contestants…

contestants

aunt bea
said
the other day
i met with my attorney
to discuss
my living trust
the dear child
kept saying
now when you pass on
but
after about
four or five
reiterations
i said
my dear
you needn’t
attempt
to soften
your language
for me
what you mean
to say
is
when i’m dead
or
if you prefer
when i can’t raise
my head
from that earthly bed
cuz’ honestly
when i hear
the phrase
passing on
it makes me think
of that
tv program
let’s make a deal
there may be
something behind
door number one
or
it may
just be
empty

translation please…

now
for a while
I was certain
that god
spoke latin
i mean
why else
would they teach it
in almost every school
but
overtime
i began to think
since all our money
said
in god we trust
that it must be
english
but which dialect
because given
all the harsh words
between religious folks
surely there’s a difference
between southern
and
northern
ways of speaking
but the problem
became even more confusing
when I realized
that people
all over the world
were praying
in their own language
surely
most of them must be wrong
given all the world conflicts
so i’m certain
there must be just one language
we must use
to get through to god
but
what language

i’ve lost count…

another soul
another language
the same human misery
a darkened doorway
gilded with childish dreams
not of gold
but of  a silver lining
now tarnished
by the acidic reality
that death is more
than the grave
it is sitting on a street corner
begging to breathe hope’s vapor
smoking discarded butts of existence
becoming a belligerent drunk
screaming at what fate has given
cursing death
for its
late arrival

 

This poem was inspired by a post by my friend Cindy (http://theonlycin.wordpress.com/2010/8/15/repost-her-name-is-monica/)  I was a bit tearful when I finished reading her post and knew that I could not write anything right away…but wanted to release some of the emotions…so here it is …a mental release  so that I can sleep tonight.  Please visit Cindy’s site and see the inspiration for this poem.

 

just a gypsy…

as she passed by in her traditional gypsy skirt
embroidered with sequins and coins
one man created an illusion of intimacy in his mind
while another said
beautiful yes…but she’s a 
  gypsy 
     exiled
     punishment
     harboring 
     jesus
     myth
   nazis
     systematic
     genocide
     concentration camp
     forced labor
     imprisonment
     extermination
     killed on sight
     einsatzgruppen 
     history’s largest
     mass murder
  after war
      assimilation schemes
      restrictions
      cultural freedom
      language
      and
      music
      banned
      labeled
      socially degraded stratum
      women sterilized
      state policy
had they but know her history
or that her love for country was as unconditional
as her beauty
they might have rethought their words
if not
then they are no more than fools
for seeing just a gypsy

Poem inspired by comments from http://jadepaloma.wordpress.com/