outside…

copyright cwmartin 2011

hold fast
if you wish
to the rusted chains
that anchor you
to your haven
of self-certainty
and denial
for outside
the sacred stones
that line the walls
forming the port
is a sea of knowledge
it may be best
that you stay
and
not sail these waters
for this sea
has been known
to swallow
a mind
like yours
whole

erida’s mist…

with every step forward you take
it flows just below the surface
you sense it as you move
as if someone is mocking you
you smell nothing
feel nothing
but that static
of an approaching storm
you hear nothing
for it’s like a gas
entering the body
through portals of the mind
to incite warfare
to start a riot
or send a lover
into uncontrolled rage
poisonous
corrosive
you feel confused
breathing quickens
lungs burn
heart pounds
you feel a peculiar horror
a feeling that persists
you feel
hated

metamorphosis…

what happens to a lie
when left to rest in the mind
of the liar
does it reflect
in the mind’s mirror
as ragged edges of truth
or
is it like a circus mirror
where its distortions
become
normal
and
the lie
becomes
the truth

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/

11/22 + 4/4

black man laying
     on the court-house steps
staring into dusty dreams
     upon a mind’s shelf
tell me what have you seen
     that gives you hope
what words have your read
      upon that page of your life
that blood has not erased
     with its sudden moves
tell me old man if you can
     what are those words
that remain which are
     unspoken and unbroken
what verb or noun
     gives you hope enough to pray
or even to believe
     that you’ll be free
for even freedom is spelled
      with letters of hate and prejudice
but tell me old man
      what are the words you see
for i would like to make
     a  note of it
along with
     “ask not what your…” and i have a drea…”