The Sum of the moment is gone,
The airport sunlight framing her hair,
The missed taxis the lost phones and the laughter;
It’s gone.
Where did it begin,
This losing of moments,
In the happening itself?
“I’ll never forgive you”, we say –
missing the beautiful way they grin,
lop – sided,
gap in the teeth –
And the memory is pulled at
At the airport
Alone,
Memories now that she’s gone.
They said a prayer
And she left,
Lights twinkling in the Dark
Mercedes Benz carrying her casket
And she left
-body no longer looks like you-
But I saw the light that’s left.
“Do you think she’ll live?”
Also “…it’s quite warm today.”
“We don’t know.”
The machine beeps and the Doctors thoughts are reflected on his purple nylon suit –
…which glistens…
He is a Muslim with a grey-and-white speckled beard and a gentle beside manner,
Which my sister loves,
But she may not survive
It’s taken me years just to have a second of this feeling
A glimpse of being loved by God
I am God in me, responsible for loving me – and loving God of me, the Supreme Father, the Supreme Mother, point of light, man on the cross, Supreme personality, purifier, impersonal everything, Most Almighty submission – I am a child of God being loved by God – and loving – in the briefest of flashes – who I am.
Kenny
So many dreams
So many mistakes
Fear upon fear
So depressed about Trump
About life
About crime and sadness and poverty
Needing respect
Feeling unworthy…
For the briefest moment – the briefest moment – a man in love with himself.
Thank you.
Beautiful was the world, colorful was the world, strange and mysterious was the world!
Here was blue, here was yellow, here was green, the sky and the river flowed, the forest and the mountains were rigid, all of it was beautiful, all of it was mysterious and magical, and in its midst was he, Siddhartha, the awakening one, on the path to himself.
All of this, all this yellow and blue, river and forest, entered Siddhartha for the first time through the eyes –
– was no longer a spell of Death
– was no longer the veil of money and riches
– and honor and respect and pain
– no longer a pointless
– coincidental
diversity of mere appearances, despicable to the deeply thinking Brahman, who scorns diversity, who seeks unity –
Blue was blue, river was river, and if also in the blue and the river, in Siddhartha, the singular and divine lived hidden, so it was still that very divinity’s way and purpose, to be here yellow
– here blue
– there sky
– there forest, and here Siddhartha.
– Siddhartha: Herman Hesse –
For he will command his angels concerning you. to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. – Mathew 4:6
Then you will walk in your way securely And your foot will not stumble. – Proverbs 3:23
____________________________________
Sometimes I pray for money. The alleviation of anxiety.
I wake up in tears from the strain and the worry.
Day in and day out – afraid to sleep for the morning will come, afraid to wake for the day will begin
Burdened completely, no enthusiasm for life
Then God shows up – when I have exhausted even my words – when I am down to groans and moans
And says –
My dearest son, well done
When all you have is habit, your habit is to turn to me
And I have always been here
And do not think I held back to teach you lessons
I want you to know the fruit of faith is guaranteed
Here on this Earth
And in future, stored up
like this;
Angels to guard you in all your ways;
to lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike stones
And your foot will not stumble
And I understand the gift!
Hallelujah!
I am free of the deadliest sin – sins I could not have avoided had I stubbed my toes
Corruption – Who will know? Take the money
Steal it – They are rich. God knows my pain.
Kill them – No one cared when I needed help.
Pornography and lying, false witness and anger, greed and damaging speech
All I have avoided
My path lifted by prayer – my foot did not touch the stone
For I could be in the depths of hell – a hell of eternity, not just lack of rent
And I am on my knees, thanking and praising
And was lifted when I could not see the real pits of hell surrounding me
My foot – my foot – my foot did not touch the stone
‘…to Apphia our sister…’
(A prisoner,
On the basis of love)
I hang heavy weights on the thinnest wires
Not forced,
No longer a slave, better
To consider me a partner,
I own your very self,
And one thing more: Prepare
A guest room for me,
And my fellow prisoner – Aristarchus who
Implores I be what I am, and
Suddenly a man is leaking dust before me and,
I am no evangelist;
But even in the smallest book in the Bible,
Men are settling war with warm water.
You are a Freedman, Slave
Don’t let it trouble you –
Death collects all,
And if everyone is born, with
Memories that fade,
Don’t let it kill you, this thought;
Homosexuals must die.
Put your hands under my thigh,
Immigrant,
You from the Eastern Peoples,
Come with the Shepherdess you call Rachel and water your sheep!
Sooth your bitter cry, Esau
Who sold your birthright for a bowl of stew,
You are not about to die,
The West’s intent is more evil than your deceit, come
Mind not the bully with the swastika on his back,
Mind not the woman on his arm with the yellow, snarling teeth, fear
Not the politician with the fat briefcase,
Eat now you handsome, black man,
Your whole body like a hairy garment!
The smell of you is like the smell of a field,
So eat now,
Before Policemen in Arkansas shoot.
Joe made a few sounds,
And was gone,
He gurgled and,
Racing across a moonlit sky, left
Puffs of smoke;
Little white markers, like a string of pearls –
Each pearl a landmark, an
Exclamation,
Here I did this, and
There, said that, I
Sense him in dreams now,
Covered in green smoke, and
I listen to his tales of dragons and fury,
And madams and God, I
Take notes also, on how to die.
Work is out-sourced or,
Completed quickly,
– even for slaves –
The rest of life happens, as if
Travel is free across the Earth,
People ferrying gifts for other earthlings,
And taking gifts themselves, and
Nations who visit violence on their citizens will not understand when,
Aliens arrive,
In their cars;
Who is the human,
And who the State or;
There are masses of molecules shifting through Earth’s atmosphere, that
Have the ability,
To be conscious,
Enough to,
Look after the whale, and
Not demand that the whale,
More intelligent,
Look after them or –
The starving Sudanese,
Crossing the border,
Earthlings will be eaten.
♦Photo – personal♦
-short evocative poetry-
Encouragement happens when we look for it,
And give it,
In turn, it
Happens when we are not looking for it, when
We do not need it, yet
We do, it
Is soft and delicate and yellow,
Mellow on the face of a lover,
The,
Face of the receiver.
My Gardener is enthusiastic.
He kills all the weeds in my garden,
Sweating purple,
Droplets,
Muscles wet,
He,
Slaughters them,
My perfect weeds so long growing,
Black,
And whites ones,
Jewish and Muslim,
Mayhem.
Now the name of Hebron formerly was Kiriath-arba.
(Arba was the greatest man among the Anakim.)
And the land had rest from war;
But –
My government has turned into a terrorist, and
My weeds are no longer safe.
-Joshua 14:15-
♦Photo – Gay Israel on Pininterest♦
-short evocative poetry-
No one lingers on open ground in Syria,
And the buildings are silent.
The young man steadies his hand and shoots again.
It is Christmas Eve, and his
Yellow T-shirt – Just Do It T-shirt – is his only reminder,
Of normal people,
And Christmas stockings,
And of his mother.
His brown Uncle says he is fighting for his niece,
His manhood, but
The woman who shot,
In his direction fully clothed was fully,
Female,
Fully functional.
The bombs have destroyed all the buildings and the shooting,
Almost everyone,
And,
The meaning on the T-shirt is not his, but
He takes aim and shoots again.
It came from the right side like God, or a deer, a
Migraine warning,
Chemotherapy,
Under community skies and red immaculate buildings,
Missing Daddy,
Old enough now,
To hear sterner words,
To understand that the clinic,
On the dusty Main Street of the farming village,
Serves Japanese-Americans and Kenyans alike,
That dusty, ochre-coloured Main Street covered,
With maize drying, and
Women slipping from bus-stop to bus-stop with children in their hair, Paid for,
By a man with a plan – the clinic,
And mum’s words,
Soft and gentle and supportive,
And different from his;
I can take it now daddy,
I can make things right now,
The deer came from the left,
At least Cancer gives us time.
Even if your dream never comes, live it like it’s the only dream you have.
It will come you know.
Tomorrow.
She left without saying goodbye and you,
Have no more time, no
Early morning breakfasts, no
middle-of-the-night-fights,
Gone and now you must choose,
To give hope faster.
-Photo – Personal-
-short evocative poetry-
They paraded before him in,
High-heeled shoes and,
Dangerous blouses,
Then,
Jesse, with the strong arms, and the
High chest,
Called Abinadad of the desert lands,
Furry legs and all, and
Had him pass in front of Solomon,
But, Solomon said
Not this one either,
And the rest of the parade, each
With their own,
Bursting muscles,
Were rejected too, but
One was chosen,
With fine feet.
♦Photo – Personal♦
-short evocative poetry-
Shoes make the world go round,
Steady shoes,
Come home,
Stilettos,
Come sweet,
Yellow,
High heels,
Carry intention,
Fresh,
Stride,
Steady shoes,
Sure shoes,
Move,
The man in front, sure
Move the world,
Brogues,
Sure,
You can ask the time,
Leather loafer, certainly
Have my number,
Gazelle in yellow.
-short evocative poetry –
Envy in a bright blue dress sways down the street, turning
The doll the child is holding,
Into trash.
Her green plaid skirt –
Is useless in the wake of this drunk apparition,
And you deserve more,
Faster.
Stress, the suave gentleman in the red suit and orange cuff-links,
Plots his move.
Anger gathers dust around the
Isolated little girl, gathers
Whisper and,
Rumour,
Sets them chattering; I
Deserve better –
Cuff-links glint –
I don’t see why I,
Cannot have that doll,
That she has, it’s,
Not fair to,
Make me wait,
In plain sight, of
It,
With the straight hair,
That’s over there,
With her,
Demon!
I shall find my flip flops and search you out,
And give you a large, brown flower!
-short evocative poetry-
Gentleness is a fertilizer, a
Rhumba,
Swaying wheat,
Balanced corn,
In a field,
Caressed by rain, it is
Kindness
To yourself,
Ploughing, when the harrow is ready,
And sweating,
Gentleness,
Glistening off chests, is
The masculine scent of forgiveness,
The feminine of,
Breaking ground,
Gentleman or Boer, order
In the house,
Order!
Give in.
*Photo – personal*
-short evocative poetry-
cof
short poetry 