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Poem 12: Buddha

Gollum had it right.
“My precious,” he trilled,
eyes grown overlarge,
grasping hands stretched
thin and knobby —
the better to reach you with,
my dear.

If I could hold you tightly enough,
so tight seconds failed to tick
and light forgot to pulse,
we could claim forever.
The planets could circle the sun,
the sun the Milky Way,
the universe could expand
into a chilly and
breathless existence,
and still we would cling,
together,
whole.

You are a better Buddhist than I.
You live with no expectations,
give freely,
understand the balance of love and pain.
You own nothing,
even though I would give you
the gold from my teeth,
the water from my cells,
the breath from my lungs.

If I could wrap my fingers around you
just tightly enough,
you could never squirt away
and swim toward
the whirlpool’s center.

Like Gollum,
I do not know how to love
without claiming,
can never know loss
without anguish.

 

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To The Dark

The fading darkness saw me
Writing away my deepest scars
Through the first rays of light.
I can only hope to welcome it back
Once again as the light fades
And wraps itself in that comforting abyss.

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11 November

It sleeps between us,
slipping out of bed unnoticed,
exposing my legs to the bitter air
of memory.

If I could just bring it out,
turn it over,
and have him label it,
then we could set it aside.

But it remains
hidden under the covers,
leaving me cold.

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Spider

Spider quickly glides across the ceiling trailing it’s sip my web

Flies, bugs, faces, getting stuck in the sticky trap

Small, medium,  taranjalian, hiding in the walk in closet

Crouching tiger under my bed

Wait in silence

Creeping along the covers

 

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The Morning Story

I try not to write poems directly online, lest my shaky internet connection dies and I lose all I've written! Vut Word also has a word count feature, and this poem clocks in at 97 words, including the title, and there aren't any overly repeated ones.

The Morning Story

It's loud outside,
birds are yammering
nine-to-the-dozen.
A snub-nosed bee
unrushed,
makes working hard sound like a lazy sloop.
If I listen hard
I can hear an ant
Sneeze, ashoooooo
as pollen tickles its nose.
An asthmatic worm
pokes its bald head
into the light of this April morning
and sleepily blinks.
A spontaneous shower
revitalises sun-angled stems
with its Niagara jolt
that will gradually seep through to the roots.

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Waiting for the men to come home

They’re more world weary

Than when I last saw them

Even more so

Than when I met them

But underneath everything

I can still see the boys they were

While acknowledging the men that they are

We knew each other then

We still return to each other now

To celebrate the victories

And to bury the dead

Because one day it will be our turn

 

For now, it’s just Saturday night

I’m watching an old Kung Fu movie

And I’m just waiting for the boys to come home

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#12 Words – one hundred, not more

In the dark, lonely hours after midnight,
I feel so alone. I’m not alone.
In the dark, lonely hours after midnight,
I am here yet nobody’s home.

My words are my voice with which I speak
yet no one can truly, clearly hear me.
My words are my voice with which I speak
yet why don’t they release and free me.

Words that are true, loud, gentle and cruel,
I write and I write and I write.
Words that are true, loud, gentle and cruel,
all hours into the cold forsaken night.

Perhaps if I stifled them, stapled them shut,
maybe if I whisper, or never let them out.
Perhaps if I stifled them, stapled them shut,
consequences from my words wouldn’t sprout.

Unsure if these words are a blessing or curse,
perhaps I could ignore them, cast them away.
Unsure if these words are a blessing or curse,
I wish I didn’t have anything else to say.

I love you I hate you please don’t let me write.
My words drive me mad, they spar in my head.
I love you I hate you please don’t let me write.
If my words are alive, does that mean I’m less dead?

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What do you feel

 

You will not know what you feel inside

If you never turn on your inner eye

The feelings are there around each corner

Waiting to pounce if you should wander

 

Is it love or hate or something else

Emotions good and some bad

Is it surprise or trust you are feeling now

Or is anger or fear running near

 

Once you know what emotions you feel

You have the chance to spin the wheel

If your courage does not fail

Kindness will beat cruelty and courage shame

Expectation will lead to positive things

Let no shame or shyness blame

Yourself for feelng that you can change.

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Poem no. 8 Drawn from Basho

The lines I am using in my own haiku (below) are taken from a haiku written by Matsuo Basho. I am including the complete haiku here (it’s beautiful!) but will be using only the words in the final line of the poem for my own piece.

No one travels
Along this way but I
This autumn evening (Matsuo Basho)

How sad to know this;
summer changes to autumn
morning to evening.

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dew on grass, wind in my eyes and ears

sick sour apples spoiling in the grass

hot heavy air

bees? everywhere

i miss summer  nights

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