Challenges punctuate our lives with question marks.

We ask ourselves, “How long?” So we dream.
We wonder about each other. So we believe.
We concern ourselves with each other’s welfare. So we pray.

We doubt our wisdom. So we trust our hearts.
We second guess ourselves. So we act in faith.
We question our tomorrow. So we cherish the present.

We fear the question marks that have punctuated our lives.
So we build walls;
Walls to hide from our fear, walls to hide from our frustration,
And walls to hide from our feelings.
Let us never build walls that would cut us off from the world,
Or from each other.

Within the circle of our fellow strugglers,
Our thoughts are punctuated with fewer question marks,
And from time to time - a simple period.
Here with each other, it's not as difficult to wait for the answer.
And the walls don't seem as challenging to climb.

Whatever our question,
We can dare each other to dream.
And in this time of testing, we can hope for the answer,
An answer that will be different for every one of us.
An answer that punctuates each of our lives
With an exclamation point!

©2014 Michael S. Davis

(for Nietzche, who cowers behind art.)

The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every night yearns

to rise, to rise, to rise

when there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing.
Yet still it yearns

to rise, to rise, to rise.

The world called Canaanites ******
while they traded and toiled along the shores
of land promised to the aged heretic of Sumer,
whose wife could give only love.

The world called Hebrews ******
while they raised Pharoah tombs
Provided respite from the eastern chariots
Stubborn in refusal of the living gods
Drinking only Eloheim's bitter grape
That provides brief respite from his decrees
When delving deep in one's cups.

The world called Britons ******
When flogged Boudicea fought and fought and finally fell
To Roman spear and gladius
When Angles and Saxons raided then stayed
When Cromwell climbed the pale cliffs

The world called the Iberians, Gauls and Teutons ******
when Caesar crossed the Rubicon
Pax Romana for Citizens born
Land for the wealthy, voting rights too
Taxes and tithes from their toil.

The world called the Khoikhoi of South Africa ******
From the VOC to fatal Apartheid
Up rose a man
The heart of the land
A man named Nelson Mandela.

The world called the Viet Minh ******
from Can Vong to Dien Bien Phu
'till they slogged howitzers above
to reign Napoleonic terror below.
And to them it was just
The American War
After the world called them
Vietnamese.

The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every day yearns

to rise, to rise, to rise

When there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing
yet still it yearns

to rise, to rise, to rise

'though it never watches its own rising
undoing raiment of fading embers
swimming naked in the royal blue
bathing all with daily newborn naked glory
chasing the celestial tidal tease
that seems to wander where it please
reminding that all are born free
but can grow into ignorance
and be called ******.

Seek truths
that hold in unity;
that provide nourishment
beneath the lash
allowing one

to rise, to rise, to rise.

Speak up more, not less, using your own ideo-vocalized mess.

Soliloquy  — in front of yourself and everyone else-a-melse.

Monologue, dog!

You and I can flip-flop nonstop lolly pop but that gets trite fast and then we just so need to speak our favor-ite verbo-bite.

Bebop, hiphop, tipitity-top, slop-a-pop.

Ski-ba-bop-ba-bop-voc; do that thang nonstop.

Be-cause …

We have been flattened by the road-grade blade of the prepaid lexicographers.

We have been run over by the top-botched, pop-a-voc.

We have suffered weak-a-squeak.

We have sold out for safety and we have shut up way too much because we thought we were stuck-a-muck with duck and cluck.

Nope! Fess; you’ve got that vocable mess!

Unperson; you’ll worsen, but word-dive and jivity jive and you’ll revive.

See!

Be inventy.

Sync with your blink.

Que with your you and do-ba-de-do

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cuddling with the night
gazing at the empty o sky
salvation awaited
numbness refuse to quit

standing alone, being
irrevocable and wishing
life would come
to an end

waiting for an open door
but seeing them shut
right in your face
causing pain hanging
yourself can't clean

rain falling
but not taking away the
sorrow of being left alone
in a huge galaxy

dumb enough to
ignore the voc for sale and dumber
to know nothing says she

but still hope shines
bright end of tunnel i see it
but reach it no hope

Estou sendo impelido a atravessar esta entrada, meu corpo permaneceu imóvel até este exato momento, quis correr para longe, quis me esconder, quis deixar de existir, mas esta porta está escancarada diante o meu ser despido, não posso ver absolutamente nada para além da porta, mas sei que algo me observa, meus devaneios consomem novamente meus pensamentos,  algo terrível me espera do outro lado. Assaltantes? Sequestradores? Estupradores? Maníacos? Lunáticos? Pervertidos? Psicopatas? Minha mente está se descolando da realidade, sinto meus hormônios de horror dissipando meu pensamento lógico... Estou diante o Demônio! O ônibus vai me levar ao inferno! Sou culpado! O que eu fiz foi horrível! ............O que você fez foi maravilhoso!............ Esta voz atravessa a escuridão, entra pelos meus ouvidos  e explode nas profundezas da minha inconsciência.

Entre no ônibus!...........Estou obedecendo sem sequer perceper, minhas pernas estão se movendo com tremor e dificuldade, subo o primeiro degrau, o segundo, nesta penumbra acho que posso ver o motorista, um homem velho e franzino, barba mal feita, branca, pele suja, roupas velhas, antigas. Voc.. Vá para seu assento! Não me deixou falar, tudo bem! Cadê um assento livre? Ali!  Parece que todos os outros estão lotados. Todos aqui são feios, sujos e maltrapilhos, estão exatamente como eu! Tem uma velha sentada no banco ao lado do meu. Todos estão me encarando, ela está me encarando. Como suas expressões são severas! Ela está forçando um sorriso, seus dentes são muito podres... Então...cofff...cooffff...cooooooooofff... Gotículas de saliva da tosse da velha estão escorrendo pelo meu rosto, o bafo dela lembra carne morta, em decomposição, quase tenho vontade de vomitar, ela está aproximando mais ainda  seu rosto ao meu... Então, você também está indo para lá? Eu não sei! Não sabe?!! Então você não deveria estar aqui!!! Todos estão me encarando, seus olhos expelem puro ódio!...........Você vai descer aqui!!!

Está entrando pelas minhas veias, guiando intuitivamente meus movimentos, enquanto meu eu se afoga num oceano tempestuoso. Toma minha voz, fala por mim... Como OUSA se dirigir A MIM, sua VELHA IMUNDA? Se olhar pra mim mais uma vez vou ARRANCAR todos os seus dentes podres!

Eu dei um chute na cara da velha! Eu dei um chute numa velhinha doente! O que foi que eu fiz? Ela está ali caída no assoalho do ônibus, está gemendo muito! Tem sangue escorrendo pelo seu nariz! Meu Deus, o que foi que eu fiz?  Ela está tendo convulsões?? Meu Deus, meu deus! Hahahahahahaha hahahahahahaha hahahahahahaha ahahaha hahahahahahaha hahahahahahaha... Que porra é essa? Puta que pariu! A velha está rindo??? Está freneticamente dando gargalhadas grotescas. Ninguém mais está olhando para mim. Não sei o que pensar! A velha... Está me encarando... sorrindo com crueldade. Parece que ela está tentando me falar alguma coisa...

...........Então você realmente está indo para lá!