| Thoughts on Servitude 1-27-07
I am a hand
or a leg
or an eye
or a foot.
I am sometimes a voice
from a steady tongue.
I am an ambassador.
I am a treaty between
the man
and on whom he gets
down.
Here and there
I am a symbol
or an oracle
or the key in the lock of savings.
I am even in some cases
a friend.
Family.
Team.
Frontline.
Invaluable.
Fringe Benefit Privelages.
Jive!
I am worried.
I am tip-toeing on a brink.
I am dish water in a dirty sink
turning the heat
up
in the room
in hopes to evaporate
before the plug is pulled
and I go
down. |
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| Some flat Land, A deepening slope and a pit of Hungry Vipers (An Attempt at unobstructed Thought)When all was serene in the wood
I enjoyed walking there,
and upon stopping to observe
(from where I stood)
a voice like sand paper
resounded.
I listened.
How couldn't I?
Speaking evils.
Speaking education.
Speaking concern.
Speaking about justice.
Speaking of a tree who cluttered the wood.
Listening carefully
(from where I stood)
I felt a cold wind.
Not unusal.
But there I was,
with my coat under one arm.
Chilly.
Remembering.
And the wind blew again
like it did before there were trees there.
Like it did when the wood was a garden,
and the garden was weeds showing no mercy or pardon.
I stood steadily on the level ground looking at the trees that grew there.
None looking ill.
None looking festered.
None looking pestersome.
One dropped an acorn
and it slowly rolled away
as the land sloped so gently away from me
that I could barely see a decline
Just to the left of me.
The acorn crept.
Like a sneaking foot on a loose board it crept.
And then it walked a bit.
The walk became a shuffle
and the shuffle picked up to a jog.
The jog grew anxious and began to sprint
and then leaping it disappeared into a depression.
No more acorn.
An apparent deapening decline
unforseable to the do-gooder
with snake charming in his mind.
The pit spoke.
I listened.
The acorn spoke.
I listened.
The wind blew again...
Chilly...
(from where I stood)
so I donned my coat
and sat behind the tree
that "cluttered" the wood
until the weather changed.
The vipers go hungry tonight.
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| Like a Train DerailedLike a train derailed intentions careen,
a heart heaping fuel on a violent flame,
shifting rail directs elsewhere the direction aimed,
end over end goes the hulking machine.
Like a pendulum sways a shaking fist.
The clock strikes hate in perfect time
pointing fingers around to solve a crime
when the victim is the suspect list.
Like a thin sheet of ice from a morning frost
under foot fall from a heavy shoe,
a heart on empty fractures through
surrendering its shameless gloss.
Like a prisoner in a dungeons depths
seeking pardon from a hand above,
the jailer is the mirror of
the shackled who has nothing left.
Like an admirer who won't begin to try
to see the glance of his hearts arrester
the soul becomes its own detester,
comparing self to passers by.
Like an admirer who's patience will not subside
you wait for the wretched soul who festers.
Like a lover you wait for the smallest of gestures
with a spring in your heel like a blinking eye. |
| |
| At an impass
and yet passive
to all circumstance,
because tonight I was alive
with light hearted frivalty
while the real matters survive
only cause I can't unloose them from me
by default.
Dinner sat funny but I feel fine now.
All hands on deck a fluster with the man back in town.
My check was lower than I expected.
But tonight I am almost the audible equal.
Tonight I am on time.
Tonight I feel like the heart of a headless Frankenstein monster who despite
all probability will learn to be a graceful gentleman
eventually.
And when I give my right hand a name
my left hand can clap with it.
Music.
Music.
Music. |
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| This becoming a monthly column...Yeah sorry guys. I'll try to be a better blogger in the coming weeks. I miss writing. I'm all dried up. I need some inspiration.
Regards,
Terrance. |
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