A tiny poem to open the heart…
A poem is a small bit of the soul wrapped up in hope.
A hope that its words will pierce the heart and open the mind to pure possibility.
A poem is naked and vulnerable; it is the gateway to self-discovery…
The End? I just got Started!!!
They’re not gonna trick me into quitting.
I wrote a pome fair and square.
Bluff.
Yeah.
Complain a little, that always helps.
IS THIS THE FRIGGIN END OR THE BEGINNING?!?
Where’s the end of the line?
PRS 1.2 2016
I Am…hour 1
I am that broken piece, the chain…Keeping things together…I am Peace…I am Hope…I am here to gain & spread knowledge…To those ready to Listen…#Formation #BlackPanther…I am my ancestors dream…I am for change…I am for growth…I am that body hanging at the end of the rope…I am conscious…I am ready for action…I am the last bullet drilled in their backs…I am aware of the c-r-a-c-k (crack)…I am the struggle faced with fear…,panic ready to attack…Have knowledge of self preservation…3rd eye open in this nation…Black tears and broken bonds on the plantation….
Boy
You kept me in your sights
Stayed at my side
Followed in my steps
If out of view, you hunted me down
Or returned to base to wait
You feared losing me or it seemed so
I had your gaze
Mercy
A sacrifice we offer, a Sacrifice we pray
as we go forward upon this glorious, wretched day.
Humble resurrection..
a transfiguration…
the word became flesh…
but then, the Lord gives, and He takes away.
On this day when life goes forth
Blood and Water are poured.
Mercy lives on despite death….
in His daily Word:
“Let the children come to Me and do not hinder them,
for the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.”
Thanks be to God.
HOUR 1
My Demise
I’ve often thought and wondered
about my demise.
Will it be gentle
and take me in the night?
Will I find what I’ve been looking for
as I search through the light?
So many thoughts and issues.
I see them sitting there.
Sad little faces and
some hands, filled
with tissues.
I wonder how they’ll see me
with sadness or joy;
a player in the madness
or a child in the void.
I guess the answer
lies, in my untimely
demise.
Hour One – The End
The end
The end
The end.
Nothing else comes any more.
No more
No more
No more.
The clock is ticking anyway.
Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Tick-tock.
Sonerous Breaths
I would like to invite you to join us in celebration of
Two most momentous occasions: two sides of the breath.
The first inhale
The last exhale
One marks the beginning, and one the end
This fete full of marvels and milestones
Is sure to bestir such great gasps of wonder
At times
Observe
the first view of the milky way
the whale breaching
the aurora borealis
A litter of kittens beneath the stoop
Between the first breath and the last is monotony and adventure
And endless sea of breaths
Gathered full force,
a lifetime of breaths could suction out the essence of space and put it all back again
But we cannot know such power
And so we sip politely each our own lung-fulls, and empty them again, never counting, never knowing when the last one will come
The first one hurt so badly, was such a shock, and the last one will just be the last
The sonerous breath
To whisk the dandelion seeds across the lawn
Gather in you lungs the briny breath of sea
A breath that hitches in surprise, but eventually seeps back out into the ether
The roiling rising disturbance from beneath water,
The duration of said celebration cannot be determined
Until the final sleep where the breathing ends
VIRAGO #1
Quickly, now, we tiptoed,
away from Notorious Joe,
our cover we were sure not to blow,
“Ouch!” A throbbing big toe.
Jack whispered, “Oh woe.”
the torch in his hands aglow,
no light from the kitchen window,
the glass, imported from Glasgow.
“Be quiet!” Jack nearly bellowed,
a vase sent crashing due to his elbow,
made in Malay Archipelago,
says the label, but it’s really from Mexico.
Little me said, “Oh, oh”
as Joe walked in with an espresso,
and she was mostly known as a virago,
and she was mostly known as a virago.
#1 – The Left Side of Paradise (The End of Something)
running away like children, invisible as the wind
running away like children, needing to pretend
running away like children, dreaming of anywhere
running away to someplace, never here nor there
The left side of paradise, where trains run all night long,
where people dance in frenzy to every too sad song.
We met in secret rendezvous, amid some spoons and candles.
Somewhere by the downtown stops, she lost her leather sandals.
Her heart was pure but beating fast, her pulse a fire alarm.
It came before she knew its name, she believed it meant no harm.
Her love was gone before it hit the ground, some say I almost cried
The locket lost was never found, the sinners gathered surely lied
The left side of paradise, hides secrets to make them grand
Breath is just an illusion and time feels more than sand
They played upon the treetops with mighty plans for greatness
and year by year their desire pushed them, unaware the lateness
Grasping straws and heaven’s orbs they so valiant struggled,
thinking they gained control, while godly devices merely juggled,
smiling rainbows to make them smile, but forcing life awry
The laughter sounded thunderous, as the circle had them die
running away like children, invisible as the wind
running away like children, needing to pretend
running away like children, dreaming of anywhere
running away to someplace, never here nor there
The left side of paradise, where rains bring only acid
from generations of humans whose fear bordered placid
They moved about as icons of beings once adorned
until fate delivered judgment and humans left were scorned
Ride about in dreamy cars and devour the claws of crab,
pick apart the mountains, ignore the sweet Mother’s scab
Play the games of livelihood and teach children to pretend,
the joke’s on us in Paradise as a beginning becomes our end.
running away like children, invisible as the wind
running away like children, needing to pretend
running away like children, dreaming of anywhere
running away to someplace, never here nor there
~chowilawu~