"reestablished" poems
Your words struck me hard- though you never heard.
Now I am no longer your caged bird.
I guess our relationship didn't fare
It soothes me that new girlfriend looks like a pferd.
Keep lowering your standards, bae.
I'll be raising my gpa!
Enjoy being catfished
I've been reestablished.
I guess it was you that needed me,
I'll be reading under this tree.
Why- of all people would you hurt me? A nerd?
Your thoughts must've been blurred.
How will you manage in geometry?
That A is history.
Now go float away on your ****** canoe
Maybe it was me that was too good for you.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
My condition is incongruent with the common presence
Black sheep identity burning eyes and hesitance
I move in a manner like weight attached lumbering
Unsure of myself, with no partner stumbling
Swimming in a glass half full and inattentive
Sloppy script pen tip like bull with red incentive
Reference to constructed concept subjective inference
Marker to my darker being written in this instance
Possessive and persuasive visitor leads me to temptation
Takes unpredictable control of my mental weather station
Precipitates with hate and tears me down with its erosion
Art starts with rain pain soon becomes an ocean
My breathing is done in desperate gasps
A fight for oxygen’s healing
Suddenly I am miles away
Far beyond the ceiling
Moving at the speed of light time slowing to a crawl
Cranium contained tragically between these walls
I wake to similar circumstances not changed to satisfaction
Expect a sedentary death from drone of human interaction
Hungry and reestablished, reminded now of morning
Clear mind and consequence come forth with no forewarning
Death lingers in the white noise that gestures from the mental
I open the gates to raiders as they pilfer sacred temple
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC
They ask me about words
and
I forget that they often
don’t know the same words
that I do.
I forget that sometimes my words
and
their words are mysterious
and
often not as profane
as they might be used to.
Then, I remember
that there are countless words,
concepts,
ideas,
and
beliefs that I am totally,
sometimes shamefully,
unaware of.
(all of these based in vernaculars unfamiliar)
None of us live the same type of life.
None of us
have earned passage
through hardship
any more or less
than anyone else.
Ours are circumstances,
unshared.
Not luck, not fate, not grace,
not inherent anyway.
No different than my last name being Claywell
and
my typing that very same name
into the system of The Department of Corrections;
seeing that name,
the same as mine,
unowned by me,
belonging to faces of men
and
women that I have never
and
likely would not ever meet
in our respective lives.
What does it matter?
It’s a name,
no different
or more or less special than Jones or Smith.
The name is mine and theirs,
as unique to us as we are to one another;
poet
or
prisoner.
Person first, second, and third.
Like a story,
a book,
a treatment plan,
sitting on a shelf or locked inside
a mind until the proper moment
providence or provisional,
authored by the judiciary or just
some guy.
(like me)
We live by words,
are released by words,
are transformed by words,
frightening, fitful, fretful or foreign.
Words give us our humanity,
allow us to encourage or enrage,
engaged so as to establish
a renewal,
reestablished ability to
manifest,
to actualize
the abracadabra
of
our own magic act…
our lives.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2021
Jul 18, 2021
Jul 18, 2021 at 9:22 PM UTC
SANJAN DAY
Misery, humiliation, insults, torture n inhuman behavior, they had to bear.
When they could no longer protect the holy fire; and for it no longer care;
thought they, leave they must, their dearest Motherland, wealth n cattle there.
For living there, undergoing torture was beyond tolerance; poisonous was the air.
Weary, miserable and dead-tired; on the shores of Gujarat, they finally did land.
From Diu-Saurashtra sailed they to Sanjan Bunder, requesting for a helping hand.
To persuade the ruler for shelter; stood they under the scorching hot Sun on sand.
Finally asylum granted was, after many conditions, their weapons they had to disband.
Accepted they were by Bharat (India); and finally settled down at Sanjan
Starting anew, our ancestors rebuilt Iran-shah, away from the Arab “hevaan(s)”
with honesty, integrity, hard-work, reestablished they, their “aan-baan-shaan”
now our pious duty it is, to continue their work with dedication and “imaan”.
Armin Dutia Motashaw.
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 1:00 AM UTC
As I stare up at the sky I have the memories we made flood to mind,
The good, the bad, the ugly and all of the kind.
Sometimes I wonder if you think of them too,
Though, that is probably just me being a fool.
The times we had together were some of the best in my life,
Too bad you had to take them all under the knife.
You sliced, you diced until there was nothing left.
All of it seemed as if it was an act of theft.
You ran and hid in a far away place,
To a place where you thought you would be safe.
And I honestly wish I could say this next to your face,
You are nothing but a waif.
I treasure all the memories I still have even though the may bring me pain,
Nothing will stop my attempts in my campaign.
You can run and hide all you want,
But nothing can escape this taunt.
I hope that you can see your foolishness and selfishness,
And see that the whole thing is just a giant mess.
That you'll come out of the darkness that you think is your shield,
And be left in a place where you can finally be healed.
The memories I have left I will always hold and cherish.
And I hope that what we once had can be reestablished.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 2:21 AM UTC
all the city’s a womb, a constant buzz,
a dim blue night that a river bisects.
you huddle
around the window
and gaze
at the faint traces of the sun
left in the sky’s retina.
midnight is just a suggestion
that lingers in the back
of your filament brain. the
wordless candle, its aura. ask
the dawn for a kiss.
the bed
is your doom. the night’s black
mist bleeds.
when the sun has regained some
confidence, its reach on the land
reestablished, its lucid eye alert,
you hide from its gaze. you cower
from the great daisy in the recesses
of inverted sleep; 6 in the morning
to 3 in the afternoon. rising out
of your slumber is like
challenging a rip tide,
only to find
the shore exposes
your naked body.
Jan 26, 2020
Jan 26, 2020 at 5:34 PM UTC