Tag: Poetry

The Ride Home at Night

As the sun tilts over the sandy dunes
Making its final exit for the night,
I listen to how the blowing wind croons
It lamentation of the fading light.
Two camels carry a family home,
Guided by their Bedouin caretaker.
The sunlight silhouettes the way they roam,
Giving the dying light to their maker.
It’s a simple picture of black and white
Only seen in the world on a corner,
And though we can connect with their respite,
We like to claim that they are foreigners.
Can we not find ourselves in this landscape,
Thinking it too Oriental to escape?

The Crusaders’ Castle

We will take the defensive position
By building our fortress on the cliff face.
From up here, we’ll see any invasion
Long before they can get close to this place.
It will give us time to boil our grease,
And get each soldier to notch an arrow
That they can aim through the castle wall’s crease.
Our goal is to land the decisive blow
In this holy war we’re destined to win.
It has been foretold within the pages
Of our sacred text, to kill each pagan
Who won’t surrender to this fight’s wages.
It is the way the divinity planned,
Defending out spot on their stolen land.

Karaoke in Times of War

Let us join all our voices together,
So they can hear it all over old town.
It does not make our singing much better,
But I would like to see them shoot us down,
For this is the place, and the right moment
For us to declare, “This is our kingdom!”
After our youthful energy in spent,
We will worry about the rest to come:

The night sky brightly burning with rockets,
Making explosions with their collisions,
Deadly shrapnel that their union begets,
Marking the hated countries’ derision.

But why should I bother way over here,
Singing karaoke without a care.

Life on the Shoulder

I know the Winter winds still like to blow,
Keeping folks from walking the city streets,
Yet the time has arrived for it to go,
So we can emerge from our safe retreats.
I stand looking out the frosted window
At the empty chairs at the restaurants,
As the servers patiently wait below
For the locals to return to their haunts.
Only the icy chill goes to and fro,
Giving the advertisements their own dance.
Nobody’s there to watch their tempting show,
Giving the day’s market a fighting chance.
Tomorrow the sun will peak through the clouds
Building up the rise of summertime crowds.

Airport Checkpoint

I know that security can be tight,
And you are trying to protect the land.
Don’t fret about me putting up a fight,
But I think this is getting out of hand.
You may not know of this brand called SweeTarts,
But that does not mean they are illegal.
You can find similar kinds in these parts;
It is not something worthy to smuggle.
Maybe, I should not have opened the box,
For it makes it a little suspicious,
But should I look down the sight of your glocks
Because the pills mixed in are malicious.
I thought that the plan would be worth a shot,
And I never thought that I would get caught.

Quick Trip Home

It was only yesterday I touched down
To a room full of family and hugs.
I could discourage the traveling frown
By leaning into where my heartstring tugs.
But responsibility tells its tale,
Reminding me that this has to be brief.
I am given enough time to exhale
To enjoy this short moment of relief.
I have to go and get my bag repacked
Because there is a flight calling my name.
My job could threaten me by being sacked;
I’ll continue to play its silly game.
I hope you are happy that I have been,
But this trip has been there and back again.

Winter Wedding

Do not ask for why tears drip from the pines;
It is an icy expression of joy.
Between the broken storm clouds, the sun shines
An afternoon beam upon a girl and boy,
Melting the snow gathered upon the boughs.
A crowded street of umbrella applause,
From the winter, the sun did arouse,
Giving the crying tress their special cause.
We gathered together to bear witness
Of written whispered vows being exchanged.
The umbrellas and tree leaned in to bless
The monumental moment being staged.
Silence surveyed in anticipation
To hear, “I do” said in repetition.

A German owned Thai restaurant in Prague

I’ve worked my life for this opening day,
So I can show off my abilities
In cooking. Now I will ask if you may
Come and enjoy my Thai delicacies.
It’s not the typical fare you’d find here
Among the old brick buildings and beer halls.
It’s a departure from the normal cheer;
I’m glad you’ve heard its tantalizing calls.
I have added a little German flare
For that is the place that I call my home.
The combination is not all that rare;
Instead, it creates a comforting poem.
You will always be my first customer
Of this lifelong wish of an endeavor.

The Wheelchair Holiday

Though the road may be a little bumpy
And the wheels on the cart don’t have much give,
I’ll try to make the ride not so jumpy.
The turning is also not responsive,
So we’re going to have to take it slow,
Giving us enjoyment of scenery
That we usually ignore as we go
Because we believe trips should be busy.
Though we won’t be able to see as much,
What we will see we will really take in.
It gives vacation a different touch
When the small moments are what we’re makin’.
Don’t fret about the trip in a wheelchair
For we got to see what was really there.

The Velvet Revolution

Now that we have gotten the crowds gathered,
We can start the fires within our hearts
For a proud people that has been battered.
This is the way a revolution starts,
Not with terror, guns or an explosion,
But with a single match and a gesture
That demonstrates to them our frustration
Over our culture held in indenture.
I do not believe it to be too rash
That what I will leave as inspiration
Will be my bones and a pile of ash,
And the knowledge that I freed a nation.
You can bring your armies, and your big tanks,
We won’t ever be a part of your ranks.