Category: Poetry

The Snapshot

Can the world be held within a snapshot
From that small moment when the shutter clicked
To capture a time that we never sought
Held in an album where pages are flicked?
What makes this picture different than the rest,
Glued in place by the four little brown tabs
Where our vision is treated as a guest,
Given glimpses of the past we can grab?
Where have all of those smiling faces gone,
Who once graced us by visiting our doors,
But ever since the passing of the dawn,
Can now be found on pieces of cardboard?
Your smile is the one I miss the most,
Though the album has been a gracious host.

The Family Recipe

This recipe is a long tradition
That has been passed down to me by my mother.
As I pass it to your generation,
I hope you’ll pass it on to another.
We will use the freshest ingredients
As you blend them together in the pot.
We adjust the taste by using the scents
Whose unique detection my mother taught.
It’s best brewed during a warm afternoon
Where we enjoy each other’s company;
We’ll wrap ourselves in the kitchen’s cocoon,
Waiting to partake in the labor’s honey.
We have to protect what could be a loss,
So I will teach you how to make our sauce.

The Wake

Open up another bottle of wine
Because we have defeated this soldier.
Fill up your glass first before you fill mine;
We don’t need to see if this one’s bolder.
It helps to fill the room up with laughter
When we let this sweet nectar grease our brain.
We’ll think about consequences after
We have enjoyed our sleepy refrain.
In the morning, we can see what we’ve done,
Though our head will give us a reminder.
The night before we had a lot of fun,
Though we had no idea what we’d find there.
It is the biggest drawback of the drink,
Trying to ignore what we have to think.

The Way They Lived

Do not tell me of how someone has died;
Instead, tell me of the way that they lived.
I don’t want to know why the people cried,
But what made memories of them vivid.
They must have touched the lives of many folks
As they made memories filled with laughter.
Their friendships included ladies and blokes
Pursuing a life worth going after.
Let’s not remember the pain, but kindness
That was spread around due to their presence.
We have gathered, so we may bear witness
Of how a life spent deserves reverence.
Why would we focus on the suffering
When talk of living is more enduring?

Things I Do Not Want to Do Today

These things I do not want to do today:
Carry a stuffed backpack upon my back
In foreign airports as I make my way
To a tiny upright seat where I lack
The space needed to stretch out my long legs
Next to another giant of a man
Where we are in position to beg
For a little real estate where we can
Devour a barely edible meal
That was heated up an hour before
Or catch a smidge of sleep so we can feel
Capable of flight through the storms in store.

Or to leave your home, so I can go fly,
Having to hug out my final goodbye.

Batteries

Batteries only hold so much power
To keep individual clocks ticking.
Eventually, there comes an hour
When the hands on the face will stop kicking.
How will a clock react when this day comes?
Does it continue to live by design,
Making sure the mechanism still hums,
Ignoring inevitable decline?
Or will it fight against the coming end?
Will it play around with the way time moves,
Speeding up or slowing down, which depends
On the feel how the situation grooves.
Can you tell me which behavior is right
When a time piece puts up its final fight?

The Night the Lights Went Out

The lights went out on our side of the road;
We had to pack our devices away
And live according to an older code
About how we come together to play.
We converge around a different glow
That flickers from a central candle’s wick;
Neighbors become our television show
Which we will find to be the better pick.
Laughter will be heard around the table
As we gather around a deck of cards,
A more traditional kind of cable
That has more channels than the sky has stars.
You will realize that it’s a pity
When we live through our electricity.

Ode to Hanoi

There needs to be a pulse in my city
To get the feeling of being alive.
Give me skyscrapers, looming and gritty
With snooty cocktail bars next to a dive.
I can lose myself in the crowded streets
Though my head hangs above the common man.
I find that the anonymity greets
Me with a cool evening without a plan.
I will just follow the arc of the moon
As it ticks away the hours of the night.
Somewhere out there waits my eternal boon
Which gives my adventure its starting flight.
For tonight, these Asian pathways are mine,
On its hospitable meal I will dine.

The Fairy’s Pool

This used to be a place of paradise
Before you created a road to here
Because, for man, its beauty did entice,
And you could charge a price for them to leer.
They could travel up to the waterfalls,
And take a swim in our enchanted pools.
But would they listen to when the fae calls,
And play victim to our list of strict rules?
Wading in our water may be a treat
Which will rejuvenate any old soul,
But your heart will become out nightly meat,
And you will leave having to buy that toll.
Your desire will remain in our hands,
And you’ll always long to live in our lands.

Wasta

This institution is about learning,
So kindly leave your wasta at the door.
Please quit pretending that you are a king;
You cannot know what you didn’t before.
Being able to say that you know who
Does not demonstrate what you do not know.
I would rather see that your learning grew
Than hearing about your people in tow.
What you can do should take priority
Rather than your latest self-centered need.
Can you show to me your ability,
And put in check you pedigree’s greed.
The world does not need a nanny culture,
Maintaining people’s life of indenture.

Wasta – a practice in Arab society where people use their personal relationships to gain favor.