Thou Shalt Not Kill

Sleep deprived soldier

Death becomes a looking glass,
solemn eyes glare back at him
from the grave.

Staring at the barrel of the gun
again – for the third time today
He pulls the trigger for effect.

Roulette – the game of fate

It fails again, and he’s left
with memories of all
the lives he took away.

Tears roll.
Rockets blare.
Children cry.

He begs God
to take his life.

He has stripped fate
from the innocent
and wants punishment,

He covers himself
goodnight, and
closes his tear-stained eyes -

Hopeful that
tommorow
he can go home

Who Decides?

How is it that we ended up here,
In this catechism
bound by
His covenants?

Afraid to touch
to even smile
at one another...

The
magnifying glass
has broken,

yet we still
hide
under this veil
of uncertainty,

terrified that
what we might find
will keep us from
eternity.

You
are
damned
from
within,

condemned
by
love,

without
even
knowing
where
morality
hides.

Forgive me,
for I know
not which
words are
Lies,

Which Truth
simply
died with the
Cross...

Until then
my dear

Goodbye

Broken

Tired of trying
Of feeling
Send me
Away
Bake me
Chill me
Whatever it takes
Flying low
Fuel is gone
Break
Secure my thoughts
They
Are Being
Swept Away
By this
Pounding
Migraine

Freedom of Sight

The woman peeked
through her prison of cloth
wondering what it would be like
to see the sunset
outside with her hair down.

A lifetime behind burkas,
freedom was a prayer
that Allah could not
seem to grant her,
and she willingly accepted.

The month of Ramadan
ensured her that
He would reward her someday,
and in death she could embrace
true exhaltation.

Faith stripped her of insight,
and though she felt the eyes of the world
upon her as her oppression grew
she was blessed with ignorance
for she did not understand.

Only when the Americans
came tromping through her city
did she began to realize that
one could watch the beauty
of the earth without a veil.

So she continued to pray,
that someday her
burka could be removed
and she too, could laugh
and cry in freedom.

Her children would go to school
and new possibilities would emerge.
So she sat outside sipping her chai
and watched the sunset
through covered eyes -

praying that one day
Allah would lift her soul
to the heavens above
and she would open her eyes
fully for the very first time.

A Daughter's Lamentation

He sits by the phone,
wondering who might answer.
Drunk again, he weaves in and out of awareness -
commiserating with loneliness.

Carefully plotting to get a willful listener,
he cries into his glass of vodka,
practicing his sorrow to avoid
the familiar dial tone.

This morning he was a man of
brilliance and insight -
the smartest I have ever known

Yet by nightfall,
his slurred recitations
and redundant belligerance
has stripped him naked.

He remains a has been -
an old, tired, drunk,
who lost his soul
to a bottle of illusions.

TOOTHACHE

Mouth
suffer
constant pain
drilling like
a jack-hammer
into my brain
frustrated
hurt
SCREAM
chills
fever
corruption
from a simple
toothache
or is it in my head?
AHHHHHHHH

Floating in Stillness

I have been lingering
inside this space
of solitude -

a space
of hope
and insight;

wandering effortlessly
in and out

of time
and
reality.

I have found
a piece of
my lost soul;

grabbing it
as it fluttered
by.

I have roused
what I thought
was dormant
forever;

waking from
a disturbed
sleep.

I have
found
my
voice
and
have
shouted:

I
AM
ALIVE

Gustav

Pitter
patter
the rain
scatters,

erasing
whole
cities.

Gusts
of angry
dust,

sweep
memories
away.

Blood
of the
flood,

is carried
downstream,

as the women
pray
that their
children
will be saved

from nature's
angry wrath.

It's been ten days since I've written, and I am stumbling
on empty words to fill my pages once again.
I don't know if I am just blocking the world, or
what is happening.... but I really am having a hard time.

Perhaps it's because life is busy again
- too busy to enjoy - to listen, and think,
and to have no interruptions for beauty.
Perhaps it because the one I love doesn't appreciate
words - or poetry, so I find it hard to be inspired.

Maybe it's because I can't think of something
beautiful to write - but only words of sadness and desperation
- words that leave a reader lost.

I don't know the reason, but I am jumbled and stuck.
I just wanted those of you who read to know
why the blog has been lifeless.

Thanks for reading,

Jackie

Lost

Sometimes I crave your freedom -
your ability to turn words into
symmetry,
fling yourself into blank paper
and cover it with
nostalgic memories.

I have become a hostage
in my own head,

unable to create
unable to purify
this morbid existence.

While you wrap yourself
around syllables of poetic bliss,

I fill up my pages with
chaos –
cloudy thoughts that
steal beauty
and force darkness.

I want to bite from that stillness

corrupt my head

with your sunshine

and silence.

Confinement

You say you cannot stay,
unwilling or afraid.

I never know with you...

Settle down in these sheets,
and rest your head a minute.

Just try to breathe.

I can prepare a sonnet in my head,
but you only want me in this bed.

The stillness of poetry is unsettling.

You say you cannot think abstractly,
only in linear space
where two bodies merge
and language is useless.

I imagine a broken funnel between us
where I spill the words effortlessly
and they disappear somewhere near reason
and insanity.

Dropped like a sharp C on your broken piano.

You say you want to leave -
that these thoughts are too deep.

My mouth just bleeds
words like seeds.

Let me go then
Let me be the one
to solidify my needs.

Absolut

Swaying softly in the music
the drunk takes a bow

wrapping around his words
with slurred annoyance.

Seeking to end it all,
he continues to babble
incoherently

about life and possibilities.

The woman
across the table ridicules:

the poor man’s sorrow is another
man’s laughter.

We are stuck in time
which doesn’t exist.

He is stuck in a moment
captured by Vodka
hoping that someone will
take him home and let
him pour out his misery.