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Monday, August 10, 2015

Retribution


 
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Once
I thought I saw God
while driving through Omaha, Nebraska
prisms of light shining,
but it was just a halo
in my rear view mirror,
the sun gleaming through droplets of rain
after a fierce thunderstorm.

I sought God many times
especially when I lay down to sleep
praying different ways
like a sycophant’s attempt
to gain access through pearly gates,
winking at Saint Peter
and handing over cash.
Instead of answers
I would wake up the next morning
with a slight hangover
from too much red wine,
blood that dripped
from my hands and feet.

Now, I seek God
in the aroma of jasmine
in a kind old woman’s face
or in the liquid eyes
of a cocker spaniel.
As I slipped into yellow moods
reflected off glassy ponds,
I found disappointment
from lies I was told
when I was a wee boy.

A nun once declared
I was going to Hell
because I would not participate
in Communion.
The bread, the body of Christ
was a tablet
that tasted like paste
if you chewed it.

And a minister remarked
that if I dare enter another church,
the cathedral would topple
and I would perish in the rubble.
It was this same man
whose hand got slapped
by Mother
when he fondled her behind.

So when I see brothers, sisters
felled mercilessly in their prime,
I simply ask why.
What lesson may I learn?
That life is fleeting?
To take advantage of the joyous journey?
I know these things.
Perhaps experiences are random
and luck plays a significant role
like losing that winning lottery ticket.
We manage to survive
trauma, technology terrorists,
even God herself
assuming she exists.

I jump on the carousel
spin round and round and round
afraid to jump off
for fear of landing in some inferno,
flames that reach the sky
burning me like a marshmallow
over a blaze that is too hot,
taking all of me
and my history with it
with questions that remain unaswered,
contemplation for survivors
in this mad, mad world.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

In Between Days




i.

I fall from the sky
without deliberation,
plunge like a hawk with wings clipped.

Assisted suicide has its benefits
when love dissolves
into everlasting slumber
afraid to wake up,
and face the day.

I feel` grey like billowy clouds
after a storm
clogging my senses
       so I cannot breathe.

ii.



I live in limbo
a place where nothing is tangible,
anxiety escaping steel ribs
like smoke from a cigarette -
toxic, manufactured to kill.

Your love is elusive
one minute pure, plentiful
giving opulent impressions
that this time,
this time you’ll stay.

Then like the wandering wind
you slip though cracks in the floorboard
stealing my heart
leaving a stone in its place.

I slip on ice.
smack my head on cold pavement.

All I see is white.

iii.

This in between place:
it preys on insecurity
descends into madness
leaving me in a state of vertigo.

I spin around the sun,
outrun the moon
your love illusory
as I swirl out of control
a meteor creating disaster.

Release me from your grip,
please...
Allow me to press on.
even as Hell descends onto me;
jackals nipping at my heels.

Saturday, October 4, 2014

The Well

* For this challenge. I was asked to write a poem about what depression feels like. These were the words penned!! This is not necessarily a reflection of how I feel personally, but I have felt this way in the PAST!




The Well


It’s like falling into a deep well
the sides coated with mud, excrement
unable to climb the surfaces
to find a way out.

In its own peculiar way
it becomes comfortable,
but not necessarily soothing –
it’s what is known,
a sensation experienced
time and time again.
I can spend hours, days
not seeing a soul,
locked behind bedroom doors.
a prison I have created for myself
like falling down an empty elevator shaft.
I know this state of mind,
a blackening of greys
where what was crisp and clear
is now clouded,
a muddling of the senses
or an acuteness
of internal worlds gone awry.

Shadows speak in tongues
their message I believe to be true
and ultimately in languages
only I understand.
The voices pull me south
to nether regions
emblazoned in crimson fire,
the heat scalding my self-esteem.
Scar tissue mends overt wounds,
the damage permanent
no matter how I manage
to find my way out of this jungle.

I welcome rescue
but the longer I lunge
into acid pools,
the closer I am one
with my melancholy
conjoined like two sides
of the same coin,
burnt, blistered skin palpable.

Autumn weeps plum and tangerine
but I am lost in a deep freeze;
winter lives in my heart.
Can you please
help me out of this mess
before I lose control of self
and become an array
of molecules lost
to time and space?

I know there is an exit ram;
it requires work I resist,
but completed tasks are necessary
to become whole.

For now, at least
hope seems elusive.
seeking comfort in an oncoming train
that will flatten my mood,
pulverize my body
make me feel nothing
but freedom...

Friday, September 19, 2014

Fall Migration

' I know it is not Fall yet, but this is a piece about that time of year.



Skies illuminate in amber
the crisp air shimmering
over frosted skin,
leaves moving from green
to gold to crimson to plum.

Foliage descends from trees
burying the cold ground
the sunlight streaming
through tree branches,
its warmth hinted at by bright rays.

Flocks of geese
litter blue horizons
dusted with ivory clouds,
as they migrate to tropical places -
the continents of Africa and Europe.

And I am getting older,
once a silly man
who espoused what appeared
to be smart revelations,
but wisdom came with age, experience
and not ideological youth.

Warm blanket on my lap
I am content for the moment
knowing that change is inevitable
that when the world overwhelms
it is best to go limp
when falling out of the lofty air.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

What Was

Note -  It has been quite a while since I last posted my work in my blog. There have been a variety of reasons for this, but I am determined to keep this blog going, Sorry for being remiss I shall correct it!




What Was

I would watch him
in tender moments
somewhere between blue skies and inky sea
while he slept beside me,
head on my shoulder
fully unaware that I observed him.

I would trace his hips
with one finger
and he would grasp my hand
like the child he has always been.

Monday, March 24, 2014

thorns




sometimes judgment obscures -
significant truths
plunge into battles of woes

thorny bushes scrape
foolish pride
who is right, wrong
mere projections
that hurt aimlessly
like hitting the bullseye
blindfolded
wreckage of pride senseless

all I acquire
are bragging rights
for precision

ultimately, the war is lost
though the skirmish won
alienation the price paid
for defensive darts flung
in efforts to be understood -
why do my words plummet
like an anchored ship?

barbed wire hands
cling to shredded hearts
mountains of baggage slip
expose valleys of vulnerability -
pick, pick, pick

sinkhole of thoughts swirl
questions, answers intertwine
pull me underneath
where I breathe mulch

alone again
I shake my weary head
submerged in confusion
I ask -
was it worth it?
was it worth it?

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

now and then

This was written for a competition where we were required to write vignettes in response to a current popular song based on a sonnet written. The song selected was "Born To Die" by Lana Del Ray



i.

through opaque crystal
I sift through dreams, what was
what now is

what seemed forever a mix
of dreams embraced,
free of inhibition
rests a life forgotten
put on hold,
bound with yesteryear’s spirit
that hummed sweet nectar
when hopes were at once eternal

now expunged

ii.

I trek down many paths
particularly ones emblazoned
with your curse

I tried to reform
taste the feral journey,
though it screams so
in all appearances

boys like me don’t hatch
from the typical nest-egg

we trade souls
hiss secrets to be liked, craved
so that in the night air’s bustle,
you desire more

only the high of you
gets me off
satiates heroin hearts
does not hesitate
to transform and become
what you spell out
in amour’s curse

I sing hoarsely
“it’s not the end,
but I perish in Autumn’s amber”

iii.

the outcome is always the same

I always dreamed it would be me
that Heaven would embrace those
that fought through trenches
living out the now in future’s folly

but you can never return
to an innocent past
where hard work, determination
paid dues for those who rasterized
internal worlds now guilty
in slackened acceptance

your body listless
at the foot of the bed
a slash of crimson
where there ought to be a bow

Monday, December 9, 2013

I Loved You Then As I Do Now



* This piece was created for a contest. Most people know I do not write rhyme, unless it is eternal, because I suck at it, but somehow in this challenge, I was given specific meter requirements, and was told how the syllables should sound in the sonnet itself, and something clicked. I am getting a warm reception writing out of my comfort zone, so I was just excited to share!

** Rhyme scheme: abbaabba cdcdcd (iambic pentameter)

I Loved You Then As I Do Now

Though life’s travails can break a turtle dove
Kaleidoscopes deny the trickster’s verse
We stay together through the journey's curse,
And rise to hold each other’s heart in love
We recognize the lessons taught above
Connection sealed in passion’s wealthy purse
Concealed embraces we reserve, rehearse
Like hands that snugly fit in leather gloves

Our Heaven dwells on Earth not in the sky
The miracle of blooming buds in May
And pleasures shared when hopes learn how to fly
Sweet tenderness defies the need to stray
You changed my tears of pain from wet to dry
Illumination clears our paths each day

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Citrus






* This poem was written for a contest. The requirement was to use color in 75 words or less. I loved this challenge, because color is a device I use in general for my poetry. In fact, I had to cut back on the use of color, not because I needed to so much as to try other poetic devices. In other words, I have been trying to grow, so I hope you all appreciate my efforts.


Citrus

My mind dwells in yellow;
blues dissolved green
until what lingered
was a sour lemon
stuck in butter.

Abandonment isn’t as awful
as the remains
of a tepid relationship
picked over by crows,
bones buried
in fermented compost.

Words spit nails into hands,
pressed against stucco walls
knives thrown at cranberry heart
missing by inches
but you wear plum battle scars.

Yet, I miss the idea of you -
only the thought.


Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Unpretty

* This is a piece of fiction written first person through the eyes of a child. This is a collected amalgamation of experiences I have heard over the years, and it is not meant to reflect any aspect or piece of my life. I have no Aunt Desiree, nor do I know the James in this poem.

Prompt for contest: Quote: The demons that dwell within. ~ Gerald W. Locke, Jr. 
 
~ Take this prompt where you may. There can and will be many various interpretations of this quote. No more than twenty lines and no more than six words per line.



Unpretty


Masticated sobs cut the sky
sight of mailman’s letter.
Aunt Desiree faints
before grey envelope is opened
divulges grave knowledge.

He’s dead! It's my fault!
Mama shrieks, sisters bracing her fall -
James officially confirmed dead.

Before Darfur, Palestine,
Desert Storm, Afghanistan, Korea,
where Father escaped cognizant,
lives eternally shattered
like herbs ground by marble pestles.
Families faced military papers
casualties of war’s glitter.
Some only culled white noise.

People pontificate personal tribulations.
Vietnam was commensurate:
global colossal waste, scars imbedded
in defiled gunshot wounds.