"opts" poems
DURING THIS VISIT
I am a layman laid up
with a very dodgy ankle
that winced about Paris
for almost a week with
every footaghhhhhhhfall.
Now it's the A&E;
for me.
The electronic noticeboard
flashes up its what nots
faster than I
can scan.
I barely catch CQC
Good( shadow )Rating.
Two wheelchairs
(peopleless)
chat about the this of that
typical wheelchair chit-chat.
A portable X-ray machine
pretends to be a giraffe.
"oooooOOOOK...we are going to get
Geoff the Giraffe to have a look at that!"
The child smiles
through the pain.
The screen peppers me
with possibilities.
Extremely likely?
Neither Likely nor Unlikely?
Etc., etc., etc.
My mind opts for
a simple I Don't Know.
"Breast." says the screen."
"Max Fax & Orthodontics."
"Re-hab shouldn't be boring!"
A questionnaire asks me
to think.
Big mistake.
I start to think.
Pain & Boredom
turns these hospitalised facts
( what ever they mean? )
into a something only
my brain can understand.
"And now, straight in at No.!
with a fantastic new single it's...
...Max Fax & The Orthodontics
with the glorious bouncy
BREAST!"
"MORTALITY by
The Upper Quartile
falls down one place to
No. 2!"
My shadow is feeling
very poorly at this
instant
in time.
Hasn't even bothered
to turn up.
There goes my good
(shadow)rating.
I think I'll switch
to silhouette instead.
I practice my Ogham.
SAT 4 APRIL
says the clock.
It's hands joined
together in prayer.
I switch
off my mind &
float
down
stream.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
you remind me of a dark place-
my mother’s village
far away,
first day of third grade
blonde girl cried through eyes
the color of my country’s basins.
she wasn’t new to this world,
she wasn’t lonely and confused,
tripping through a concrete forest of
false idols and plastic shadows,
just missed her brothers.
a pitiful excuse for survival.
and i
(olive skinned, hair on my legs,
stubborn, reckless,
fire chugging aries,
everything a jagged rock to scale,
all the bodies must be sniffed
before i release my eyebrows)
always hear your muffled whisper,
coating the air like dew
the intimidated glances
hit me blunt in the face.
but holding my tongue is not an option.
your baffled countenances nothing but
fans tickling flames.
you people are connected like iron on a magnet
and god forbid one of you steps out of the line
one of you speaks your sick mind
one of you opts not to shock the man behind the wall
and devours the corpses instead.
i want to cry, i want to throw things at your face,
i’d want to show you my tribe is better than yours,
if i had a tribe to speak for.
i want to walk into a portal and never see
any of you again.
you think your smile conceals your malice
your innocent voice a curtain at intermission,
but the aliens see everything and
when they arrive, they will only take me
back with them.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 1:41 AM UTC
Globally dense, our ailing nation
makes one weep for sheer frustration
thoughts and dreams grow numb.
Tech-addled students scroll on phones,
‘midst scent of android pheromones,
wafting digital dumb.
Pop-culture, narcissist unkind
dispenses with the human mind
which, failing further, falls behind
the grimly global curve.
We read, in writing on the wall
arithmetic’s impending fall
while numbers loiter in the hall
to get what they deserve.
ENQUIRY, tagged as D.O.A,
a sheeted stiff, is wheeled away
her mourners left to grieve.
entitled maiden, full of sass,
LIBERTY begs a bathroom pass
her bladder to relieve.
When zit-faced rebels run the show
the dismal ratings plummet low;
a vulgarized cartoon.
Descending to unfathomed levels,
Ignorance applauds her devils
calling out their tune.
PATRIOTISM, tarred and feathered
headless, claws its cage untethered
foul, unloved, unfree:
Another casualty of time
which fell for want of noble rhyme;
to water FREEDOM’s tree.
CURIOSITY, half asleep,
now stirs and murmurs from the deep
uninterested, untaught.
She grows yet duller in her ways
returning to her ocean daze,
(her schools of fish uncaught).
HISTORY, dormant, lies in dust
a narrative no man can trust
a book no scholar reads.
Events unstudied as designed
wherein the heart of humankind
for want of context, bleeds.
DEMOCRACY degenerates
until God wills and activates
a nation’s drive to learn.
Curricula will be made void;
disheartened teachers unemployed,
their wisdom fit to burn.
You think the past was less obtuse?
Less prone to youthful thought-abuse?
Perhaps… back in the day.
And though it may have been the same.
this poet opts to place the blame
on digital delay.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
The end of the holiday's are near and it's time for me to get back to work. I've been writing and reading and thinking and meditating for years. Preparing the temple, so to speak. My stories are public and private goods and the presentation and profits of these stories must be landed in a good and truthful way ~ I've spent much time and energy on how to do this in a way where I can maintain certain intensities and integrity. Intensity for distillation of truth and integrity for power and resonance.
Stories are just stories but it is the ***** when someone else co-opts your creation and paves over the nuances and complexities of that which you had overtly placed your personal power, thought, and energy into.
You might be reading this and all you are seeing is: ******** ******** ******** ******** All ******** for as far as the eye can see. Fair enough, I've been thinking the same for years but just when I thought I was out, the ******** keeps pulling me back in. As far as I can see though, **** is the distillation of truth and I hope that I can spin this yarn into a web that you will see the ******** structure that holds up the ******** truth and maybe we can try and digest that and compost it and churn through it then grow a mushroom on top of it and then eat the mushroom so we can attempt to find the spiritual truth of what our ******** structure lies upon. This particular idea is not just some floaty meandering abstraction, it is a truth I saw on the land: Longview, Alberta. And this truth was emodied in the ghost I slept in, nearby in Indian Graves Campground that night.
The land speaks if we let it; if we have prepared our temples, maybe the land speaks truth.
You feel me. If you don't then that's ok. It isn't your time and maybe never will be for this iteration of instinct that I am presenting. My rhymes aren't meant to resonate with everyone all the time. I'm not writing pablum or soul food. Feed your own soul in your own way. That's between you and Mr. Potter and the Chairman. Our truths are our truths and they are absolute.
The reason that I know I am prepared to write this story now is because I have done the work. I have found my inner compass and tested it time and again. While in process and flow, the landscaping shifted and my truth's fell away and the absolute revealed itself one star at a time and isn't it ironic how in tune our bards are with the ... wait for it ... enigmatic.
So where am I going to land this access point to the White Buffalo medication? I am not. The medicine already flows and always has, I just woke up and took what was prescribed because a dude in shorts once told me: abide!
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
In the early 21st century this is when time
really started to go backwards and the attack on the constitution laid the foundation for the TeA pArTY,
and other corporate fascists. Too much to the right our
nation starts" GOOSE STEPPING".
And Uncle Sam sat on a very narrow
conservative wall.
And the King of heartless ( Bush ) ordered,
" OFF WITH YOUR HEAD" without just cause to a sandy
world of black-gold.
And all three nations were written up as
the Axis of "Jabberwockey".
And Wonderland's scared caterpillar colored red, orange,and so on, sat upon an imagined poison mushroom cloud.
And Tweedly Dee; Teedly Rummy,
gave quick cheap armor ( of course to fight some of the Jabberwockey) from a quickened "Rummy Dummy",
the slam dunker.
And the MAD HATER of people went
DUCK -YOUR -HEAD oil haunting
And "Cheshire Cat smiles ( Bush again ) was taken
at phony opts.
And we majority of Alices tried
making sense of this new "Wonderland" as Constitutional,
law backers were considered bad-and in mirror reversable-
so too International Law backers.
And good was this unconstitutional
main war-knight (Bush again ) always WORD bumbling,
war stumbling, falling and failing off his Trojan horse.
And still us Alices are in this-now current-perpetual
land of MIRRORED-IMAGE-REVERSAL.
Tune in next time for our great escape
from this forcefully adopted land of horrid wonder.
Maybe if we tapped our shoes three times...Oops wrong tale.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
You are my favorite unfinished song,
the jumble of words stuck inside my mind,
but whose chained melody I could not find
not when every lullaby has gone wrong.
This song of sorrow with nothing but flats
yearns for your voice to serenade my blues.
Let it all be for naught, you have your muse,
whilst I'm stuck in the echoes of our lasts.
Yet like a train of thought circling my mind,
soon you'll wither - an ephemeral phase,
without a hint, without another trace,
opts to leave, with me left bereft behind.
All the music and the lyrics are due,
but not today, not when I can't have you.
(k.p)
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
If gossip be as a hobby,
maybe that noxious scrutiny
oughtta be turned inwards:
the toxicity of talking ****
(however insidious and infectious)
shall taint your humility and soil your words:
Tread carefully;
such paths be steep:
what One opts to sew
One inexorably reaps.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
One who opts for comfort over a challenge is a coward.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
I am a beggar who is bound to praise and request
Who is untiringly, relentlessly opts for his quest
I don't hide myself whatever I am that I manifest
Against my well wishers I just never ever protest
Being beggar of beauty when I ask for the charity
My beloved being blunt never ever show solidarity
Even if there is no one like her in the town or city
But she refuses to be my beloved with more clarity
When I want to see her she becomes seriously blunt
Being full with tricks she remains ever ready for stunt
Since I am claimant of her so I just bear the real brunt
At times being nasty it seems that she is devil's agent
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
Reconnected in thought and mind
Assured happiness that is felt
Though faraway yet so close
New feelings emerge when we chat
Again just we two in this muse
Joyful ever and always free
Young at heart and remain to be
Opt for the best and feel happy
Thinking that we will meet again
Heart that opts will it become true
Is this is what I feel about you
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
I met
A tall Somali girl
Hewed out of a chocolate
With a complexion
I never seen to date
Her milk & iron ball eyes
Having iris brown
With her snow white teeth
And skin
Make a super color blend
A strong message to send.
"I am sure
Such a mesmeric girl
You never beheld!"
With a C curve
She likes to put her arms
On her perfume-bottom hips
Before the parting of
Full blown petal lips.
She swept me off my feet
On first attempt
Her to greet.
"Cute one
Do you know something
You are an angel minus a wing!"
She responded with
A loud laughter
That still in my head
Opts to ring.
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 4:11 AM UTC
One, who makes One's problems
reflections of the External,
opts that One's Reality
shall manifest as One's Hell.
One, who realizes One's problems
root most often in One's Self,
opts that One's Reality
shall manifest as One's Nirvana.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 6:12 AM UTC
She says my heart is beautiful I think it is her reflection
Which makes my beloved to show me that I can't explain
Both love and beauty are in chain to make perfection
This is the grace which makes both of us to bear the pain
Love is constant torture ,full of trials and of tribulations
When one is involved there is no way to come out of rut
But surely it leads one to new horizons,avenues,beacons
Still whosoever opts for is definitely perfect and fortunate
My beloved through all pleasure and torture I maintain
I will go through this novel experience till the last day
Let my sweetheart play hide and seek in the drizzling rain
To come out let us pray to come out as a lightening ray
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
when he opts for the obvious again
this time I think will be the time
I finally pipe up and say what needs saying
that while I hope this fish dinner
satisfies you the taste of the sea creature
on your lips that salt and vinegar mixture
it ought to be me next to you on the sofa
smiling or laughing at some ****** TV repeat
fork skewering the gone soggy chips
tips of our fingers stricken with grease
but worth it because our hands
will be a ruler’s width apart
and so while I wrap your golden gift
slip the fiver into the till
as you puncture a Coke
I concoct my line of choice
something about fish
or how I’ll batter your wife
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 12:19 PM UTC
I find loneliness
To be
Paradoxical
In that
Such a deep hurt
Always opts for the knife
Of its creation
Over the salve
Of its savior
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
Not I, shall claim, to know what is now next
After the summer sun subsides and sets
Below the roads which all scatter from here,
It is not I who knows, not I indeed.
Not long ago, a woman sat atop
A bed without her clothes, counting copecks;
A cotton shawl rested upon a chair,
And her kerchief neatly folded by it.
Her blue eyes hum a gentle song that day,
They swell in agony, as another
Man leaves quietly from her room with speed.
Her heart beats pleadingly, as if to ask
Forgiveness from her God, the supposed
Holy Father, who sees all his children
In equal love and, I should add, disdain.
How her chest heaves in despair over what
Had just transpired, she sobs as if to beg
the Almighty Father to look away,
Although her God could have delivered her
From such a life, He opts to watch instead;
How merciful He is, a God of love!
Outside she knows no respite from her deeds,
Her neighbours look upon her with such scorn
And snicker as she passes by in shame.
A sinner she is baptized as, as though
It had been her own choice to live this life.
In haughtiness, they may proclaim, that God
Gave her a chance to choose the life for her
And it was she who chose to be a *****
Yet how could she desire to live like this?
Her father was a drunk and did not work,
Her mother died when she was but a child,
And her new father’s wife is consumptive
With three children to look after herself,
Not one of them can work, not one but she!
And what shall she do as her family
Cries out to God for generosity?
Shall she go to school as her mother dies?
And if this is the path to go, from where
Will she draw funds? What money does she own?
Should she ignore a child in need of food?
If not, what job, what place, would employ her
With wage to feed a family of five?
In fact, what place shall pay her more than what
She needs if she should live a frugal life?
What choices she has been given, look at
The life she has to choose! To live forever
Upon the cost of others on the street,
As beggars dressed in rags and dirt who will
Without a doubt, perish when winter comes,
Or delve in sin, in order to provide
What seemingly that God cares not to give.
What grand a choice dear Sofya now has!
The gravity of her next decision
Shall now make a martyr of a maiden
Or make now a harlot of a hero.
And thus she sobs, as she is robbed of heart,
Of soul, of hope. Yesterday she had woke
To such the same, and more to come,
If only God, and I do beg thee God,
That she will be delivered from such strife.
For now, for her, today, it seems, that the
Next day shall bring not but the same for her.
However I claim not to know what’s next
After the summer sun subsides and sets.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
It’s unexplainable
The deep rooted seed of love
Oh dear
How will I ever tell you
How I spent days and nights
Kneeded in the dough of love
That magnificent love
Revealed upon me
Bits by bits
And drowned me in its gigantic wave forever.....
Oh the Lover of all lovers
Oh the Lord of all lords
How u created this love
Out of the flesh, that a heart is
And mind a skull contains
How u flourished it so intensely
Insanely,
That whoever opts it
Or gets trapped in it
Looses himself , happily,willingly——-
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 4:56 PM UTC
[Wine]...one glass, tipsy...
with his hand pressing her waist
close to his body, she feels
comfortable, desirable, warm, drunk
with pleasure in his leading arms,
she forgets steps between Latin beats, and,
as he fearlessly caresses her hair,
she wonders how it'd feel to
fully entangle herself in him,
gradually unfolding like a lily,
finally drinking him in.
A delicious, undeniable secret:
like fine wine, he's a decade aged.
[Lemonade]...two glasses, nauseous...
and yet her heart sighs for
the sweet Prince Charming who must have
parted the seas to settle
in her home land, since he
grins and glows when he sees her.
She longs to be his companion,
to debate, and learn, and
Be, and, God willing,
joke, in his company.
[And Everything Else]...three glasses, quenched...
and there are infinities of
unsustainable drinks that tempt and
shine and inspire admiration, like
avant-garde paintings from
an optimistic, sprouting, pop artist,
hung on the walls of her mind,
in the nooks the grapevines missed,
pandemonium in silent moments,
until she grows weary and parched and
opts to sip water instead.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 11:39 PM UTC