Category: Shorts

Context ~ #Poem — Exclusive Inflictions

Clouds of the sky Seem to wash over me Like the waves of the sea There’s more than meets the eye It’s about perspective We each hold onto our own A set of beliefs on what’s known Other possibilities & opinions rejected Some naive, others easily deceived Turned around and up side down We rise […]

via Context ~ #Poem — Exclusive Inflictions

I love the way Kelly’s poem focuses on broadening one’s horizons and the pitfalls of harboring a false sense of certainty. I’m also a fan of the internal rhyme,the dance to the wordplay is still retained, but it’s very accessible. That’s not an easy thing to do.
Thank you Kelly!

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The man in the Ghost.

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The leaves billowed from the heavens, a roasted brown or Sunkist yellow. Mixed into the mess is the liter of the ages; a pattern, a rhythm, a song of color against dismal grey concrete. I pass the man with the tenderized face, jeans with holes and a twisted limp. But he smiles, teeth like termites. And though he smiles, later he won’t. And though he greets me with a kind face now, later he won’t. We know this, we know the binary of the demons and the angels. It remains unacknowledged, but the distance is respected.

Freedom

Freedom is only afforded

To the dead

The wreckless, the NON-

Freedom is post mortem

Freedom is earned

After a blistered life,

variable contorted slavery.

 

Freedom is out of this world

Out of the bill boards

And their manipulations

Their

Commercial brainwashing.

Reaching for Nirvana

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If my survival,

my humanity is

my adaptation,

could I be the

Hubris they’re looking for?

 

How could you adapt to change

If change is all you’ve known?

If change is your comfort zone?

 

How do you live

After the death

of security?

 

After the death

Of the ego?

Stuck in Another Shadow

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I come to realize that we’re all Matryoshka dolls doing what we can to degrade the people around us, to feel a millimeter taller than our predecessor. I suppose that’s progress: grades painted in the blood of the people, but the test was in a language we can’t read. The door is barred. We’re all tired. We want to go home. There’s no end in sight. Didn’t hear talk of an end. It just rattles misshapen and defeated as if bureaucracy were a natural state.

Caught Between Death and Empathy

 

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This is actually a journal entry, the beginning is an echo of my fear of the medical complications of type one diabetes, (For more information on the disease:  https://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000305.htm) at a cross section between my anxiety over being kept in the dorm room with some falling friends during 2014.

There’s too much of it. I want to live dammit, let me live. Don’t keep me locked in your grasp. More cage than arms, more entrapping than adoring, let me free. The sun shines, raise the blinds and see it. The world is full of many multitudes of beauty. Just get outside and see it. Take a step outside of paradigm and experience all that makes you Human.

 

If writing  from a first hand experience about diabetes is something that interests you, please comment below, and I’ll look in my goody bag and in the following days I will publish several posts on the subject.