your hand in to touch mine.
Safe houses aren't constructed to keep people out but deadbolts are in place to keep me in. I'd never advocate a limb to give me comfort;
your legs aren't strong enough to walk in this shambled home and your arms will burn before they can reach me.
I'm in the middle of flames that do not burn as strong as your eyes and I may not be a locksmith but I could very well create a lock that will keep you out.
I have a lead heart that's as fragile as the granite that define your sketches so don't you try to ring that doorbell because it won't open.
I find comfort in loneliness and solace in pain but you'll never change my mind about spring and how blooming flowers always close up from the world.
Morning Glory eyes that open with light and shut in darkness, you haven't been touched by the poison so let's keep you alive for as long as you are meant to live.
There's a difference between pessimism and realizing that the moon is as good as it gets so while you are safe, I will be as safe as dry wood in a bonfire.
I realize that pain is subjective and that iron walls are as needed as titanium souls but it doesn't stop me from being as frivolous as a dandelion.
Don't look at me like I hold treasures because I'm just a body of ashes and tears that is as significant to the eco system as a star that has burned out eons ago.
Remove me from your thoughts and eradicate every memory that acts as a landslide once I'm gone.
Your soul shines brighter with each passing day that I cease to matter.
And of all the words I've every said or written
remember that the most important is the poem about goodbyes and endless apologies.

I love you,
please forget me
and don't forgive me.

I’ve spent the greater part of the last decade
nuzzled in a driver’s seat,
fixating on the horizon,
while mellow tunes from my iPod
serenade the muscle in my chest
so that my breathing might stay steady enough
to control my impatience
for just enough time to see beyond this highway.

You see,
I’ve been chasing sunsets for as long as I can remember,
but I still recall the tranquility that rushed over me
the first time my feet touched the ocean floor
with the tide’s white noise silencing my cares
and a rainbow-canvas sky mirrored in sparkling waters
blinding my responsibility.
I’ve never been able to find it again,
because every time I greet the skyline,
I fall short.

There is something missing within me,
a piece of myself I never quite found,
even after the chaos of orchestrating my own
death and rebirth.
I know everyone finds the ocean sunset peaceful,
but there is a key in that fiery heaven
that only fits the crevices to my brain,
and no soul could match its sanctity,
so I will keep running to that shoreline
until I find a sky that can fix what the locksmith broke
and the waves that will put my reeling mind to sleep.

I rub my fingers back and fourth,
brush the dust off of the books,
try to wash the stained pots and pans,
swing on a swing,
it creeks as if its in pain,
hopping off,
find a rusty nail,
through it into the sewer,
then it makes a sharp pling,
I try to scrub you off,
you create a deathly smell,
I throw the brush down,
scream, and attempt again,
I find an old chess,
but I can't open it,
the rust binds the lock together,
I get a new key from the locksmith,
its stuck inside the lock,
its completely broken inside,
a pile of rust in the corner,
inside a dump,
I feel like rust,
I just can't come off.

Look into all of your pockets,
And you will see, you have one or two and maybe even three.
What do they go to?
Your house, your car, a lock of some kind maybe?
Each one with its own unique cut and different look
Brink’s, Fargo “Safeguarding your valuables” is there motto.
Putting all of your trust in hopes that they will do what there made for.
So goes the saying, always trust the one you cannot see.
It takes two keys to open your box at the bank in there vault
Just like another type of box I know now.
One key lowers your bed for the perfect fit,
The other seals you in air tight and blocks out all the light.
No locksmith needed, no slim Jim required
These keys are all the same where ever you go.
What is the value of what is inside? I know what hers will be worth,
She should have two lira in hers and they’ll be covering her velvet eyelids,
Because it’s to pay the ferry man to cross over to the other side.    



                                    (CARSr.  4-25-12)

Sometimes as I lie in bed sound asleep
I feel him
He wraps his arms around my plush body
placing his face on the back of my neck
sending a electric jolt down my spine

I gasp in resistance determined not to respond to his plea
I place one foot on top of the other braiding my toes
locking my knees
becoming a crooked abstract painting
Rubbing my hips he outlines the shape of my thighs lifting me
against the hard places of his body  and like
a skilled locksmith he presses fingerprints
unlocking my legs once strong bones
are now silk ribbon for his waist.

A broken lock equals an open mind. An open mind equals a temporary peace of heart. I constantly write in riddles and lines that will never rhyme, that most will probably never read. In my subconscious I relentlessly attempt a Resurrection of civil engagements with an uncivil mind. My internal demeanor never abandons a detail, a key worth remembering and a lock that will always sway to and fro in a shanty boat that is inconsistently worthless and valuable. It will never dock, it will never be entirely worth the stress or the time it would take to tie and secure a ship of that size and quality, or lack thereof. There exists ulterior motives that Miss blonde esteem is seemingly not even aware of, or like her prior, accepts ignorance as a temporary escape until the uncivil mind returns civil. The fact is this. The uncivil mind was never civil, and may as well never be. Locks can be repaired, even when the thief begs for no replacement. What makes the thief the uncivil enemy? Has it ever occurred to any soul, that a thief is only stealing away precious moments that are rightfully his, that circumstances and uncivilized minds have locked away in a pitch black that they cannot call their own night? There surely has been an uncanny instance when the locksmith swiftly turned about to find his prior gazing at him in the golden grooves of the trap. The thieving of one’s own mind, to break a lock enchanted  by the uncivil mind, should be easily empathized and understood. But alas, curly blonde esteem will forever submit under the spell of the uncivil mind, who will only cast a shadow upon itself and its priors. It will be remembered in the scent of cigarettes, where it will also be displaced. It will be avoided in the unrighteousness of a friend’s bed in another family’s house, where a respirator and the oxygen tubes intertwining the threshold no longer exist; neither do the white sheets. There will never again be an absence of music behind the actions committed between the uncivil mind and the civil heart.

(Inspired by the poetry, music, culture and rhythm of black people in the movie "Love Jones". As i play my imaginary guitar, enjoy.....)


I wanna be my own definition of a real woman
it’s in the way my hips sway to the beat
Or the way I smile when something touches my heart
It’s my excited face that I make when something inspires me
The look of adornment in something I love
I wanna be that classy lady at work
That's in full all black suits
strutting around in her heels like a real boss should
I wanna be that woman with ***** hair who isn't afraid of her curls
Who rocks her hair, untamed and wild like the first day she was born
I wanna be that woman who is street and unsophisticated
Who talks her mind as she pleases and holds nothing back
I wanna be that woman to screams when she wants to and doesn't care who listens and who doesn't
Who cares and who does not
I wanna wear skin tight little black dresses
Like they do in all first dates in every single movie
I wanna wear the smallest pair of cut-off jeans
I want to embrace my sexuality and push the limits of what I can and cannot do
I want to do what my soul speaks to me
And listens to that quiet song my heart sings to me when I'm alone
And best of all, I wannz laugh louder that the lion can roar
I want my melody to be felt higher than the giraffe can see
I wanna be on that stage performing the words most of us are scared to admit
I want to be the locksmith that fixes all locks
I wanna be the all in one
The nubian queen and the classic timeless beauty
I want the mountains to echo my statements and the sand dunes to quietly whistle with me
I want the swish-swash of the waves in the sea to bear testament of who I want to become
And I want you all to witness
Attest
and help me achieve
My quest..To be
my own definition
of what a real woman should be.
I wanna be that woman that defines a mother
whether I define it as letting my breast hang so that my child can suckle on it
Or feeding them a bottle
Whether a mother’s love lies solely in breast feeding or in shaping your child’s character
I wanna be that woman who refuses to labour extensively on hot coals in the scorching African sun to prepare a meal for a man who shall never wholly be mine
just because its expected
I wanna be the brave woman who dares tell her in-laws "Nay"
That brave woman who dares to rock up at her first meeting with her to be in-laws in pants
And refuses to wear a skirt on days her blissful soul doesn’t tell her to
Simply because a man who never wears a skirt has defined that as womanly
I want to be that daughter in law
My husband's mother hates because she never does as she is told
My husband’s sisters shall despise me as they shall know
That I don't believe in that stone age tradition that the amount of house work they do shall be reduced upon my arrival
I wanna be that woman, my own uncles hate for not allowing them to take part in my bogadi negotiations
I wanna be that woman who will have no bogadi negotiations
I am that woman who doesn't need a man to whistle at me
Like a man would calling a hound dog
Or a man still living in the rough west would calling  their horse
To know that I am beautiful
I want to be that woman whose character and words will stand the test of time
An oracle of enchanting wisdom in my old age
And a pillar of strength for generations
Which shall come after me
I am going to be that woman who refuses to let her boss take credit for the I did
Especially after spending years sleeping a four hour night working on my college degree
I wanna be that woman, my neighbours wife hates
Because I salsa my way to the dustbin to empty my trash
I wanna be that woman who doesn't need a cameras flash to know their eyes are upon me
Watching me as my move my melodious  *****
In total and absolute bliss at the woman I can be..
So then I want you all to witness
Attest..
And help me achieve
My own definition
Of what a real woman should be.

He is everywhere at once, yet a total mystery
He get's through any lock, yet never has a key
No matter where you go, there is nowhere to hide
He'll be there in the snow, he'll search far and wide

He's the shoulder for your tears
He's the blanket for your fears
He's the voice that no one hears
Yet always there all these years

He is sensitive and caters to all your needs
Where the others fail, he always succeeds
Your every hungry urge now finally feeds
He is the tourniquet for thy heart that bleeds

He is always there for you
In each and every single way
Until you find someone new
And you call him Mr. Yesterday

And now you know who this is truly about
But you may not yet know his very name
Yet you've met him without a single doubt
Because in this game we are all the same

So please, without any further delay
It is and always will be to my dismay

Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Everyman
If a girl is in need, he will be there...if he can

Picking the lock
That you keep around your heart
If I were a locksmith
That would be a start

I don't know the code
I haven't a key
I will keep on trying
For all eternity

I must never stop
Those chains I must break
Not to have you
Is something I can't take

An emotionless prison
That's where I'll be
I must get out
I must be set free

By any means necessary
This job I'll get done
Nothing can stop me
Not even a gun

Sooner or later
Your love I will win
I will be patient
For our life to begin

You shouldn't worry
Don't have a fear
Whenever you need me
I always be there

Coastline yellow dawn,
Overflowing fountain
Untrimmed garden,
Left to Decay
Rot in the sun

Bluebonnet field,
Honey suckle sweet breeze
Left to flourish,
Their petals reach to the sky

Light step, on the untreded
Birdbath with feathers flashing about it
Dawning spring, swallowing following
Enchanted breeze, dew on the leaves

Break the cycle of the illusion
Never ending we march along
One step higher another step closer
At the end, Door Closer locksmith
I have to see beyond this

24 | 31 Poems for August 2016

This is not my life, it’s just a temporary façade, if you listen to my voice you’ll discover that it’s my disguise.
I fully acknowledge the fact that I am not perfect but I’d love to believe that I’m worth it.
The hardest part of saying goodbye is seeing me cry and knowing that I’ll no longer get the chance to see you smile.
I wrote this on a Tuesday morning while listening to Siegfried by Frank Ocean while reading the pages of a Dan Brown novel.
I’d build Rome for you in a day and make you forget about all the negative things that critics always say.
Heartbreak comes in the morning when the sun is shining and the wind is blowing.
My heart breaks as I try to piece this piece together and hopefully find peace by the end of this masterpiece.
I’m tired like the Michelin Man but I still have great drive like a brand new Bentley or Benz.
Some days I’m more Bukowski than Dickens, flipping through the pages of my life as the plot thickens.
They say perception is flawed and distorted, perception is key and I need to find a locksmith.
Contemplating about unexpected goodbyes while living off a temporary high.
A part of me had already anticipated the heartbreak so this time around the effects were less detrimental.
My eyes and mind are blinded by the love that my heart obstinately believes in.
I’m thankful for your love, you gave me something to believe in but the time has come for me to be leaving.
This is not my life, it’s just a temporary façade, if you analyse my poetry you’ll discover that it’s my disguise.

Lock and key
I have such rotten luck
I try the wrong key
And the lock gets jammed

Lock and key
Was the first ever
Sarah Dessen
Book that I read

Lock and key
One acts as a protector
The other one
Plays the part of saviour

Lock and key
I'm not quite sure
Which is you
And which is me

I am a door who has endured
rain, shine, and the hard knocks.
The lock and the key were a couple
who did not get to see each other
when the house owner went to work.
They'd make love to each other whenever
he returned, totally ignoring my presence.
I tried to look indifferent by keeping myself shut,
though sometimes i'd slam myself **** hard.

Today, the owner came back without the key;
he was stranded outside looking worried stiff.
He turned the **** in vain and banged against me.
While i was in pain, the lock was weeping quietly,
anxious about the safety of her beloved missing key.
Without her, the key would be useless and incomplete.
The owner was about to make a call to the locksmith,
but i couldn't gape by the disbelief that she was going
to be assaulted by an alien master key - a serial ******.

Copyright, Ronnie Ng 2011

love of mine
i've missed your shades of white
the soft crisp linen of our mornings
and that ridiculously contagious smile of yours
i've missed your fingertips dancing across my body
as if i am a page of your mile-long poem
that keeps going on
and on

love of mine
i've missed your ******* eyes
your aspirin lips
your vanilla mind
i've missed your cloudy thoughts
of universes expanding
and love everlasting

love of mine
i've kept the butterflies in my stomach
that you still haven't set free
and i've postponed the parade in my head to another day
to stop you from missing a hint of the fireworks
i've never known love could be so blindingly strong
and i should be sorry i didn't find it any sooner

i've missed you
and i apologise that i am no longer with you






the one i loved
i've missed your hues of grey
the edgy city lights at night
and those unbelievably sad eyes of yours
i've missed your fingers that hold on so tightly to the locks of my hair
as if i am a book with yellow pages
whose words keep fading
and fading

the one i loved
i've missed your smoky eyes
your sunset lips
your dusty mind
i've missed your indefinite thoughts
of oblivion nearing
and the eye of your hurricane

the one i loved
i've repainted the charred walls
that you threw your sparks at
and i've called the locksmith
so the creatures of the night will not sneak in
i've never known a beast could reside in my head
and you should be sorry you left him there

i've missed you
and i am sorry for i no longer love you

sometimes i wonder
what you felt as i walked out
the door.

were you hoping i'd come back?
did you doubt our love?
or did it ever cross your mind to run after me?

i won't pretend to have no fault,
i was scared that we were too young to make this love last.

so by the time i had made up my mind,
i guess you had too,
my key no longer opened your door.

{d.f. | 01/23/18}

There was a locksmith in her finger tips. Every one of them showing a different ridge. A ridge of perpetual movement to find the right home. A slipped out the back door without saying goodbye. Ridges lining moments shadows like to hide from. When I hold her hand I don't ask questions. Embracing warmth between summer and the next breathe exiting her chest.

She was made beautiful. Crafted gorgeous. And stood untouchable.

I needed a locksmith. A savior with enough courage to talk back. Someone to open stubborn. She broke me human that night. Cracking my safe full of bad habits and leave out of this.

The lock fell off without a struggle. I was left, naked and afraid. Open and vulnerable.