Dunca9n

Me, my dazzling face
In such a shiny place, this place of poetry.
Enjoyed days when nothing is written on my book,
Days when nothing happens,
When no one comes in disturbance of my peace,
When no one wishes to take me away.

I keep peering into space
To find a reason not to give up
When I sit, I think and reflect
Of those days that broke me
Young, stupid, and innocent.

I keep lying still on my bed
To feel nothing, and close my ears
When I feel, I feel my heart bleeding
When I listen, I hear echoes from yesteryears
That have left me lost and confused.

Trapped by misguided wills
Intoxicated by mixed reactions
Chained to ways of men
Such nights—cold, unfortunate, and blistering.

I was thinking of these sunset years
Hopeless in these chilling manacles
Despaired of prayers of remorse
Desolate of this shell of hope
Lost, confused and excruciating in pain.

I was thinking of my old cupboard
Packed with images and images
Decorated with smiles and shrills Disfigured by a mad, yet sane humanity
What is left embodies a rock of ashes.

What must I give to my people,
If not a scarp, shyness, awkwardness
Even though in my smiley face,
Least appreciation I get keeps me going
For nothing do I have in the last resort
To give to anyone.

Now it is me-time,
Time to appreciate self and smile
For what does one,
When none comes so I find solace in.
None offers a shoulder for my tears to fall upon
No one touches my hair to desire or bless
Well, don’t we all who write, have not what we desire?

If only anyone knew
That there is more life in my bones
Than I get credit for.
So now I must chain myself in my own warm embrace
And tell myself all the great tales I know
Forgive me if I ignore you
For my head is far up high in the horizons of self-bliss
And even as the wind gusts hard against my eyes
I shall not blink.

I pat myself on my shoulder
And I tell myself, “You matter”
Yet only we all matter to ourselves and to none else
It is my time; I need self-therapy.

I find myself pulled into a room
Of unsettling tranquility
Of loud silence looming
When the skies darken
When the sound of waters rush
When wild, distant echoes die

Everything comes in reflections
I hear whispers of hate and discontent
I feel the deadness of the world
I wrap the little me in a blanket
A blanket of darkness
A blanket of soulful hope

Let me believe in myself
When everyone no longer does
Let me love me for me
When I think no one likes me
Let me hope for better days
Even when I feel dead inside

So, I wish,
So, I hope,
So, I pray,
And I keep thinking
Of this life
Of alone

And I stood
Outside and looked back
At the glitter of electric wires
At the enormity of the black entrance
I looked forward again,
Afraid of the inside
Scared of the comforts
I had found peace in

And for a moment
I looked at my hands
Sored, blistered and cold
Cold from frozen nights
Trembling in fear
And so, with my feet
From damp floors
From rugged walking distances

I keep remembering
The darkness that wrapped me
The silence that gave me company
The walls that sheltered my head
And thus, to stay away from trouble
I ask of myself in freedom, ‘Which way son,
The old road or the road to the cross?’

THERE WAS A TIME
I found myself in your arms
In them I found peace
I lost my way again and again
I slipped from your soft grip

I used to feel the scent of an old, sweet perfume
Caress the hairy canvas over my bones
I wandered away time and time
And I erased your touch from my skin

Now, I reminisce of gone times
That I stood staring at you lovingly
Under pale shades of love Not so long ago.

I remember when I first saw you
On that food truck of ice cream and candies I asked myself:
How could someone be so beautiful!
Deep, white eyes like egg yolk
And a smile…
A smile, bright like the skies of Illinois in May

For the eons we have been together
I sit and think of what this life has made from two, young and wild bodies:
Matrimonial rings,
Innocent voices that call me ‘Da-da’
And a whole book of memories
Just what I wanted; nothing more, nothing less

And so when the sun dips its head
And the wind gasps to usher a nightfall,
I remind myself of the lucky man I am
I remind myself of our dreams
I remind myself to be a good husband and father
I think of us: now and forever
Oh, dear Shelly
What a time we had!

Haiku Today.

Golden autumn sun
the wind carries me adrift
Catch me if you can.

“I am hungry,” I said.
My love took her own life, so
I ate at her funeral.

If Fairies Were Real.

I want to wear sandals, and a robe, and be taken out of this world

In the times when night fades into day, or winter to spring to summer

In the times when there is sappiness and in this deep affection and where in love, we are whirled.

I want to ride upon the wind, and run upon the scruffy tides where I am a newcomer

Life is no life without little things from which big things grow

So, I want to be still, to listen when the earth is singing

Where I can only worry about my left eyebrow

Where I can hear no amah mope and no bairn whining  

I want to go with the one I love and not have to calculate the cost

I want to be a teapot, to blow steam over their faces

I want a place where I utter, and get no riposte

Where life is life and no varmints run apace

When I picture double-tongued snakes, and a thorny hedgehog

And ornamented rocks hug, speak and sit by the nursery fire 

I want that to stay forever, I want to die agog

And all along the walls at intervals, picking elms, hollies and then a flowery briar

I want to ride, dine, lie and die in the air.

But if only fairies were real, my dear flawless Felicity 

Ah, who would care about authenticity

I have a fairy wife, with whom I will oust my actual eccentricity

She is the heart of the storm, she is an alacrity

My heart is asunder, for I have lost my virility.

I have a fairy wife whom I do not know, but if only fairies were a reality.