Monthly Archives: June 2014

The Flame from Within

I was a golden man, rich yet naïve.
Money flowed out of pockets yet I was estranged.
Estranged from my Grandma’s wise words of wisdom,
my son’s cheery laughs and her,
the one with a glint on the fourth finger,
the one who was the greatest mistake in my life

The grandiose home along with pink wallpaper and sycamore panels
The lustrous diamonds of my chandelier
And then it hit

My son strapped in his wings
Flew over the horizon, the horizon of my world, our world
And then the wax of our connection melted
He fell down to the land of common folk
And then into the ocean
A land of misfits, of misers and a land of meek
And then he swam to the light only to know it burned out

I remember the day well, the bloody rope, the last sparkle in his eyes,
And then came the winter
The winter in her heart
The snakes in her hair, the gaze of her eyes
And then she left me like a stone statue
She walked out the door with a rose only to give moments later

And then my mother came, making me move again
The numbers on the page, the numbers I needed to pay
I begged her, she told me to wait
I scoffed at her

The hole in the wall, red lay everywhere
His last words, vengeance from my bloody hands
And then came the broken windows

The rugged texture of my shall
The frigid feel of the tiles
Snow between my toes

1 hard year passed
Trudging through the snow filled streets
The large storefront once the gateway to my world

And than I sat in the snow, reminiscing

My birthday, oh so many years ago.
The time we all sat at a round table.
My father’s words of wisdom, my uncle’s firm handshakes
The refined taste of champagne as an aperitif
And then the double doors open

Steaming trays of ham and carrots
The clink of the glasses, the looking through the window
And then dessert

Delectable trays of Danishes and strudels
And then my little gateaux with a candle in the centre
The red of the icing
The full moon peering over the window
And then I blow the candle

One day later, New Year’s Day
2 young men found the old man.

They did not know his name or his family
but they felt the heart and it was cold, the flame had burned out.

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That Night

That night

Was the end

It was cold

It was dark

It was miserable

It was over

The end so close to the beginning

The door shutting

The chain breaking

The end under a white cover

Snow pattering

Onto a dead end street

The last few sentences

She looks up into his eyes

But he doesn’t look into hers

He stands there parting his hair

She waits there freezing, no coat to protect her beauty

He stands in comfort, a plush winter jacket

She waits for a while before giving into

She forfeits, her journey on the game of love

She reaches for her pocket

And pulls out something

I look on

While I cannot tell what it is

There is a certain glint on the object

She looks one more time,

But his eyes are focused elsewhere

She walks away

Only for him to understand that he wanted her

He calls out but she continues walking

I see in the distance her hands have met another’s

The Sea and the Bowl

They swim the blue vastness of the ocean, circling the globe

They are always evolving through generations

But we evolve quicker

Exploiting them

Ingesting them till few are left

 

Those few are kidnapped

Sentenced to lives in small pools

Never to swim that blue vastness, never to see their family

 

Stuck here, forced to smile like young children

Abused beyond great measures, forced to take narcotics

Never to have their own, never to show them the world

Living a life, happy to all, melancholy to them

Nobody can tell, forced to take pills to smile, to keep the turnstiles rolling

 

But soon there marketability escapes them

One night their keepers enter to give them a magic pill

They can once again swim the great blue seas

Iron

The white of the room, the sunlight through the window

 His frail blue collared body saved, saved by the hands of a black suited man from the hands of novelty, the hands of technology 

His family took the tram across the city to see him

The iron in the machine caused pain

 

The iron in his blood, in his heart, his desire to live

But his boss lacked iron, iron hands, his hands were soft

He helped the struggling man into the red cross, to let him see light again

 

The family took the tram from the blue collar to the homes of the black suits

To see him

 

Badly hurt, greatly weakened but the iron inside of his heart would not melt

Not to give into human pain and peril

Lying in those white sheets for weeks, but the iron is still in his blood, in his heart

 

Every minute he fights to survive, fighting for a life, fighting for hope

The iron that runs through his veins, the strength in him

Weeks later his eyes open to see the bright sun light on the windowsill

To hear the laughs of his child, to hug her, his love, to smile gain, to laugh again, to love again

The Twinkle in Her Eyes

Paris, a young lady, her pulchritude:

Golden hair, smooth skin and rouge

Her heart, the white circular domes of Montmartre like Halos

From the bath of Holy water to

The white veil amid a dulcet of bells rung

To the black crepe and the final prayers sung

 

Her brain the Quartier Latin,

The Hola of Spanish, the Hallo of German, the Hello of English

The move of the tassel and the reading of the Latin diploma

 

And then she reminisces

The time she used her hands for evil

The red of her hands, the black of her coat

The vingtième arrondissement, a lurid place filled once with men with white coats

And children, who knew their mother

 

Then comes spring, and she takes a whiff of the fresh air

The pungent aroma of flowers in a myriad of colours:

The ruby red of the tulips,

Along with the royal purple of the violets,

And the golden yellow of the daisies

The Jardin du Luxembourg in late spring

The smell of rejuvenation like a violet bud opening towards the sun

 

And then L’Opéra

The harmony of the trumpets

Contrasted with the high, refined voice of the soprano

The music of life, the music of death and then the music of love

The new lovers hand in hand, fingers intertwined as tree roots

And then they walk in separate paths as if it was just a show

 

Then the sunsets; the sky as an artist’s palette

The ravishing red, the beautiful blue above only the radiating sun

Her eyes glittering, La tour Eiffel

 

And then as I walk out of the tunnel I see the twinkle in her eyes

And as the full moon rises I vow to return.

 

 

The Firework and the Candle

There on a ledge in the Lee family home lay side by side a firework and a candle. The two know that May-Day is happy yet sad. Celebrating the summer, mourning the loss of her father.

The two lay on a ledge, discussing life. The candle commences “Firework, you are bursting, red, blue, green, lighting up the whole sky but I burn orange for few”. The firework responds, “I may be flashy but o dearest candle, I live until I am light up, to burst in the skies, a short time alas, but you live long, burning until the passage of time”. The candle then explains, “My life is miserable, to live through the beatings by rain, to live through the winter chill, the summer heat but you are happy to light up the skies once, to have all love you, to have all in awe”. “You are to help the young, to mark their milestones, to help them live, to make their mayday exemplary, to be loved but I am to burn morosely for the dead, to help them make it through, I, a reminder of pain and misery”.

In an instant comes the man of the house and his lady. On his last remark the candle states “You are a firework bursting, green red, orange in this dull long candle-like world, be happy for your time here, it is short but vivid and blissful”. With that the man took the firework to light it up for mayday. The lady took the candle to the cemetery to light it up next to the grave of her late father.