Poem of the Month - August 2018

Footnotes on top:
 
1. My first attempt at writing a poem in English, 20 years ago.
2. The marbles in the London museum refer to the stolen Parthenon Marbles held captive there against their will.
3. Elgin: British Lord Elgin, the thief! (Stole them in the beginning of 19th century)
4: Antigone: Sophocles' heroine, one of the first to consciously commit an act of civil disobedience... and, more, much more than that.
 
 
 
I stood by the music,
next to it, close to it and yet, outside it.
I heard its pauses. or, was it my silence...
 
Unfazed, I stood at its side
unconcerned about protocol,
circumstance, historical condition.
Recovered principles determined my disposition.
 
There was once a lady I knew
her name was a letter of the alphabet.
Her skin was pale and smooth
and she had principles...
 
I stood by the rainbow
as its colors were fading.
I entered its condemned vision.
I stood at its side
bearing memories in black and white,
colorless and color blind.
 
Hopes that were slim stood even slimmer
as twenty centuries went by,
but, I had chosen to dim the lights
and care for the tender cries
of those made of heart and mind.
 
There was once a lady I knew.
Her senses were null, her body numb.
Her skin by herself untouched,
her future hunted by her past.
Her name sprang from my palate
and she had principles...
 
I stood by the marbles of open air
in that prison they call museum at a London Square.
Nudity frozen under air conditioning lights.
Behind bars their slow death I died
chained to their melancholic fright.
 
I saw Elgin, the lord of Apes,
the key-keeper of this Dark Age.
He was on top of a mount of pounds
buying and selling worlds profound.
 
There was once a boy I knew
whom I played and bathed with.
His wooden sword had slayed the witch.
The boy's name I cannot recall
but, he had principles, I'm sure
and his soft touch I still can feel.
 
I stood by Antigone
on the stage of her absolute solitude,
inside the tomb of her choice,
within her flight to freedom.
Alone as ever, alone as she,
fixed my eyes at her ascent to that future human state
only few have ever seen.
 
She didn't scream, she didn't cry.
All the directors have been lying.
She just quietly allowed herself to die
standing on principle and acquiring essence.
 
There was once a lady I loved.
She had a thing about chocolate.
Her name
 
T erra
H ecuba
E ros
O ffering
D reamy
O phelia
R aging
A nastasia
 
Her scent would send me to worlds untold
her skin was the whitest of pale.
She had flesh of mouthwatering taste
and she had principles...
 
There was once a not so funny clown
who closed his act with a song he'd cry out:
 
"Let it slide, let it slide.
Blow her face up on a slide.
See the  memories go down the slide..."  

And so it was
I watched him smile
As we ordered another
To drown the demons of tomorrow

He said nothing,made the drinks
confident that more bone-marrow
souls will walk through the door

He is tired and I am too
He passes me the drink
I take it away, I say nothing either.

The life of the selective mute

i

I don't talk
I type because
unless I'm drunk
words do not travel through
the underground tunnel of my throat
to design eloquence that shines to ears
that do not even burn to hear them

ii

I break free of the shackle of
'Not-wanting-to-be-here' thoughts
'It's-better-if-we-leave' thoughts
Pill-popping ones, allsorts

But it is only for a few minutes
and then I am back
A beggar to my mind (master)
Hoping I can find the courage
To take flight from man-made hell
Like the flame-bitten Phoenix
I know i am.

Black & Already Armed



I don’t have a gun,
Trust you a know if I did,
Why am I shaking?,
I’m black, scared,
And I have kids,
I don’t have a gun,
No need to yell freeze,
Fear of a back shot,
So yes I’ll already freeze,
I don’t have a gun,
I do play sports,
You I can out run,
Not the bullet from your gun,
I don’t have a gun,
What? Oh that there,
The black on my side,
Its just only pride,
Sir I don’t have a gun.


Mr. Night

You are what you eat
I am black coffe bile
Diet energy drinks
Weight loss pills

You are what you eat
Then I am the 'I love yous ' you feed me every night
Which I now accept because in my tired existence
I would like to believe it true

You are what you eat
Then I am the parting texts you sent to me that night
When 2AM seemed trivial in our night owl lifestyle
I reread them like pieces of scripture, glass filled eyes

My mouth tastes like every bad decision Ive ever made

                      
                    
                     
Morning awakes           
with personification                      
of weeping birds                     
and rays of              
sunshine ballerinas on barre.                      
Traffic that roars                      
-lights that giggle.                      
Whilst pointsmen                      
at intersections                      
conduct                      
traffic orchestras                      
in perfected unison.                      
                     
Lunch: a metaphore                      
of marble tiered                      
bagels                      
covered in      
the thick blood                      
of tomatoes, flowing over                      
meat                    
- beaten to mince                      
rolled and smoothed                      
before a grilling  
in basted, sticky sauce.                      
                     
Sun-dials rotate                  
into long shadows                
bringing                  
a lake of dandelion                      
tea, sprinkled in                      
rivers of dreams                    
ducks waddle through                      
flicking tadpoles                      
from webbed feet                      
in the dusky mist                      
ending the days                      
warmth.            
Seeping through                      
unkempt clouds                      
covering a    
crisp-blue-sky.                      
                     
And you!                    
                   
A conjured figure                      
resting                    
in my mind                      
since day-break, like stone.                      
Holding leather bound                      
covers                      
of a life story                      
we'll only remember when                
the cleaning                
and clearing                
of the never written                  
-read everyday                
in a simple walk                      
through          
green grass, in a park.                      
                     
A quiet seat                      
under a                       
larger than life        
statue;        
armed with                      
a journal                      
and fond                      
memory                      
surrounded                      
in a sea                      
of carnations...                 
                     
whispering ballads                      
in the drafty                      
winter-winds.                      
                     
And I fall asleep, in the imagery of dreams spoken in free verse.                      
                     
Pen between teeth.                      
                     
                     
-x-                      
   

Here forever her spirit's glow
that trines the vestiges of grace
and burns throughout her largess soul
in the munificence of space.
Equating her aquiline form,
full exhortations of her sphere
above the mist and earthly storm
from her pearl light's refracting tears;
beneath the shroud of her wan face
through the mystery of her orb,
her sweeping hemline's timeless cape,
the female essence I adore.

(My vision of the feminine mystique of the Moon)