Tag: Poem

Passing

Passing pleasantries
Ignored like roadkill
A plant in a pothole
Drowning in the smallest rainstorm
Living for every bit of sun I can catch
On whatever leaves I have left
Before
A deer eats my head
A car strikes it dead
Crashes into a tree
It collapses onto the street
Where she was about to cross
She now passes
If only she hadn’t ignored
A pleasantry

Tune

Sleep well, my friend.
Don’t think about the war.
Tinker away on a tune, on your guitar.

Drown out the guns,
Drown out the planes,
Play until your fingers bleed –
Till it drives you sane.

Tense

Clenched jaw, strained eyes —
The damned dishes are cleaned
By hands, stressed and tense —
I can hear the washing machine
Screaming and crying from the next room,
Alongside the dry, clean clothes covering my bed —
My bed that looks clean but hasn’t seen a clean sheet
In maybe three or six weeks —
I can’t do it all in one morning,
Not when I can’t stop, and I
Go on and on and on, with my jaw clenched
and my eyes strained,
my hands stressed and tense —
I can hear the washing machine

The South

Watch them come, watch them come,
On ships, canoes, and boats.
Watch them run, watch them run,
Through the woods, to the water –
Across the water they float,

Followed by fire, followed by guns,
Until they lose all hope.

What will they do, what will you do,
When you drain the swamps?
You destroy their homes, destroy their mounds,
Alas, it’s the way of the South.

The sandwich and the sidewalk

I saw God the other day, sitting on the sidewalk outside of the Albert Heijn.
A crown in the form of a worn and weathered grey beanie, I thought
It must be a tad too warm, but
He does work in mysterious ways.

He asked me for some change, and I told him
I used to pray to him, and ask the same.
Dejected, he asked for some food – a soft sandwich, perhaps, as he no longer had his heavenly teeth.
I got him a bacon and egg sandwich
From the bin with all the ‘aged’ produce,
Priced down to celebrate its final ‘best-before day.’
I figured it would be softened, and moistened by age.
The bacon egg combo is a classic combination, like
Man and sin, bacon and egg, man and bacon, and man and egg.

When I walked out with the soggy sandwich, a spark sparkled in God’s eyes,
A few tears on his cheeks, reminding me of the soggy bread I held in my hands.
He said he couldn’t believe I came back and provided him his heavenly lunch,
And he shook my hand, and gave me a hug.

I held him for a moment.

How did you fall so far?
Was your throne,
Your horse,
Your holiness
So high?

The taller they are, the harder they fall, and you
Were on the highest pedestal—my neck would break
If I tried to meet your eyes, your expectations, and now
I see you in your truest form.
You
Wanted so badly to be loved and adored by all,
And in turn you would grant us your conditional love, but
I guess you will have to settle
For a soggy sandwich.

Who knows

Your head found my shoulder,
And we lived conjoined for weeks
On end, side by side, some said
We were more than friends –
One wished, and one knew
We were, but we
Were not –
Would not be what one
Wished we could be
But who knows what,
And these things are still confusing,
As though we split, you
Changed and stayed
The same, and I am someone else
Every other day, though
I could say the same for you,
As though you stay the same,
You’re stuck in perpetual static change –
Unchanging and everchanging,
I loved you, and all your little things –
Your mugs, your painful patience,
Your hair I would find everywhere,
Your eyes when they would stare into mine, so late at night,
Your smile, your lips when they would meet mine, or simply exist –
I would have worshipped every freckle, birthmark, and scar
On your body, and soul, but
You are someone else than the one
I mentioned before,
And in the end who knows
Who is who and what is what and who we are and what we are not

For a Friend – Wait For the Sun

You tried, love.
Your teary eyes were buried in my shirt,
My arms could only contain your
Shell of a body, as it emitted wracking sobs, echoes
Of years of trying to love another, whilst loving
Itself with all of its anxious compassion, you
Tried, so hard, my dear. The days
Will likely seem a little darker, for a while, and your tears
May weigh you down, till

One day you will wake up again,
And listen to the birds sing
In your father’s garden, you’ll watch
The hopeful rays of sunlight try to break through
Your curtains, and you’ll smell a fresh cup of coffee,
That your mother brings to your room,
Not because she has to, or you can’t get it yourself, but
Because she knows that this simple pleasure could be enough
To get you out of bed for a whole week,
As it is love itself, in its purest form.

It’s what you deserve, my dear, but know
It’ll take time, and to take small steps, day by day.
Know, that your loved ones, will be there
Every step of the way.

Bishops and Pawns Both Strike on the Diagonal

Frozen pathways, broken bridges, the
Spilling sewers of Rome, the holy excrement rains
From the sky, the smell is putrid
Like a preacher working the corner for days on end,
Working his body, a bible glued to his hand,
There aren’t enough eyes on an angel to truly witness
This state of despair, not enough holy mops
To rid the world of dirty priests, one man once said
“Let the children come to me,” he should have said
“Don’t let the children near a priest,” they should
Call a consistory, make it extraordinary, take it
To the top, to the tip of his white hat—haven’t we learned
That we should stay away from white hats, white masks, white robes, white cloaks, white men that
Disrobed nature and nations, stole from their people, took away their gods
And put them in a museum, hiding behind bulletproof glass, far out of reach
From tax-paying citizens, increasingly depressed denizens, we need more
Destructive dissidents with bottles of gasoline, rags soaked in alcohol,
To light it all aflame, but only at the end of the week, to make it sabbatical.