#0126 - Suppertime Evasions

Meat and grains and vegetables:
Grandpa's cooking on the table.
From the lawn, the kids arrive
and, seated, scheme and duly try
to eat as little as they can.
They try to reach the frying pan
to get their food back off their plate—
return it to its rightful place;
they wait for Pa to leave the space—
to Grandma they will plead their case!
Success! Success! They quickly leave,
for they have fin'lly found their peace.
     They come back to their sleeping racks,
     where they have hidden candied snacks.

#0121 - Attachment

Some will only bivouac,
And others mean to stay a while.
Neither’s ever out of style,
So when you are to be attached

Be sure to know if this will last
a century, or pass too fast.

#0110 - Musings

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 29}

I

I wouldn’t say I’m sober now,
But neither am I liquored up.
I guess I’m just preoccupied
With existential thoughts.

And that is why I seem distraught:
While part of me’s awaiting death,
The second part is clinging on
To this simplistic life.

I’m floating by and trudging ‘long,
I’m hoping that a glimmer of
Enlightenment will find its way
To this imprisoned mind.

I wish I were a bird because
I’d have to move through air instead
Of trudging through these expecta-
-tions, sorely overwhelmed.

II

You’d think that air would rightly be a breeze to travel through.
But something ‘bout these sounds and stares keeps holding back my feet:
These horrid expectations that are always finding me
I’d rather have replaced with clubs or knives of crimson hue.

This populace is filled with people that refuse to care:
A massive presentation of this world’s fatuity.
These ersatz feelings pave the way for thoughts that torture me:
That everyone is simply waiting for my mind to tear.

The stares devoid of any thought replace the dreams of past;
Forgetting what they once lived for, these people are now grey—
Their dull indifference seeks to spread its deadly grip to me.
I’m chained and beat by glares and stares, but hold my ground, steadfast.

III

There are a million paths through life, and e-
-very one is forked to form a million more.

At every gateway there’s a second door
To lead you faster to your final end.

It offers you a short respite, an end
To all the gloomy things that may assault

Your mind and propagate your countless faults,
Which never cease to bring torment and doubt.

Thus, Death is there, awaiting your last bout,
Which drives you grimly, quickly ‘cross the edge—

That ever-present scythe with sharpened edge,
That cloak of darkness standing motionless.

Don’t let yourself be drawn by what Death says;
It’s easy to be happy when some nic-

-eties find you, but not so otherwise.
If life were not made up of darker times,

The better times would not be so sublime.

#0102 - "Patience"

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 21}

If patience lasts for centuries
and rashness lasts for only days,
then which of these is always bound
to go a longer way?

#0097 - "J'ai rencontre un homme"

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 16}

J’ai rencontre un homme:

En un café rempli des démons et monstres
il était assis, espérer que le temps
passé avec sa peur, son stress
restaurerait sa innocence épatant.

«Je sais que je suis une proie,» il a dit.
«Je me demande seulement qui
me chasse maintenant; je fais face mes peurs,
mais je trébuche sur formes nouveaux des douleurs.»

Mais il craint quoi; ses vices voulusses?
Son humilité, ou caché égoïste?
«Tous et tous; ces et plus—
c’est l’espoir, c’est la vie.»

#0075 - Nighttime

The window of my darkened room
gives way to moonlight's lunar rays,
and as I sit here, grimly think-
-ing, peace leaves me while silence stays.

Here I think of all and no-
-thing, mind confused and soul attuned
to this strange night where I have quick-
-ly found myself a sullen lune.

I think I think of something, but
I'm not sure what I'm thinking of.
The gears within my head are shift-
-ing as the shadows dance above

my head that rests upon this pill-
-ow softer than my hardened feel-
-ings, catching all my unknown doubts
in restless peace, in restful sleep.

#0069 - Advice

I promise I am not controlled
by failure or by fear.
I simply take advice where I
can find it, far or near.

And I have learned a simple thing
about others' advice:
that those who give wise words are oft-
-en scarred and bruised by vice.

The best advice will come from those
who've rolled and bathed in mud,
and those whose countless leaps of faith
have colored them in blood.

The best advice will come from those
who've felt their kind hearts shatter,
and those who stare at blades and rope
and into murky water.

The best advice will come from those
who've screamed and fought and cried,
and those poor souls who've been betrayed
or to whom others lied.

Though when the times are good the on-
-ly thoughts I need are mine,
in darkness I'll take words of those
whose times are worse than mine.

#0044 - "Drizzle, drizzle, little weasel;"

Drizzle, drizzle, little weasel;
Let your tears fall to the carpet.
Trick me once, you’ll be forgiven.
Trick me twice, and you’re a weasel.

Laughter comes to you as sadness:
Fake and underpinned by cunning.
Tears and laughter that you offer
Only search for thoughtless pity.

By your tricks I’ve been deceived, but
I won’t in your presence falter
Once again, for what you’ve done has
Left its mark upon my conscience.

Thanks to you my trust has faltered:
I no longer wish to be a
Punching bag for honeyed parlance.
Drizzle, weasel: I’ll ignore you.

#0039 - "While walking through this sunlit glade"

While walking through this sunlit glade
Well-brightened by this sunny day,
As I was passing, 'long the way,
I chanced upon a fresh bouquet

Of Daisy, Lavender and Rose,
Whose florid odors filled my nose.
From this bouquet my vision rose;
Among the trees were scattered does.

With wary eyes they stared at me,
Who in their home they first time see;
They wonder who this beast could be,
Residing in their forestry.

The flowers are of lovely hue,
But stirring fear I'd quickly rue;
And so I move along in lieu
Of picking florid red and blue.

#0023 - "The passing time runs through my hand"

The passing time runs through my hand
like yellow sand, both coarse and fine.

Horizons pass as dusk and twi-
-light mimic life, so quick elapsed.

Each moment forms a memory,
a precious seed for mental stores;

one easily lets moments fly,
lets time pass by from memory.

#0019 - "J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges"

J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges -
Choses différentes, choses pas connai.
Mais maintenant j'accueille le change.

Jeune mignon, «je bonbons veux mange,»
Mais médicament j'ai l'évité;
J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges.

Ma colour favorite orange,
Autres j'ai pas utilisé.
Mais maintenant j'accueille le change.

Étais en nouveaux, grande ménage,
Avec personnes je pas parlais;
J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges.

Ma tête: un chaotique sporange,
Créant peureux sourcis, pensées.
Mais maintenant j'accueille le change.

Et aujourd'hui je suis très sage;
Beaucoup des léçons j'apprenais.
J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges,
Mais maintenant j'accueille le change.

#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.

#0008 - "Your grin extends from ear to ear"

Your grin extends from ear to ear,
A selfish rat, a sly, striped cat.
You wear a medal and a badge,
Where one says "faith" and one says "trust."

But I can see that it's an act -
You spew your words, but I'm no fool;
With questions asked, you make no sound,
Pretending what I say is moot.

An open book is what you are,
And I can see your missing page;
I don't know what exactly's gone,
But I can see the torn, ripped frays.

#0007 - "I see a woman and her dog"

I see a woman and her dog;
her dog is black, and so is she.
She holds herself with wooden rod,
provides a smile and nod to me.

Her dog, he wags his furry tail
with flopping ears and hanging tongue.
But in her eyes I see a tale
that stops the air within my lungs.

To him they'd shift their gaze and say,
"Why, there he walks along the street;
he doesn't whine, he won't complain,
exactly as a pup should be!"

To her they'd shift their gaze and say,
"Why, there she walks along the street;
she won't revolt, she won't complain,
exactly as a Black should be!"

While he would always find is scraps
and garner water from a bowl,
she'd fear her iron will's collapse
and guard 'gainst water from a hose.

They're both dark-skinned mammalians,
but one is nursed and one is marred.
They both have limbs - one paws, one hands,
but one has fur and one has scars.

#0004 - "Syllables flowing like translucent water"

Syllables flowing like translucent water;
Line follows phrase follows word follows letter.
Ink moves along like a dance 'cross the page;
Perfect: a poet, an artist, a sage.

Until I will come to a word I can't rhyme,
And I lift my hand weary; mo-
-mentum is gone, and my thoughts
spiral down to a
misanthropic
travesty -
useless
Wreck.