Category: Uncategorized

what if wearing masks is worse than
isolation
an entire generation short of social
cues

and what if everyone is making a
face
underneath their mask, like a
silly weird crazy
grimace
stretching lips showing
teeth

sticking out your
tongue
means different things in different
cultures
agreement and respect, or
rudeness and disgust, or a sexual
provocation

non-verbal communication
with eyes and eyebrows
gives your forehead
wrinkles

Spawned within an ancient crypt,
Hatred wrote your cyrillic script,
Putrid mire clenched its grip,
Forged by rage, you’re ill equipped,

Megalomania displaces blame,
The hunter who hunts such innocent game,
You’ve lost control and sullied your name,
A land that bleeds, your only claim,

A vice on freedom, you ignore their cries,
Such wrath invites the carrion flies,
Plagued by pestilence that never dies,
A murderous purge upheld by lies,

A king with no crown takes no queen,
The wicked jester is how you’re seen,
Monstrous inside with hubris so green,
Evil so black composes your genes,

With nowhere to run and nowhere to hide,
They muster their courage, they rally, they ride,
Blitzing through forests, they valiantly stride,
Countrymen fighting now side by side,

Their howls converge to sound the alarm,
Furious, you watch them take up arms,
Their freedom costs a mountain of harm,
Yet impervious to sin, their Animal Farm,

Anchored by truth marks the arrival,
And hope begins to seed their revival,
Heart’s the key to their survival,
With a leader who leads, he has no rival,

You weep as his torch spurs the fight,
His valor so bold, such intrinsic might,
A common man turned valiant knight,
Slaying your darkness with his light,

You cowardly bully, you hang your head,
A charleton who sobs from under his bed,
Reduced to tears and full of dread,
For soon they’ll sing, “the tyrant’s dead!”

Sometimes I am asked to describe who I really am,
I often struggle,
Because I always look for that correct response,
My staple answers are everybody else’s,
Lovable, Caring, Determined, Pleasant and more,
Nobody ever will have to delve deep into the gears of who I am,
Wild, Stubborn, Hardworking, An empath and Bold,
But I have to pass,
Our world’s scan,
So I got to erase all the untamed parts of me,
And add plastic traits that I need to hone.

In this reality,
I am just price tags,
Labels that are put on me,
Sometimes they are expensive,
Other times they are cheap,
Ripping of these tags are what I want to do,
But will society accept me?
A cloth with no tags is usually bad news,
A blank canvas usually suffocates a room,
With the new ideas swirling inside one’s brain,
The whiteness of the world,
Would surely lead to the world’s doom,
Although these price tags pinch me on my skin,
Although they itch everyday,
I keep them on,
No matter what,
As I fear to be the one,
Who is denied the pleasure of being sculpted,
By the community god.

From a very early age,
When I was about five,
I was taught something,
The differentiation,
Of good and bad people
In disguise,
Like a normal young child,
I always wanted to be part of the “good people clan”,
Little did I know that,

That clan was the most impurest plan,
A good person is always renowned,
And supposed to be the divine grace,
And behold a certain power,
And have found a place.

As the days went rumbling by,
There were many people who just stayed there between the lines,
I can’t say that,
That situation wasn’t mine,
They stayed there adhered,
Facing the battles of life.
Every single day,
I started to realize,
We are but citizens,
In this mindless paradox of life.

A wave of water on the beach
She is always sand.

She uncurls her neck,
swan stretching to sunrays
strong like a blade of grass
she pushes through soil
emerging
nourished by dew and rain
crushed by a footstep
pressed against herself
blade in the mud
waiting for sun’s rays to
draw her close,
beckon her,
to rise and embrace
life itself.
“I am dawn and sunset every day”
Nothing changes but every thing
always.
“I brace myself, embrace myself”
but will doesn’t change ocean’s waters.
Waves falling on the beach
violent and calm
with or without tossed rocks
Offerings from the deep —
She is always sand —
Old, wise, and elemental.

I know I had my reasons
and I knew what they were
I skipped the pleasing and appeasing
in hopes that they’d concur.

But reason is his own man
and sees what He will see,
a whole crowd can’t do what He can-
to draw the river from the sea.

And reason sweets salt water,
divides the days in two;
from a child forms son or daughter
and makes the times anew.

And reason’s in the grey shades-
too dark for black or white
and clear when all good sense fades;
neither charming nor contrite.

What a lie and what a liar!
That reason makes us right.
For He can’t wear, nor can He tire
so no man can match His might.

Then reason is a god’s tool
made in the skies above,
only lunatic or mad fool
would mount that feathered dove.

Mike Dubisch © 2022

Ten pearls lined up in rows of five
Two miles of curves
The cavern which births all lives
The two moons that serve

Lost in a shallow depression
The valley curve beneath
Two small watchtowers atop two hills
Two mountain ridges reach

Two thin branches end
With two tiny women
Each one also wears a pearl
On each of their five heads

Waterfall of silk, gazing pools of hue,
Breathing monument pointing to
Seashells hearing both false and true
Sweet red leaves a lick made new

Save the homily, put away the cup,
close the old book and turn away.
When the hurt that is rushing, through
our lives like a train – there is nothing
to stop it – not a word or refrain.

When the dreams we are dreaming
are peopled with sons, that are no
longer with us, then the pain’s just begun

We can tell all our loved ones that we’re
doing just fine – that the ache that just started
begins to subside – but we’re lying,
and they know it, been through it themselves,
what’s this word they call closure – but a ticket to hell.

But pain isn’t endless, it softens with age
At times it can comfort – lets us forget the old rage.
It’s shallow, not deep, it rubs and abrades,
in the end, though it sutures the same wound
that it made

Closure is wishing that time got it wrong
that the moment that shattered
didn’t really belong – just delivered in passing
to the wrong addressee –

But in fact, all that mattered is we never forget
to live and to love and to never regret.
That the lives that will touch us, then leave us alone
make us better, than ever we could, by being alone

If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?

Mortally wounded spirit cries… the hellish chasm gapes
Over his every tortured nerve another memory scrapes
Darkness personified with every remembered face
Wounds of the soul so deep Time cannot erase

If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?

Honor and glory gained for gory deeds
Guilt cuts like a knife while murdered hope weeps
The eyes take in what the hands have done
The soul forever sees the black victory won

If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?

He closes his eyes to live out hell replayed
To wish just once, his hand could be stayed
His every step… every breath now death haunts
With demon souls of his dead his vision taunts

If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?

On his shoulder all his dead… faces pushing the slide
Every soul a demon howling… powering his final ride
No stopping him this time… no one to catch as he fell
His demons dragging him down… dragging him down…
down… down… down to Hell!

If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell…
Hell blazing in his eye?
Hell blazing…
Blazing…
Blazing in his eye?

© 13 September 2014, by D. Denise Dianaty

A lifeless thing that moves you,
It leads you places,
It is a compass to locations.

It is a body part that is so important,
As important as day and night.

Hands make you feel,
Life breathes through the hands,
They come alive once they are spoken to
The fingers move as they are called upon.

The strangest thing is they are alive
Nothing holds it back
They can’t be stopped.

Hands are like a soul
They need to be kept warm
Hands, they are like a soul to the body
As the night draws near, the hands unveil the blanket of light.
Then the stars appear, and it appears to be night.

The story of my hands is different.
They are different,
my hands have taken a shape much different than others.
How proud I am of them and that I love them.
I am proud of my hands.
Beaming for joy,
For this life,
These hands,
This breath,
This body,
This earth that carries me and us through,
I am grateful for me,
And grateful for us.
And ready for all the miracles.
And let us all embrace the same feeling of gratitude.