weedy
A dandelion is only a weed when I attempt to control my environment.
In all other circumstances it is a flower, food or medicine. And to some with imagination, a means to a dream come true.
To control less is to accept more.
And to accept life, as presented, is to know what peace feels like.
And when we have true peace,
we live in true joy.
And isn't that good for everyone?
Let your weeds be flowers, just as they are.
Let your grass grow, and neighbors judge; because when we have true peace,
we judge no one and do not mind if others do.
What’s Behind the Door
The stranger knocked upon the door,
A creaking, wooden throb,
And someone on the other side
Unlatched and turned the knob.
Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"
And, "May I use your phone?"
The person on the other side
Appeared to be alone.
An observation taken in,
No pictures on the wall.
He pointed somewhere down the way-
"Go on and make a call."
The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled
As wires were cut instead.
The gentleman began to sense
A subtle hint of dread.
A conversation thus ensued-
"So what has brought you out?
The rain has flooded everything,
And wiped away the drought.
Say, did you walk, or did you drive?
Why don't I take your coat?"
The stranger slowly moved his arms,
A sentimental gloat.
The water from the pouring skies
Enveloped cloth and shoe.
"Say, would you like a place to sleep?
I'll leave it up to you."
The person on the other side
Discarded his mistrust.
The stranger said his tire was flat,
And shed the muddy crust.
"The phone won't work," he also said.
"It could just be the storm.
Perhaps I will stay here tonight,
To keep me safe and warm."
The patron of the house agreed.
He hadn't seen the wire.
The chilly dampness prompted him
To quickly build a fire.
"You have a name? They call me Ed.
My wife was Verna Dean.
She passed away five years ago
And left me here as seen.
I guess it's really not so bad.
We never had a child.
I loved that Verna awful much,"
He said and sadly smiled.
"No property to divvy up.
The bank will get it all.
Say, do you want to try again
To go and make that call?"
The stranger grinned and left the flame
As to the phone he strode.
Within his pocket, knives and twine
In hiding seemed to goad.
A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;
Eviscerate him whole.
The twine would keep him firmly held;
The knife would steal his soul.
A lusty surge erupted hence;
A wicked bit of sin.
The stranger hadn't noticed yet
That someone else came in.
About the time a shadow fell,
He spun to meet a pan.
The room around him faded out
As eyes looked on a man.
A day or two it seemed had passed,
And when he woke all tied,
The stranger gazed upon old Ed
Who simply said, "You lied."
Reversing thoughts, the moment fled
And Ed said in a lean,
"No worries, stranger. None at all.
Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"
He looked upon a wraith in rage;
It seemed his little lie
Combusted in a burning fit-
He didn't want to die.
So many victims in his life,
Some fifty bodies strewn.
And now he was the victim; now
The pain to him was known.
The stranger fought against the twine,
And noticed by his bed
The knife once in his pocket left
A trail of something red.
A bowl filled full of organs sat
As Verna poured some salt.
She exited with all of them.
"You know, this is your fault.
We demons wait for just the day
The guilty take the bait
And play with matches one last time-
I simply cannot wait
To taste the death within your flesh;
The venom in your gut.
So now you know the way they felt-
Hey, you've got quite a cut!"
The person on the other side
Removed his human skin-
Before his wife came back for more,
He offered with a grin:
"Say, stranger, is there anything
You'd like to say at all?"
I looked at all the blood and said,
"I'd like to make that call ... "
The Cave
In a dream,
I wandered
to a maw of stone where my
light danced the rocks and my
feet carried deep into the
lonely dark.
Tunnels twisted in the
granite and I walked them
as a pilgrim
lost until I found the
centre of the veins and arteries
in a chamber where water
dripped from wet walls and
cried in the gravel.
A creature lay
shrivelled in the dark, its
form twisted and
bestial and it stared
into the light with eyes dead
and as white as the achromic
bones that shone through its
translucent skin.
A heart
thumped
in a bloodless chest.
A brain
throbbed
in a nerveless head.
The creature shook in the
cold and let out
a pained moan.
I asked of it:
‘will it always ache?’
It did not
hear.
It did not
speak.
It turned its sightless eyes from the light
and raised itself on wasted limbs to limp
deeper into that
lonely dark.
By and Bye
She showers me from above with falling spades,
having then gift-wrapped the stems with little hearts...
a full public service which she's housed in shades
of now red and black poison injected darts.
You'll find her masked as a queen, holding multiple aces,
bluffing a community, under multiple faces.
Diamonds of wisdom she pretends to display,
when diamonds to cut is the truth of her play.
Stacking the deck against me, she continues to game,
a system that she's rigged, with absolutely no shame.
Since all she believes is no feign then no gain,
I must question then at what cost and whose pain?
Club members pleased as she slanders, applaud -
the clubbing of a young man's heart, oh God - -
please help guide my hand to fold instead of fight,
instead of gambling my virtue out of spite,
against a sick and sinister soul's sad plight.
Force me not to poke-her with your spades of light,
win or lose...flip my dream turned nightmare tonight.
I am struggling with this motion to check: live or expire,
as a resolution that is urgent and morbidly dire-
'twas just on the table, then on the pan, now off to The Friar,
as His second is needed, to go all-in this, trial by fire.
Father, let it be in my cards, to do what is just...
and help me to cremate, this invoice, for poison lust.
Lord, make me not risk laying to waste,
this old bully from a schoolyard fight;
bless me with luck and heavenly might,
for a tournament noble and chaste.
Consider the nights I’ve spent digging her ditch,
please honor the time that I've lost to this witch,
whose rage’s raised from an emotional glitch,
of jealousy folded in a single stitch.
I’m hereby knocking to check on slaying this snitch,
calling Azrael to push the dumbwaiter switch.
Although a 50/50 chance is blindly set by your crown,
I pray that her pair of elevator arrows, both, Show-Down!
Nay, help make me the hero and this order delay…
cancel making me victim to becoming one's prey,
just protect me from evil as I kneel and I pray:
“our horsemen, who art in Heaven, now summoned and nigh--
pass, by,
pass, by.”
And now four suited stallions, flush with black hearts,
neigh loudly but voiceless, in front of their carts.
Marking her players who all vote as one,
to majority counts of four to one.
I am still human at the end of this day,
so I ask you, Yahweh, to end this decay.
I wish not to cash-out on her last sigh,
no reins or noose, to soon hold up and tie.
I’ve good left in me and I wish to try
asking your horsemen for a pass to buy - -
a way,
away,
from this burned passerby.
I'll pay her ante across the River Styx,
chips sprung from her eye sockets with reaper sticks,
fortune stuffed in her pockets with fire picks.
Proclaiming the odds at even they cry:
‘all bets are final to live or help die’!
Swords at the ready and ready to fly,
riders are shuffling to deal upon high,
sickles now flopping like hail from the sky,
turning her tombstone with acid and lye,
the river’s mouth’s showing halva and rye –
goodnight fine horsemen,
hello and goodbye.
Kindly pardon one last thing,
just as a postscript, my King…
pairing Hell and high purpose within this fog of straight sight,
I present to your horsemen, this final kicker tonight - -
pass her by /
pass her, bye.
Copyright © 1986-2017
Alan Salé
All Rights Reserved
contact: AASalehi@gmail.com
PoetryByAlan.com
Introduction
Hi Prose!
I've looked into several similar writing community sites like this, but this is the first that has made me feel like I'm part of something. It was really easy to just dive in to this site. To honour the feeling of community I thought I'd introduce myself a little.
I'm not a native English speaker, and writing fiction in English felt like an impossible idea not long ago. I guess I'm here to win those fears. You can find a reference to my own language from one of the writings I've already posted here, so go read them if you're curious ;) (Or you can just ask me.)
I'm also a mother to three small children. I didn't really write fiction in any language before my first child was born. I have always had an endless stream of stories and scenes running in my mind. Staying at home with a baby created the need to write them down, to concentrate on something that was all mine while the rest of me existed only to fill the needs of another being.
Thank you all for sharing your texts and support. I believe I'll have a lot more fun times both reading and writing with you all.
~Estril
