Saturday, August 29, 2015

And I Sang Hosanna to God

She has a sign on her wall
Stop and smell the roses
knowing you owe
a debt of gratitude for the gifts
so plenty, oh many.
I looked round and saw no rose
She was the only rose by her wall

She has a sign on her feet
Drop in quietly without noise
Inside you can juggle six not ten times
Repeat, once again, only six not ten times
I’ve got no time to waste, I dropped in
I smelled the rose and I juggled not six but ten times
After the water she wants me to drink
I sang for the first time Hosanna not six but ten times


Nightmares

Every night my bedsheets are a snare
I swing, fling and punch my life away

Every night my pillow is a lake
I drown in my own tears without hope

The people I look up to are a harsh sunlight
and their smiles torture and slaughter my dreams

My pain goes deeper into my soul.
it kills my love
the Monster is asleep

I wonder why the sun sinks low
the sky above me burns every little joy I dream

I wait until morning
before my eyes close

in my tears I drown
in my dreams I die

screams woke me
oh, those are mine
I'm sorry
didn't mean to wake you
no, I'm fine
just a nightmare

just a nightmare
until you came in my dreams

The Monster eats pretty princesses when they close their eyes.


Monday, August 17, 2015

She and Me


The greatest news for a long time
Was when I heard she “IS DEAD!”

She was the graveyard of my youth
The leprosy you can’t endure

Right now, I am dozing between belief and disbelief
I remember how she made pain work over time with me

Night and day, my head was lost in the fog
My tears fall like rain before I could cry

She has a heart forged of iron
And her love was full of acid, sulfuric and nitric

I never knew this from the onset
Till she made me eat the bread of sorrow

Tonight, I pray God to grant me a belated solace
And I don’t care to skip work today.




Once, I was there



Clouds are poems Nature writes in the sky
They sing, for us to hear their songs
And what fear they bring us leaves us
When we sit still and what is stirring
In the ticket becomes quiet and like babies
We sleep away from what is afraid in us.

Then many days after laboring hours
When mute in a universe that roars around us
We may hear at last again the uneasy songs in the poems
And when we sing those poverty-stricken songs again
The clouds move as if their awkward task is done.

Sometimes, the whirlwinds sparkle like rollers and screeches
But the seamstress of the Universe leaves the scissors
To cut through shapes designed even though it wounds
When the designer draws the long thread to knot the corners
Like tomatoes nude on the ranks faces torments as it burns in oil
Its teeth only grits uncomfortable tense; but what can it do?

Soon, the designer will return like the evening swallow with smiles
To pour the sobbing tomatoes onto a plate and stretching a smile
Rejoices in the shadow of a cozy comfortable homey shade
Not remembering the discomfort of the destitute moments
When the unsuitable restless whirlwinds blew painfully all hopes
And disgust argues in the stomach and in the pocket was pennilessness.

Once, I was there, an unacceptable embarrassing needy, unsuitable
For the ashtray where I tried to stand up in the poem but rising
My dreams were like a bird without wings in a world
Where pain and disturbingly troublesome glances greeted every hope

Who wants that when we know 
The Titanic was sunk by only an iceberg?