Category Archives: Poetry

Once more into the fray (Live and Die on this day)

“Once more into the fray

Into the last good fight I’ll ever know…”

 

My penance piety does not suffice

As the fray takes toll upon my mortal

As the dagger slices and dices

The fort crumbles…

 

Hope and pray I be reborn

To dive into the fray one other

To face demons whose fire I stoke

That my soul for peace to have

My heart for ants to feed

Yet death hath become this life I boast

All good fights have come to this

The moment on which I stand

The weapon upon my hand

Broken sheath under my feet

 

On this day I am born

On this day I die

I must hope and pray

That one day I learn to hope and pray

 

Eyes gaze beyond the clouds

For an omen I might see

This fort mine blessing and curse.

 

Immortality it might be

The bright light that cometh my way

Into the last good night I’ll ever see.

 

“…Live and die on this day

Live and Die on this day.”

The Bar Stool

Carrier of man’s problems, pervasive and persuasive

A place of peace in the midst of insanity and noise

For a breather where none exists

To wallow in life’s problems and listen to one’s own conscience

To plan and pan, to feel alive

To stare at the barman

Or at the one woman who will serve a pint without throwing a fit

The bar Stool

Raised, higher than all other seats

A place where the lone wolf can sit and wish he had friends

Where he can make new friends and pay his own bill

Some sit on it because it makes them taller

For the first time in a whole day, they feel bigger than they really are

Because hot girls seem to sit there when they are lonely

Because unlike the noise in the background

The drugs, the ruined lives, and liver cirrhosis

The gout and throat cancer

The addictions and pervasions in the background

The happiness in the midst of ruin

Unlike the riches burnt in the background

The school fees not paid and battered spouses

The abandoned families and lost jobs

The choking and yet tempting cigarette smoke

The death and despair, the dance floor

The madness that seems like hell

Where people of different world’s can meet and meat

Where deals have been made and governments brought down

Where independence has been won and history made

Where Prohibition and taxation can do no harm

Where everyone is here to enjoy and make merry

Some to make a living

Some to steal it

Some to forget the problems that life has blessed them with

To forget if only for an hour

Sacrifice for a moment of happiness they will want to enjoy on the morrow

To meet new people

Dance away life’s problems and scream like the voice box has no knob

To kiss and love away at strangers

People life would never have brought them close to

To run away from the darkness that is their lives

And yet, a different man and woman sit on the bar stool

A man who would readily give up his high sit to be on the background with friends

A woman waiting for someone, or waiting to forget another

An old man on the prowl, for women or for amnesia

A young man waiting for his meal

An old maid staring at the barman’s abs

A little high chair, staring at the pints in their bottles

Wondering whether everyone else has a story of their own

Some sit on it to run away from the madness, to ponder, stare, glare

Some sit on the bar stool, alone, because it is the only place quiet enough

Quiet enough to read the paper, noisy enough to be in on all of it.

A Little Girl Pinched Me Today

Walking in the streets today, something weird happened

Two weird things happened

A little girl, two little girls

Walked up to me as I hurried away

They each held on to one of my hands

And prayed that I give them a coin

I looked around, and saw

Them.

The mother’s menacing look

Like a pimp with a camera in the hotel room

Daring me to hurt their little children.

So I hurried away.

 

One let go, but the other little girl

The other little girl did not

She was not so little

Maybe seven, eight years old

She held on and walked at my pace

Half jogged even, as much as her little strides could.

I ignored her, or tried to, and walked even faster.

Twenty metres, she still did not let go.

Thirty metres, fourty, fifty…

I knew that at some point she would have to let go….

 

I was looking ahead, at something else…

On the road a few metres away, a young boy sat on the back of his mother’s wheelchair

A not so young boy

He sat there, his legs swinging away as his crippled mother

Manouvered her way through the midday traffic.

Unfair, I thought..

Why would he burden his mother even further than she was.

How unfair could a child be, I thought

So unfair as to not see his mother’s plight

Just add weight to he already burdened life

Just sitting at the back, on the big box

Maybe she was a hawker, and the box bore her wares

So, it was even heavy without the little boy.

But then I saw something beautiful,

A balance of nature between mother and son..

When the road started uphill

The not so young boy disembarked

And pushed his mother’s wheelchair,

Helping her negotiate the traffic…

 

Back to the little girl who would not let go

I ignored her because she was clean

And I knew one of the women looking at me was the mother

I ignored her because

She should have been in school

Because she has a future ahead of her, whether bright or not

I walked away because I saw in her eyes (when I did steal a glance)

A desperation for something more…

Then she did something I did not expect.

 

When she saw that it was all futile

She stopped, causing me to slow down because she still held my hand

And then

She pinched me really hard.

 

I killed Myself Today

I stood at the cliff and looked at the setting sun.

I hurled myself to the hull and let the wind guide my flight.

I drove off the cliff with everything I had.

I stood at the brink of life and death, and held mine in my hands.

I drove the dagger of pain through my own heart and let the blood drip down.

I swore I would never let life show me where, but I did.

I killed myself today, so many times that I could die no more.

I took the gun and shot myself through the mouth.

I pulled the trigger and felt the impact.

I left my own body, and looked at it.

I looked down to my own lifeless self, a mass of nothing but what was.

I enjoyed the sensation, the border between the living and the dead.

I killed myself and looked for a white light, but I saw none.

I ended my life with despair and hanged myself with ropes of failure.

I took success and shit on it.

I took religion and pissed on it.

I took everything I ever believed in and buried it with the dead and dying.

I unplugged my own life support, looked at the white hospital ceiling and waited for the darkness.

It never came.

I killed myself in the hope that humanity would recognize me.

I wanted the world to be less of one person’s problems.

I wanted to free my friends from their penance.

I wanted to make my enemies happy, so I pilloried myself first.

I tied the sturdy rope on my shivering neck and stood on a stool.

I kicked my own life away and got a little hard.

I spit on my own vanity and drank the poison.

I felt despair, I felt failure and I hated the world.

I felt the cold air strike my face as I flew down the tall cliff.

It made my cheeks hard and frozen; I flew like a bird and hoped to be free.

I knew I would relish the opportunity to meet death, but would I like him?

What if it was a she?

Would she like me? Why would she, I had given myself to her, like a fool.

I am dead because I killed myself, but I have been waiting, and there is still no white light….just a dark cloudy and gloomy sky…