Pray for Me

Day I

I feel like Isaac
led, unknowing, to the slaughter
happily content to carry the wood
until realization ties my hands and feet
and sets me upon the altar.

"Only for a while"
is what she said.
I am stunned.
I am calm, emotionless
(on the outside)
beneath my unmoving facade,
I tremble
and cry
and scream
and hide.

Soon, I don't know how,
I am walking,
the cool grass brushing my feet,
dew still cold
(or are those my tears?)

I am Sorrow

but I am proud.
I am bitter,
but I am supportive.
I am confused,
but all is clear.





And I am alone.





Nowhere, no one,
to run to.
Not even her,
not anymore.

But it is the right thing.
My heart says no.

The warriors of legend:
Mind and Heart,
gladiators in the tumultuous arena
underneath my soundproof exterior.

Suck it up
__Just let it go
Hold on. Stand up.
__Cower, run, scream.
She needs your support, don't give up now.
__"...for a while."?!
You can handle this
__but you never thought this would happen

(Please God, give me strength)

And so I sit in silence.



Day II

Nowhere, no one,
to run to.
Not even her,
not anymore.

Run to me.
He calls,
but I'd rather sulk alone.

Run to me.
My tears ignore His voice.

Hands wipe away the salty moistness.
Her hands? No.
Softer, smoother.

Warmer.

Run to me.



Day III

Run to me.
And so I did.
You said Follow.
And so I listened.
I listened and was lead,
to where I'm not sure.

I'm still not sure,
but yet I still follow.
Follow and pray.
Follow and pray.

Listen.
I strain my ears
but barely hear a whisper.

Listen.
I'm trying!
I really am...





...but still nothing.





Listen.
And I understand,
if only a little.
Submission is dangerous for my ego.
It may yet be a long process.
Follow and pray.
Follow and pray.

And I Will Hold Your Hand

Love. Live. Grow.
The plants' calls are silently vociferous.
Loud expressions of life
shouting with color and scent
and quietly purring from rich earth--

but the sky is less conspicuous:
The pink haze bleaches the black above,
and the brightest stars are the loneliest,
pining for their lost loved ones.
Lost in the lights from the nearby roads.

I wish we could sit content
like the pair of oranges on that tree,
safe with the knowledge they are together--

But I am a bright star,
one of the brightest through that desaturated space.
Looking for my lost
and wondering if you can see me
through the other end of the haze.

Together, we are the brightest stars
but are in different skies.
To be seen and charted
by different philosophers
and named in separate tongues.

Perhaps one day soon,
our very own Babel will be built,
and we will speak together
in the same tongue.
And I will hold your hand.

Sitting in the Last Row on Sunday Morning

ah, the last row
where distraction is frequent
and wandering thoughts are dearest friends
while preachingpointingspitting
goes red with effort
but all i see is that man
with the toupee and smile
at the thought of fishing it away

Observations on the I-10

State Prison
Next Right

Do Not
Pick Up
Hitchhikers

Playing with a Ball of Yarn

We sat in the kitchen
waiting for the next move.
You ate your french vanilla with a spoon
musing over me.
One thought played over in my mind--
You knew.
I nervously bit my lip,
you just smirked and continued spooning
toying with the idea in your head.

We moved like kittens
playful/aggressive, passive/bored.
You were the latter.

You knew what I wanted.
You faltered only once,
leading me to the couch
but promptly corrected the mistake--
the television began to drone.

Our game wouldn't stop itself
and you didn't feel like toying anymore.
I still wanted you,
you wanted time--
letting it happen wasn't the same as wanting it
so lips brushed forehead
shoes found their owners
a car sought the interstate.

How to Write Bad Poetry

First, include weird
line br
eaks.

Add in strange!.gramm?ar
and pun(tuatio)N~

Go off on an unrelated tangent.
Unrelated, like the beaver
is to the daffodil,
and yet they still seem to whisper
secrets---

---and then jump back.

Use bigger words than is necessary,
but don't you dare use them vociferously!
Only a fool and a hypocrite
would be naive enough to use
the word "ubiquitous"
in conjunction with a beaver!

And last, but not least,
use cliches.

Art Gallery

Shout it from the midst of crowds.
I would.
But a cupped hand to an ear
may be more conspicuous.
Whatever your choice,
----------------choose your poison

The familiar blood rush
with a new touch of adrenaline.
Was it the way her hair curled?
An explosion of amber,
peaking with a sparkle in her eye.

My dead give-aways,
canvassed over with lids,
blank and ready for the masterwork of my memories,
unfolding and running over each other.
Bubbling brooks of smiles and laughs,
whispering like trees with their secrets.

Critical Poetry

Which to listen to
and who to leave,
that
is the joy of poetry.

whatislove?

at first sight
chemical imbalance
thought
desire
lust
sex
fate
emotion
heart
necessary
poetry

==========
*a different version


at first sight,
just a chemical imbalance.
mind thoughts, stop thinking.

desire
lust
sex.

fate can't be stopped.

emotion,
hearthurts.

necessary
for
poetry.

The Kingdom Under the Bush

Five years have passed
and still our children are dying.
My own children spend all night
counting the three hundred billion
Caesar threw with the hopes of appeasing the mighty Mars--

a retaliation that reaches
to a small village in the Philippines
where a straw hut smolders
and a woman cries (over her limp child)
to Allah,
"Why?"

--the sand and sun beat
on those men and women,
worker ants, fulfilling statistical analyses,
remembered only when they are gone,
------------and only by their mothers--

a young man with dreams of reaching captain,
Nathan Perry, caught it a crossfire,
the only one of his group to walk away.
No purple heart for him today

--but Caesar snorts
and signs away more billions,
more for my children to count
with their papercut and raw fingers,
while our old receive less and less every month
and the ants march on
to the tune of a silent scream
from an unborn child.

The 'most prosperous of nations'
writhes in pain
from a thousand overlooked issues,
instead looking over its borders
in the hopes of fixing others' problems.
With millions on the streets
and too many going hungry,

Caesar ignores his kingdom,
leaving his smile on a blue screen and his mind in a desert
while rats and disease rampage the streets,
and the ants march on.

Everybody is a Critic

"I don't like that part,
you should scrap it and start over."
But perhaps it is you,
oh wonderfully wise,
that is the scrap.

However should I,
self-proclaimed-poetwriterauthorartisthumanbeing-extraordinaire,
ever decide what to listen to and who to leave?

"But that use of the conjugated verb is incorrect."
But that, my ever-so-intelligent friend,
is the joy of poetry.

One-Way Conversation

"You sound so sad
and empty.
Is that how you feel?"
not always,
not when I'm with you.
"Are you suicidal or something?
It hurts me to hear you like this."
then why don't you show it?

A Couple Leaped From the South Tower

…and they held hands.
Some flame through the sky
while little Jake asks his teacher
why the birds are on fire.
Lucifer sneers
and folds into the smoke.
More somersault to meet the ground.
One man counts fourteen
and then stops.
Pink mist hangs over Liberty Street.

Out of instinct, they reached for each other...

Blacking out
in the fall,
the simple warm touch,
and the two running jumps
out the jagged window,
arms outstretched to embrace the world.


================================
*in memory of those who lost their lives on 9/11

The Flu

Fantastical plasmic junk
flowing from my face.
Freaky fecal fluid
flaming away inside me.
Four hundred and two fever,
frightful fits of chill.
Forever faking sick,
until this fateful day.
Faking would be nice,
but in bed I'll stay.

Notes on My Other Self

I am the Thor of waves,
pounding at your shore,
stealing you away,
grain and loam.

I am the raven of misery
-- no, a flock of ravens --
pecking the straw
from your brainless body.

I am the monster
behind your headboard,
the ubiquitous shroud
of guilt and alone.

I am the one that screams
"You're ugly!"
from the mirror,
throwing shame
as you sob your way home.