Of children of Syria
one boy, two with a dying cousin
in a smoke clouded ruins of Homs
staggers without strength
as if tossed by storms of drunkenness
one boy, two with a dying cousin
has seen what we most shelter
our children from seeing; images of barnarity!
voices of wounded ring in his ear
death and calamity is his daily bread
his almond eyes grip this moment and holds it
one boy, two with a dying cousin
with light steps, goes about burrowed streets
only if he could see the light
that has been swept by volley of mortar,
one boy, two with a dying cousin
in a broad daylight that looked like night
gathers pieces of his shattered home
one by one, until the moon vainly smiles
one boy, two with a dying cousin
driven mad by a wild convoluted world
dawn breaks, portent cries of missiles sow
he hurries to his dying cousin, holds him!
above, fighter jets purr like hedonistic curses
tears blur out the debut of new war weaponry
falling over his small frame, causing walls to sag
one boy, two with a dying cousin
clings on to the specks of dust
he hears the wrath of beseigers proliferate
hell is unleashed, everything grows dim
the ground erupt, flames ignite; an ambush rings on
terrors rise to occlude all arteries, so that,
numbness forms a rich curtain of lugubriousness
a cannonade of crazy proportion rain...
one boy, two with a dying cousin
sways in a frightful revelry of a war
in his corner, no one dares extend a hand
or cast bread and butter to his direction
mother dead, father dead; cousin dying,
uncle, swallowed up by a free Syrian army
one boy, two with a dying cousin
grew from the womb just like your son
as bombs blaster, his hands are clasped
and asks you to make your heart right
not by opening your homes, or living rooms
but buy opening your borders, see him through
one boy, two with a dying cousin
asks you to raise your voice
know his way of living everyday
would you wish it upon your blood?
if no, then, tell it as it is to the world
one boy, two with a dying cousin
stays down in silent uncertainty
pool of blood congeal between his toes
he counts to the afternoon waning sun
in silent uncertainty, the hours of his cousin fold
one boy, two with a dead cousin
whose dreams are fraught with war horror
observes the winds start afresh, over and over
and wonders if there be a chance
for him to start fresh somewhere silent
one boy, two with a dead cousin
to this day is still stuck amid crossfire
his lap cradles an adipocerous body
of his deceased cousin; bow down...
a moment of silence to all children of Syria
both living, and deceased...
a moment of silence!
Nonfiction—Snakes and Spiders
When I wake, the cats are at the door – they want to slip into bed and lie in my warm vacancy. One is black with a teacup on her chest, the other gray as elephant's breath with muted stripes. In the darkness, I fumble against their fur, locating rump, scruff, finally head, and I pet what I can find until they roll over and expose their tummies – a trap. Under the bluing shade of early morning they are furry dead spiders.
Cats aren't the only parasite squirming in the bedwaters – my wife, snorting like the Union Pacific, snakes her cold fingers and toes toward me, seeking flickers of heat like sausages over a campfire.
Shower. Toothpaste. Size 40 pants instead of last year's 38. An XLT button-down that's starting to hug. The cats follow me to the living room as I pick up a satchel and keys. Jenny lets me pet her back – she has a funny habit of bursting forward when my hand reaches her tail, to circle around for another run. Remy sits on the couch, feet tucked under his chest like a chicken in a coop. I think of saying goodbye to the snoring pile of hair in the other room, but my wife doesn't work until 9. Still, what if I never see her again?
I open the door and step into a world devoid of Julie and Jenny and Remy and the little routines of morning before the light.
Jimmy Crack Corn
The hound dog did this all night long-
He barked and howled a horrid song
Until I rose with no relief
And suffered from my sleepless grief.
The matter was a simple sport-
The neighbors were at odds, of sort
And one had such a lovely thing
In heat that made the hound dog sing!
The morning I arose to find
The lonely doggies bump and grind
Because I had released the noose-
The night before, I turned them loose
As wanton lust was made to do,
I sat and watched the hound dogs screw.
The neighbors called the cops on me,
But I just used fatigue, my plea,
And nothing filed and nothing charged-
The two dogs loved and in I barged
To find a place my heart could keep
As after weeks, I got some sleep ...
Casters
Poets are magic, the song singing spell
Words that are tragic erupt from a well
Poems about pagans, precision, and choice
Wordsmiths are wizards and witches, rejoice
Splendor in wandering woven delight
Dangles the carrot; encrypted, they write
Surgery sewing the symbiont's palm
Doctoring novices, poetry's balm
Fixer, elixir, the poesy from prose
Toxic, exotic, the rosiest rose
Flowering fauna of fermented fish
Cindering sonnets sustaining a wish
Venting vexation, the blabbering brook
Content persuasion, the negligent nook
Viral vibration, ingredient ground
Choral concession, a book bending, bound
Jarring and barring the infinite flame
Blazing inferno, amazing, the game
Jealously, jauntily, jungles the bell
Bringing bereavement, a clock ticking tale
Time is a warrior and weapon to wield
Helping or hindering blood in the field
Tripping transmissions, a sorcerer's clue
Hung from a mantle, the words of a few
Accurate curses in purses of gold
Render the reader a payment on hold
Apples and pears on a palette of sin
Ripping and stripping the tooth of a grin
Whisper remainder as wizardry rules
Witches and wonderment taught not in schools
Poetry- magical, mystical knell
Proper reminder that poems are a spell ...
Daybreak
Daybreak, and your voice is a lingering breath
your presence is an imprint warming
my now orphaned breasts
the lightning still flickers and taps
maddening code from brain to heart
Daybreak, and shadows are chased
to their beckoning corner
your stormy eyes are studies in fever-pitch
your irresistible, irrepressible mouth
a smeared fire-engine stain
do we accuse my own love-swollen lips?
Daybreak, and the silence is infinite
you pretend at nonchalance
but your beautiful hands tell another story
you are near enough to touch
and all the more distant
Daybreak, and we are already spent
ruptured to opposite ends of the room
backs bidding one another farewell
the door is now salvation, resolute
leaving me was always a hollow threat
you will make good on old promises.
Daybreak, and I capitulate
among the splinters of our heartbreak
you have departed without remorse
my will crushed in your dilapidated suitcase
as you feign the lightness in your step
In response to @Firdaus poem "Midnight". Link to original post:
https://theprose.com/post/116832/midnight
antoinette
show me
the cracks of us,
mapped masquerades
carved in baroque
our legacy
trapped in time
guileless hearts
barbed with crowns
of power
too great for
a king
without a roar,
a queen
without a poise,
two children
woke by noise
of fury
in the night
i lay
by your side
and whisper
through the chaos
show me
the cracks of us,
these scars
of the revolution.
