"unfired" poems
there will come a day
when father time will grow
jealous of us and
the fireflies will
turn off their glow
when the diamonds
wont seem so precious
and all the joys
of this world will
seem foolish and low
and i will have to
let you go
dear mama
sometimes i make you laugh
just to hear the joys
youve stopped showing
on your face
to breath your
attempts to cough up
your worries and drown
in my love
to watch you unfold
at the ends and
sease to be held in
at your seams
there will come a day
when everything
i have ever said to you
will flutter off like a thousand
butterflies in a storm
and my actions
will weigh heavier
than the 98 pounds
they've made of me
dear mama
i know i wont be able
to hold your stare
for as long youve held
my hand but im hoping
the seconds i've been given
havent already carved
a gourge in your daylight
since you recieved
me in place of a son
instead of building
a doll house of regrets
i vow to keep the
reality of your name true
wont glorify the time
you tried to spill
yourself in the wind
with the barrel of a
police issued gloc
because the shock
of your babies moving away
too much of a trigger
bet i let the ringing
of unfired suicide rounds
bounce off every new york city
sidewalk slab i've chased
in an attempt to
run from myself
when i left you
know that i held
the crotchet needles
you made my baby blanket
with in my chest
had the day
of your second stroke
in my heart
and the only way
i could release them was to
shed my skin under the chin
of a brooklyn boarding house
so dont frown at the anatomy
of a new york city skyline
just know it offered
the shoulders i needed
at that moment
when father time
grew jealous of us
and the fireflies turned
off their glow
i grew a light of my own
dear mama
something happened
between me watching you
relearn how to walk
around the same time
i learned to
double knot my tennis shoes
when everyone assumed
my ignorance was bliss
and let the brilliance
in your bones become
as black as night
without ever noticing
i was afraid of the dark
what have these years
done to us?
to make me bloom
in the bright of day
while baking the stalk
that is you
i cant stand to watch
you wither
wont you shine too
dear mama
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
Take the words
out from my mouth
please chew them well,
don't spit them out
Swallow them
deep into your throat
let them circulate,
let them float
into your mind,
into your heart
with my words
inside you,
we'll never part
and if
the time comes
that you should speak
in sharp punctuation
across my cheek
know that I might,
for a second,
hold my tongue
before it unfurls
and becomes undone
it might lash out
in a burning sting
from the shock of
the lexicon
that fervor brings
but then rage will
melt upon our lips
in satin threads
of fire
that burn their tips
and no temporary storm
will declare our pain
in language sacred,
and then
profane
I'd rather bind
my lips to yours
let the waves rise up
on speech's shores
let the tides of
forgiveness
spill out in phrases
as the moon whispers
bliss in hidden phases
and we'll forget our
periods and commas
and grammatical structures
as polished vernacular
turns to animal lustre
as we slide to the floor
verbal cannons unfired,
unheard
finally at
a loss for
words
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
Where has she gone?
All the others are in line,
Mother bear knows.
Three there,
Two here,
One down,
But she is missing.
An inquiry goes through
Over channels
Fierce and loud
Because one isn’t lining up
And it’s that one.
“Tariq is down, hold on” she says
Fervidly praying, breathing heavy
And there she is.
Anywhere but where she should be.
So easy to find, far too easy.
Swearing, scolding
No time for kindness,
Lost, another child lost
And another may be lost,
The most precious one here.
Scathing scoldings go ignored
Too naive, too proud
A child hoping to **** death
Though she calls that barbaric.
Reformed, remade, reborn
But never killed.
And there’s another,
Another cub but not hers
Carelessly walking on,
Not aware of the foe in his midst.
Of her child, the fool.
But she notices, thank God,
But she freezes up, **** God.
Frozen, still, just as feared.
No gun in hand
Shaking, shivering,
Breathing so hard.
“Don’t hesitate,”
The cry goes through
But this too is ignored.
A gun in hand at last
But unused, unfired
Shakily held with weak grip.
Yet a shot rings out.
Another notch for the rifle
And another cub protected,
The most precious one.
He’s fallen and she’s fallen
Him in death, her in shock,
And again the cry is made
“Don’t hesitate”,
And again it fails.
For she’s truly a cub,
Naive child hoping, praying
Failing.
The mother rushes out
Cursing and pushing away curses
“We need her, Morrison” she says.
“I need her,” she does not.
Out from hiding,
Rushing, running, and, yes,
Praying.
Still so shaken,
Still too still.
She is grabbed,
Pulled, tugged,
Yanked up to her feet
And dragged away,
Hastily hidden.
Harsh words hurriedly spoken
As she is ****** down.
Not in anger but in fear
And tears flow
And the words stop.
Scowling the bear sits,
Fearing even now in the den.
Quiet falls
Deafening, painful.
Jack shut off,
Others mollified,
And she does not speak.
Only watches,
Watching, eyeing on hatefully,
Glaring as Mother carves another.
One more life, one more line
And she doesn’t understand.
Only judges quick and fast,
Ever the idealist.
And that stings more than death’s threat.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
she has been neglected, thrown over a bridge and let down all her life.
made of delicate unfired ceramics, not demands.
she tries every time, kicked herself and choke on her tongue.
everything seem impossible this moment. she breaks down.
she's not used to having somebody, of any unknown presence.
all she used to had was herself but nobody. she can't speak up.
like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
Unopened propane
Unlit match
Unfired gun
There’s always a catch
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC
Some day someone will tell my story. How I went off to war, Not yet a
Man. AMERICIA's freedom is so precious to me. And I fight for it hard as
I can. Fighting from foxholes on land or by sea. To win for my country is
The only real goal. When you grow up in the land of the brave and the Free. Freedom is a part of your soul. My gun lies in the house. Unfired. And medals upon the shelf. Proud to be a vet. Who fought for his beloved
Country. And wouldn't be nobody else
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
the distance from a mouth to a note,
the space the lies between notes in a song
the distance between lips and straws,
the space that can be found in the neuron unfired,
an idle synapse,
an untuned radio.
the sound the bed makes when it's old and you're
too big, overgrown, your lovely new york skyline t-shirt
won't save you from the groans of disowned metal.
the space under a keyboard key before it becomes a letter
and the space between letters and words, indefinite.
an undisclosed location where extraterrestrials are
meant to be is currently beds and lost hopes and bits of paper
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 8:15 PM UTC