When considering the final conclusion
The closing stages of a blaze soon to be extinguished
Embers glowing their brightest before at last they fade
Heartbeats ebbing to an even rhythm amidst the hearth
Radiating undulations and ashen remembrances
Furrowing to heights unknown
Trembling to hushed rest unseen
After everything the trajectory revealed
Cremated powder remnants
Charred and stained against time
But the legacy of its warmth still burning
More brilliantly than ever before
life
more than meets the eye
poetryis my constant hope
surveying my transformed life;
is there more than this?
life and then
poetrystreets painted with
blue lights glowing up through
mortar cracks through brick
holes next to old houses
mansions perhaps once filled
with concubines or slaves
but we stop for a nice
dinner at a ‘french’
restaurant just like life was then
red lanterns and all
now gone again
A Man for and With Others
poetryI am no longer a student
But a scholar A follower
Of the teachings of Ignatius
My life is changing rapidly
To transform into a new
Being of competence
To show the world my best
What am I to become?
What am I in four short years?
What am I in my prime?
What am I when I move on to the other half of life?
I answer you now
I shall become
A Man for and With Others
I will be
A Man for and With Others
I shall succeed as
A Man for and With Others
When I leave this place I’ll be still
A Man for and With Others
meh
poetryyou pour your
time
energy
life
into something hoping to give it life
hoping it will give life
only to find
most of the time
it remains as dead
as
the words on this page.
My Father and the Reaper
poetryPart I: My father shot me, bang bang
I was created a girl, you see, and
wantin’ to be genderless was my sin,
“My daughter, I’m send you back to your maker.
Only he can make you whole for you’re unnatural.”
Steadfast was his resolve as he pointed the gun at me,
I didn’t wish to be a boy, you see,
but he shot me before I could tell him;
I wanted to be genderless.
I was the garbage can
rolling empty on the side of the street
one shot through my wasted heart,
nothin’ but pungent darkness.
Tell my father, he fostered and killed an empty vessel.
Tell him,
Tell him,
Tell him, I had yet to be born.
My father is not an evil man, you see
he is a simple man with ordinary values
uprooting all he doesn’t understand.
I wanted grace
a heart, not bruised or calloused
a mind, pristine and free
and eyes, innocent and clear.
So that I could feel like it wasn’t too late,
So that the day I’d finally be born and alive, I could say :
I am not my mother
I am not my father
I am not a girl
I am not a boy
I am human
***
Part II: The Reaper
Dark
Dark
Father, it is so dark.
Ah, 17 years old…
life had the promise of a bebop dance at the neon lights.
I thought there would be more days
Days when I’d breathe stardust till the break of dawn,
Days when freedom would cost 10 cents a piece at the farmer’s market
Days when I would needn’t stop for the rain or wait for love.
Fly me away
Fly me away from my own mind
Father, it is so silent.
my beautiful mom took the night train,
she promised to come back,
when the night is beautiful again
when the passing wind needn’t flirt with the outside, with damaged stars,
and plastic bags that always float one step further.
The reaper came from the bullet
and into darkness it took me,
to the place of the unwanted children-
dark and desolated.
The fabric of life and death is too coarse against my soul,
it rubs the good stuff away,
and soon I will fade into darkness.
Wish me back
Have Mercy, Father
wish me back
alive and well
So I can finally rest in peace.
My Sieve and Sand
poetryMy Sand is my emotions
My Sieve is my mind
My Sand moves through the motions
Whilst My Sieve looks behind
because sometimes we think microchips and nukes make us pretty tough
poetryyour torrential downpour –
wash us clean from our pride
to remind us
of things we cannot control
your voice alone is the thunder
your grace alone is the rain
no matter the price of gas
you will not cease to send your rain
people dying in earthquakes
those who will drown today in oceans
they’re as real as this house
this street, this page, these words
and my wife.
you created life
we try so hard to harness
you alone create.
how small i am and how big you are
to strike down,
create
destroy
remembering that you are not safe
but you are good
your rain
so thick i cannot see
you remind us who you are
and who are
we.
An Ode to my Beloved Mother
poetryClutching at my Mary,
Thinking of the gift,
I’ll always remember
Who I wish to be with.
But some dreams can’t come true,
For life is the beginning,
Try not to grasp to tightly
Before Death comes running for you….
Damaged
poetryBehind the glass window, she waits
for lust and obsession to pass,
for claustrophobic thoughts and the spasmodic soul to stop
In the living room shadows, nasty ogling beasts wait for her- to
crack, snap and break
till there is nothing left-
maybe bones or ashes scattered somewhere no one cares to look
At the bottom of eternity a boy waits,
amidst the tomorrows that never came,
the ashes of furtive passions,
for the second before he hurt her
patiently awaiting your arrival
poetryyeah,
i’m still waiting
why is it that you’re here
but have neglected to
say hello
i dont need the word
just the acknowledgment
from across the room
a wave
a smile
a look?
i would settle just to see you
i hope you have
a life of grace