Category: poetry

Shores

The surety
of the ground
is a frightening
thing to leave for the sea’s uncertainty,

so naturally,
we would rather
stay here on the shore
than swim out there and risk burial in blue.

Sometimes,
however, the quaking earth
forces us to leave the sturdy land
and venture out to a turquoise, wavy world–to keep on swimming,

to keep our heads up, our mouths groping for air. Our faces

fight to stay above the waves. Our paddling arms and legs

cannot rest, as achy as they are, until the water shallows.

We see
the shore,
our salvation,
and we crawl out of the wet, and fall exhausted on the sand.

Boats

The
small
boats
exclude, give
salvation
to few.

The
large
boats
are much more inclusive.
They will eventually
provide room for
all the world.

We
can
not
save only the
few, the rest
drowning.

We
can
not
rescue everyone, all
at one time, either,
with not enough
room onboard.

So
all
our
boat can do for
now is start
smaller,

and
grow
into
a bigger boat. One big
country of permanent
evolution, until the
whole world

is
one
all-
inclusive ark of dry
salvation for us all,
shielding us from
the big Flood.

Kites

The
toy-kite
was named
after all of those
hovering
birds
of
prey
in
the
sky.

The
tyrannical
king, Macbeth–he
who’d killed
the wife
and
babes
of
the
Thane
of
Fife,

all
done in one
fell swoop–he
was likened to
a hell-kite
by
the
Thane
who
would
hack
off
his
head.

A
few fools
are out there,
admiring the wealthy
hell-kites
of
our
time;
they’d
fly
such
toys
in
the
sky.

The
fools will
try to identify
with their flying
toys, for they
imagine,
one
day,
they’ll
be
up
there,
too.

But
all of today’s
flying predators
up in the clouds
are swooping
down
on
the
wives
and
babes
of
our
age.

The
time has
finally come to
stop worshipping
all of those
birds
in
the
sky.
Instead,
let’s
cut
off
their
heads.

Lines

You snort up all the snowy powder,
feeling more than Superman
for half an hour,
just to come
down.

Relish the initial thrill,
& the brief escape
from all of life’s
depressing
dumps.

You want to bring the pleasure back.
You chop another line
and snort it up
again, again,
again…

This wish for manic happiness:
a smiling mask to hide
the lines of tears
that run down
cheeks.

Clouds

Sometimestheskiesaresogreyandthe
cloudsaresothickthattheyseemlikethe
fogmachineBromdencomplainedofYou
can’tseeathingyouarefrightenedandblind
Willyoueveragainseethelightandtheblue?

Then, one day, you’re
surprised by some hope, for
instead of one infinite blanket of
grey, you see broken-up clouds,
with blue holes and white rays.

The grey breaks
up some more,
the blue widens, and
the sun smiles
her light.

Now,
the clouds
are just small spots
of ever-so-slight
imperfection.

The
blue
gleefully
rules,
and

the
sun
enkindles
our
joy.

No

more

grey

’til

the

next

rain

is

on

us.

Beds

I
fear
the end of the world.
We are on our death
beds, gasping for air.

A
dying
world is lying ill in her bed,
her nurses her murderers,
hastening her end with war.

A
ball
that is burning: her fever’s been
ignored by all of those who are
responsible, who made her bed.

I
will
die, as you will die, as will
everyone else, in our beds
beside our ailing Mother.

O,
break
in, you red revolutionaries!
Save us from these doctors
of death! Make the ill well.

O,
make
us rise up from our beds!
We’d swap the hospitals
for hope and happiness.

“Staring at a cloud,” a New Poem by Jason Ryan Morton

My poet friend, Jason Ryan Morton, has written a new poem with the first line, “Staring at a cloud,” which I’m using as a tentative title, for practical purposes as far as distinguishing this one from my many posts on his other poems is concerned.

This one is a pleasant departure from so many of his other poems in that it is more positive and hopeful; not that there’s anything wrong with the others, of course, but I’m always in favour of variety. As usual, I’ll put his poem in italics to distinguish his writing from mine.

Staring at a cloud
I watched the sun fold
Into tiny pockets of light
Like the third eye
Of a blind man
Came the wisdom of the age
Focus on today
Relax and play
Let all the darkness slip away

Ware though my friend
Where goes the end
Peeking round the corner
Will only make you bend
But seek thyself
Find the truth
The only person who deserves your loyalty
Is you
Tis true in a way the day is born for you

Just staring at a cloud
As the sun sang a sonnet
Awaiting the moon for a kiss of purity
Today and tonight belong only to me.
The moon embraced me
Wiped the tears from my face
Tears of joy not tears of sorrow
Kissed Luna goodnight in my prayers
Awaiting another tomorrow

And now, for my analysis.

“Staring at a cloud” can be seen to represent a ruminating over past sorrows, or a grieving over trauma. Such contemplation of pain is a common theme throughout Morton’s poetry, as I’ve observed in my previous posts about it; but here, something surprising happens, and pleasantly so. He continues: “I watched the sun fold/Into tiny pockets of light.” Light has come to replace the darkness of the cloud. When grieving over trauma is completed, happiness can return.

The theme of the contrast of dark and light continues, though in a different form, when he says, “Like the third eye/Of a blind man.” The third eye, like that of Shiva, a mystical eye that gives a kind of illumination beyond that of physical sight, replaces the pitch-black, physical darkness a blind man can only see. Sometimes in our darkness and sorrow, a special kind of light and happiness arises.

The “wisdom of the age” is that of our age today, not the ages of times past; for he advises himself to “Focus on today/Relax and play”. Only in the here and now, the eternal NOW, or the Unity of Time as I described it here, can we experience true joy and happiness, then we can “Let all the darkness slip away”.

We get a few archaic expressions in the second verse, a link to the past that contrasts the first verse’s “Focus on today”. These include the use of “Ware” (an archaic form of aware), “thy,” and “Tis.” To focus on the present, one must also reconcile oneself with one’s painful past.

“Ware” makes a pun on “Where” in the following line; one is aware of what’s going on, yet unaware of such things as “the end.” There is a dialectical relationship between knowing and not knowing; to know the truth, one must accept one’s lack of knowing. Therefore, one shouldn’t go “Peeking round the corner”, which “Will only make you bend” (i.e., twist your mind and make you believe falsehoods, untruths).

Instead of trying to find knowledge from out there, one should “seek thyself” and “Find the truth”. We find the truth within, not through trying to gain the validation and approval of others. Don’t seek the light outside, which will often lead to darkness; find the light within.

The contrast of light and darkness continues with a refrain of “Just staring at a cloud/As the sun sang a sonnet,” this being my favourite line in the poem. One is reminded of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 (lines 5 and 6 especially). The paradox of dark and light is given again in the switch from the sun to the moon, which he awaits “for a kiss of purity.” Again, the juxtaposition of light and dark is achieved with “Today and tonight belong only to me.”

We begin to see Morton’s leanings towards pagan mysticism and spirituality when he says, “The moon embraced me/Wiped the tears from my face.” Here, the personified moon is his goddess, even a lover, whose love causes him “Tears of joy not of sorrow,” for She has helped him heal from so much of his past pain. Therefore, in gratitude, he “Kissed Luna tonight in [his] prayers/Awaiting another tomorrow.”

I await another poem of this spiritually uplifting sort from my literary friend.

Mushrooms

Weren’t
Hiroshima and
Nagasaki enough?
Why
are
the
men
of that so hawkish ilk

Risking
a repeat of
nuclear horrors?
Now
it
is
not
going to be two cities

bombed
and reduced
to fire, ash, and rubble,
but
all
of
our
already fragile planet.

Does
staying at
the top matter
more
than
the
many
people trembling at the bottom?

Have
our so-called
leaders a death wish?
Have
they
any
kind
of plan to push the world to war without atomic danger?

Or are
they eating
magic mushrooms
while
they
plan
their
wiping out of all their foes?

Islands

Each
of
us
is
a
small
island,
sitting
alone in an ocean of alienation.

Few
of
us
have
any
friends,
neighbours,
or comrades to share all our sorrows with.

We
sit
and
we
sink
in abysses of bitterness, hatred, and envy.

We’ve
only
the
warmth
of the Earth, and we sink all the more.

The
icy
elites
at the top will do nothing for us.

They
melt,
and they make us all sink all the more.

One
day, there will be no more land to live on.

There’ll just be a hot, global ocean of bleak loneliness.