My nationalism is very tepid
not warm like yours
My nationalism is colour blind
not swayed only by white or fair
to many it is unfair
My nationalism is not black and white, it is yellow, just right
My nationalism looks at slums, dirty filthy, debris
not really hubris
My nationalism looks at blood with sorrow
every morrow
But my nationalism is I know not right
when wrestling with might.
Sometimes I want to run away
Hide from your words that cut
Words meant to hurt me
Break me
Tear me up inside
Sometimes I want to close my ears, my eyes
Lock up my heart and soul
Where no pain can seep through
To stain my smile with sorrow
Sometimes I wanna curl up
Protect myself, crawl in my world
Where I am safe, alone
Untouchable
Sometimes I want to cry, to shout
I have no tears
Instead I hide, crawl in my shell
Where no one can hurt me
Adrift in the wind
Floating gently on a breeze
Whispering sweet nothings
Are the Autumn’s falling leaves
Alive in vibrant color
In hues of red and gold
Painting the landscape
Awakening the soul
“i have this deal of death about my hands”
(Ray Bremser, in the poem “Blood”)
I had another fall this week
only two paces from door to bed
but the sudden darkness
threw me off kilter and down I went
as with previous falls
I went down easily
and did no real damage
scraping some skin off a leg
but thankfully missing the bed post
my daughter and great-grandson
had to take an arm each
and haul me to my feet
Nathan had heard the bump
and come running
he’s like a mother hen with me
and I’m a fluffy little chick
in dire need of protection
it left me shaken and feeling woozy
for a day or two
which is par for the course
I feel quite vulnerable at such times
wondering if this might be when
old Doc Death might pack his bag
in readiness for a house call
the scrawny buzzard
hasn’t made it here yet though
Relax, it’s just an expression,
I’m told as the insults
roll. This is not democracy.
This is not dialogue.
Just an expression, comes
from a long time ago, not
okay with me. Let me wear
it and use it if I choose. Don’t
hold it like a weapon,
then tell me that I should love
you for it.
The physical distance between us is immense,
calculate it and it would show you the distance in thousands.
But this is nothing compared to the monumental distance of our
disposition,
immeasurable as it is made up of myriad apologies and timidities–
Consisting of reasons why we’re not fit for each other,
reasons you have made to conceal the fact that you were just unable to reciprocate.
You want to explore the world,
while all I wanted was to explore you.
You saw me as the girl with ropes and shackles,
while I saw you as the boy with brown eyes and lucent smile.
There are times when I briefly forget,
when the weight of longing is briefly lifted.
But there are also times when I still feel a little bit of pain–
The type of pain that flows through your veins,
distributed from your heart
to all the parts of your body,
responsible for all the functions
and all the restrictions.
The pain that can only be drawn out when a 5-centimeter needle pierces through your skin,
the pain that can only be dampened by more pain.
i used to write countless
poems about love to
a certain someone who
i thought was the one for me
i used to write countless
poems about love to
anyone who would listen
for a moment
i used to write countless
poems about love to
everyone
but myself
While out on an outrigger canoe
exploring islands,
there were turquoise waters
tropical beaches and celestial sapphires.
Luminous colors glittered
in the sky at night.
Those born sane and simple to madness and complexities, fell
To wallow in mires of ideologies and faiths that passion has bred,
To create illusions never sustained by reason any time in history,
Since civilization dawned and man groped for light in every tunnel,
At the end of which only a streak was seen till travelling there,
Confirming nothing was found and confounded forever in search and assurances
Into more traps of ideologies and dogmas, they fell to suffer more and to
Think there could still be a way out, and more intense search,
frantically taken,
Should once take them beyond mighty challenges that simplicity in
reasoned ways
Could answer, unravelling mysteries and curing curses that knowledge in covering clarity spent
Created over centuries when papers and ink in billions of tons got
misused to make truth
Take a visage that never used to be its own.
They ask me what
The answer is
Like I can read the sky
Or tea leaves
Be kind
Or something
Stop buying
And give
I don’t know
Sound like a fortune cookie
Just ask yourself.