#0117 - Tears

Implying that tears of joy and tears of woe
are different.

The smallest speck
of the expansive ocean:
saltine water falling indifferently
and unnoticed
in the span of the universe.

Yet, the consequence of their arrival:
as if their weight alone
plummets into the ground,
creating endless earthquakes
and tumultuous tsunamis.

These calamities will occur.
The question remaining is
whether they will drown out the world,
or if they will lift it all up
with the rising tide.

#0112 - "Defenestrating"

Defenestrating
this pessimism and cynicism
like a rusted bucket
of malodorous sludge
that I wouldn't feed to a pig.

There it goes,
sailing through the air
like a free-flying bird,
or rather freeing me of its weight
and smell.

Let's hope it doesn't hit someone on the way out.

#0105 - Cinquain IV

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 24}

Lód

Jest jak
Płynące szkło;
Czysty, naturalny...
Jakoś zaprasza, ale zim-
-ny—mróz.

#0095 - Cinquain III

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 14}

Hindsight:
Something passes.
One vainly wishes to
Revisit once more that which is
Long gone.

#0086 - Forbidden

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 5}
{Prompt: "Taboo," from Poetry Riot! on Tumblr}

Perpetual Earth:
our home and our hearth.
The disk of our sun
not turning 'round us?
Forbidden.

A dark-coloured man:
him, owning the farmland
that's littered with soil
upon which he toils?
Forbidden.

A woman well-dressed
and clever, no less:
her, raising her hand
or taking a stand?
Forbidden.

A man and a man
to walk hand in hand?
A lady and lady
in shared bed asleep?
Forbidden.

So many things that have been labeled taboo;
are you still surprised that the judgement continues?
Not surprised, I would say,
just a little irritated;
Saddened.

#0082 - Thoughts

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 1}

Flowing through the crevices within my mind
Establish reality, which I survive;
To fall or to thrive is
A question of mine and
Whose answer is lost in some ditch of my mind.

#0081 - Rain

Rain:
the smells and sounds of another plane.
Pitter patter;
raindrops splatter
upon the windshield of my car.

The gleam of city lights
amidst restful dreams and asphalt streets
reflects through spheres of falling water
as curbs shift surges down canals.
This sound: waterfalls.

Is there even a question whether these showers
are tears from angels residing in heaven?
No;
only, are these tears somber
or of laughter?

#0051 - Cinquain II

Fire rises,
Always heading
Upwards to the blue sky.
I wish I could emulate its
Courage.

#0046 - Cinquain I

The sky,
In all of its
Everlasting beauty,
Is too distant: I can never
Touch it.

#0015 - "The ancient walls of grandma's home"

The ancient walls of grandma's home
Are contrast to the halls I roam:
The doorways made of melted sand,
The corridors of metal and
The endless screens and paper reams.

I'd rather have the sun's warm beams;
The ocean blues, the forest greens;
The birds evincing morning joy;
The place where I was once a boy,
With hens and dogs exploring barns.

This place was home to carrot farms,
Was worked by men with reddened arms.
But reapers guised in suits then came
With profit as their only aim
And little care for right or wrong.

This land is here, but not for long;
The birds will sing their final song.
Rebar spreads far its concrete lair
And smog extends through once pure air -
It chokes the lungs and chills the bone.

The ancient walls of grandma's home
Are contrast to the halls I roam,
But soon I fear they'll be effaced,
With concrete towers be replaced.
And in my mind resides a fear:

That what I can no longer see
Will one day fall from memory.