When our life meets fate and time, things get ‘real’ damned quickly.
Oy Vey!
~
this being human is……
……………full of contradictions
this being human is……
………………an aweful scourge
this being human is……
………………an awesome gift
this being human is……
………………tears in your eyes
…some of them are joyous…
this being human is……
……………………full of danger
this being human is……
……………………full of wonder
this being human is……
……………………full of pain
this being human is……
……………………full of pleasure
this being human is……
……………………full of promise
this being human is……
…………full of disappoingment
…sometimes full of bullshit…
this being human is……
……………………full of love
this being human is……
……………………full of hate
this being human is……
……………………full of hurry
this being human is……
……………………full of wait
this being human is……
……………………full of highs
this being human is……
……………………full of lows
this being human is……
……………………full of screams
this being human is……
……………………full of dreams
this being human is……
……………………full of songs
this being human is……
……………………being right
this being human is……
……………………being wrong
…sometimes a damned fool…
this being human is……
……………………full of victory
this being human is……
……………………full of defeat
this being human is……
……………………full of friends
this being human is……
……………………full of enemies
this being human is……
……………………full of arriving
this being human is……
……………………full of leaving
…sometimes it’s being lost…
this being human is……
………………the mystery of birth
this being human is……
………………the horror of death
this being human is……
………………the uplifting sunrise
this being human is……
…………the mindblowing sunset
this being human is……
…………the night’s magic moon
this being human is……
…………sometimes a nightmare
this being human is……
…………everything that we dare
this being human is……
……………more than imagined
this being human is……
……sometimes even a miracle
………………but yes………………
this being human is……
…a cornucopia of contradictions
……………………but thankfully
it’s all life, everything we got……
so what TO DO……………………
………………………just keep breathing
~ ~ ~
Poetry is a statement of empowerment, that sets the soul free, to be exactly who you are — and in being just that, to introduce your truth to the world!
__________|*|__________
I lean upon my open hands, cool against my temple, elbows solid on my rumpled jeans. My eyes drooped and closed, aflame with spoiled sleep. My face is slacked, head cocked, tilted to the fore, heavy with confusion. My skull rests upon the finger bones, weighted with indecision, procrastination.
My thoughts, like digits on a dollar slot, spin unsettled in my mind. They neither click nor lock in place, just tumble in a jumble, blurred, out of focus, lost in my mental fog.
Sunken deep on bended knees, I’m perplexed, frustrated by the chaos awhirl in my head. Such immensity, this question, seems no way in. No first step taken here today in solving the mystery of life. But still, I can smile. I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility that existence has its own reason for being. Not one to be solved.
the moment of not-yet-spring
passes like a breath
no hail notice will be made
of chill winters’s death
but the heart may die
with one beat of not-yet-love
— stars fall from the sky
My dad’s gentle nudge, and deep quiet voice, were urging me from under the warm covers. ”Wake up Bobby, I’m going to make breakfast before we go.” After his muffled footsteps, I heard the creak of the iron door, followed by the wooden thunk of fresh-cut kindling being loaded into the fire chamber. Then the scuffing sound of the poker, stirring the bed of red-glowing embers, encouraging them to ignite the fresh logs. There were then soft “phufts” as the lengths of virgin fuel burst to flame.
As the big black stove groaned to full life, I felt the growing heat permeating the cabin. I could hear dad clunking and sliding the bulky iron skillets into place, working by soft lantern glow that clutched at the darkness. Breakfast was coming, signaled by early sizzles of Canadian bacon. I was hungry, and excitedly slid from bed, dreaming of the day of fishing that lay ahead.
Breakfast behind us, I shivered, smiling through the damp darkness of the Ontario predawn, as we stepped carefully, by the light and hiss of the Coleman lanterns, down to the dock, where dad’s fishing boat waited. My fingers tingled to the metallic cold of the aluminum hull, as I climbed aboard. I was already bundled as a bear, but over that still went the life jacket, in the event of a tumble into the freezing water, still rippling under the morning moon.
My heart soared as I heard my dad tugging on the starter rope, bringing the Evinrude to spark then roar, readying it to propel us into the dawn that would soon slowly roll over the chop-water. I lovingly gripped the cork handle of my favorite pole, as I felt the mist of hull-spray light on my cheeks. Another slight shiver brought me further awake, but not from the chill — this one was glorious anticipation. I loved fishing with dad!
the roll of the boat
predawn mist on my chilled cheeks
loving my father
Behind this curtain, Chrissa at Sunday Muse, suggests 2020 unfolded.
~ exploding Pandemic, escalated racism, failed fascist coup in U.S.~
Dual Worlds
~
month after month
I gaze forlornly
‘cross pooled hatred
through diseased vert curtain’s fall
at a fractured mirror’s reflection
of a waking nightmare
a glaring hallucination
a pulsing passion play
of a polarized reality
dual worlds
close enough to touch
but too far apart to engage
through which truth
stumbles blind
beyond reach
or reason
or connection with either
walking as wraiths
through fevered empty streets
moving in these worlds
captive to the bone-white lies of both
implicit in their toxic grins
of inflexible conformity
lethal tradition
revered in mindless trance
change
shackled to the stone of fear
with a grip rough as rope
change
bound at the shadowed edge
of dark and light
plague and cure
repression and justice
ignorance and knowledge
change
bruised
disillusioned
but possible
so beckon the dawn
summon the morn
there is far to go
and much to learn
rising from this dark night
someone needs first
release the light
perhaps torchbearers emerge
~ ~ ~
Poetry is a statement of empowerment, that sets the soul free, to be exactly who you are — and in being just that, to introduce your truth to the world!
__________|*|__________
This poem is inspired by two lines, the end couplet, which I had scribbled down in 2009, in my volume of writing notes. I rediscovered them this winter, and wanted to use them since. This is the time. I do not remember if they are mine.
Lucky
~
the afterimage has yet to dim
emblazoned in my mind
the sun fresh on the horizon
my eyes follow your graceful silhouette
moving away from me
the taste of you
sweet on my lips
my gaze held fast
until there was nothing
just the rising sun
that segued our tender night
to the promise of another
but promises
are so frail and fleeting
like the brittle leaves of autumn
like tears of joy
like the taste of you
sweet on my lips
if you are lucky
you will carry one night with you
