Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Wing-Clipped Bird


I feel old, useless,
Clumsy, dull witted,
Incapable-
Sometimes it seems
That everything I try
Is wrong…
Even this poem.
Because it sounds as if
I’m feeling sorry for myself.

Well maybe I am.
How else am I supposed to feel?
When I look at my life
I feel like a bird:
Grounded,
Looking up;
Seeing others soar-
Others of his kind,
Others of MY kind,
Wondering why
I can’t fly anymore.
I look at my wings
And see they are clipped.

Ah yes,
That’s part of the agreement-
The unspoken, spoken agreement.
If I wanted to live
Around my kind,
Any kind,
My wings can’t carry me
Because they only carry me
Into trouble-
They tell me

So sometimes I flap them
Remembering the days
I rode the wind-
Letting its currents take me
Where they would:
Sometimes dangerous,
Sometimes fun;
Always interesting
But no good
They tell me:
For myself
Or mainly others

So I have become
A sensible bird-
I won’t fly;
I can’t.
They tell me
I shouldn’t look
At the others.
Maybe it’s because
It will remind me
Of all I had,
And all I lost,
And all I’ve got left.

But YOU try
Not looking up,
Impossible…
As I walk
Unsteadily
Toward whatever
Whenever,
Wishing I could fly
Again.

Mater Alchemia

They killed her, though she'd never erred,
excized her, or so I've just heard,
because of her boys
they made a loud noise
and flushed her away like a turd.
 ----------ed pacht

Untitled Wallpaper

"Masud" Wallpaper

Friday, April 8, 2011

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

L. A. Boyz 422

"Maladjusted" by Mr. Chips

“Get adjusted, damn you!!!”
I growled giving a good whack
With the side of my wrench:
My victim,
A simple hex nut
Holding together
An important part
Of my structure.\
It wouldn’t loosen,
Or tighten.
It barely held
As I cursed
In my rage and frustration;

Once, a while ago,
The hex nut had been
In another place in my structure:
Holding securely,
Shiny and bright,
With no problems,
Working with other like hex nuts,
As if it knew it was exactly
Where it belonged;

One fine day,
Someone decided
The attachment was all wrong,
Shouldn’t be there,
Yanked the nut off
Put the part
Where he thought it belonged
And jammed the nut back in place;

I didn’t say anything,
Let him do as he wanted.
I couldn’t say anything:
Wasn’t allowed to say anything;
After all, he had read the blueprint,
Knew where everything belonged,
How everything went.
I had built it all wrong
And his word was law
Because he said he knew
The Master Builder
Better than I.

That was the beginning of problems.
The nut seemed to be
Where it didn’t belong/
As if it knew.
It was in a place hard to reach,
Unfamiliar,
Not near others of its kind,
In a very corrosive atmosphere;
And the man left
Telling me it was now my responsibility
To keep the nut adjusted.

But when I went to do so,
I found it was cross threaded
Where he had jammed it on
And in my attempts to adjust
I stripped the insides
Until it could barely hold,
Knocked off the corners
So that it no longer took a wrench,
And the atmosphere had so eaten away at it,
That it was doomed to failure,
And when it failed,
My structure,
My important structure,
That I had been building all my life,
That held me together,
Would fly apart,
And I would be no more.

It occurs to me
Would I, and the hex nut,
Be better off
Be in a better place,
Be stronger and more secure,
If no one had ever   
Monkeyed around with it?
I’d ask it the question,
But how should it know?
It’s only a nut-
A simple hex nut.

Swiss Series_"Jenss"