Category: Uncategorized

What seems revolving heavens, keeps constant.
Winding life flows like water down the stream,
like wind across the desert. Don’t delay…
Seek out the facts, not the interpretations,
for there are many, like opinions.
Observe, clarify, record. Men and
women of science make good company.
Those who share wine and wisdom
discover the face of the rose. No one knows
the way through the curtain of mysteries.
Every field where the thorn-quince blooms
has been reddened by the innocents’ blood.
Sporting on the field of Causality lays bare
the fact– that sport did not exist when
the rules of life’s game were laid. Man’s
life is like the ball in the game, driven
hard, here and there, by forces of
the universe. Who knows the course?

The brief measure of our lifetime plays out
like a symphony for some, a dirge for others;
the secret score not disclosed. High notes
and low, some sing, some hum. The song
of the soul empowers the spirit. The truth–
Worldly goods come and go, so keep your head
like a cup—when it’s empty, fill it again, and
drink of knowledge. For reason seeks the way
of truth. Do not forget your heart, tongue, or taste.
Seize the moment, for it is yours. Remember –
the world is filled with rumor and disguise.
Like a fresh rose, forget hubris, mansions, jewels.
Life is rich enough with invisible things. It’s secret
glows in the home’s warmth, the joy of sharing
contented moments not purchased, nor stockin-trade, but cultivated in our awakening
of the heart. The lesson that is learned well
is— that no thing has been learned at all.

Joyfully live and let live, let the world pass–
that stream of events, lived again and again.
The continuation of matter, and what matters;
the beginning was not arranged with any one in mind.
So, drink the wine, and linger in the goodness of it all . . .
People to people, people to plants, people to animals—
‘til that moment when the wind carries us as dust
to dust, when death gathers roses, wreaths
that wither in the circle— that is life.

A laugh and a smile
Heart opens wide
A giggle and touch
I love you so much
A look, a glance
Intimacy a trance
A wave, a hello
Loving moments on show
We laugh and cry
Together till we die
We debate and talk
Memories shared in a walk
Hugged and kissed
In our heart never missed
Short moments yet sublime
Looking forward to next time

I.

Let’s take a walk
You said.
Okay, I said.
And here we are
High above the East River
On a pedestrian walkway
On the Triboro Bridge
Hiking from Astoria
To Randall’s Island
As rush-hour traffic
Streams by.
I hate my life
You say.
And I know
You’re not joking.
I wonder if you’re
Thinking of jumping
And what I would do
If you did.
It’s a long way down
To the tug
Pushing a barge
On fiery waters
As it disappears
Beneath the bridge.
Should I grab
For your arm
And probably die too
Or simply admit
I want to live
And let you fall.
It’s late afternoon
When we finally reach
Our destination
Descending a cement
Stairway that deposits us
Onto a parking lot
Near the Manhattan
Psychiatric Center.

II.

We’re both too tired
To turn around
And walk back
Over the bridge.
The only other exit
Off this island
Is a narrow
Pedestrian overpass
That connects it
With Manhattan
But to get there
We have to cross
The grounds of the
Mental institution
And blocking our way
Is a guard in a booth.
You’re reporters!
He shouts at us,
Trying to do
Another fucking expose!
No, we protest,
We just want to get back
To the city so we can
Take a subway home.
He pats us down
And searches our bags
Then grudgingly waves us on.
It’s early evening now
And large bright lights
Come on, illuminating
Everything surreally.
We can clearly see inmates
Through plate-glass windows
In 1ow, ranch-styIe buildings
Watching TV.
If it weren’t
For the barbed-wire
You’d almost think
We were in suburbia.

III.

Beyond the last building
The underbrush thickens
And the asphalt path
Is cracked and broken.
It’s pitch black —
A hot, humid night.
Indistinct shapes
Dart into the bushes
In front of us —
I take out
My Swiss Army Knife
All two inches of it
And flick it open
Just in case.
And, like that
We come upon
The other guard booth
Burnt out
And abandoned long ago.
I’m not feeling too good
But you grab my arm
And motion
To a string of lights
Rising above the trees
And I realize
It’s the footbridge.
As we step onto it
We’re almost swept away
By a wave of humanity
Swarming from Manhattan
Onto Randall’s Island —
A never-ending procession
Of shopping bag ladies
Sneaker kids, junkies
And sodacan collectors —
And we the only two leaving
Tired and relieved
And even perhaps vaguely
In love with each other.

Time is an evil thing

The dark and desolate hands of the clock reach out and grab you by the throat

Pulling you farther and farther away from the life you thought you had

The life you enjoyed living blissfully carefree

The life you didn’t cherish enough

Because you were too young to know what would happen

When time curled its tongue

Dripping with sorrow

And exposed its jarring teeth

To bite you

And make you abruptly realize

That it would chase you every single day of your life

Faster and faster as it waits to strike again for the final time

You find out that every moment you experience is temporary

Nothing ever lasts

And it can never last

Because of time

And just before the sand in the hourglass comes to a stop

Only then

Do you realize

How lucky you were

Before the demon found you

Billions of slow bursting

What would now be called

Christian Years

On one hand

all of those pond eggs

bubbled for an immeasurable eternity

Just for you and I

to diss this museum

Standing in Line. Eyes front.
No acknowledgment. Robotic recruits
Uniforms pressed. Knife-edge creases.
Summer sunshine. Corona causation.
Shoes shone. Reflective leather. Bows tied.
Tarsal protection. Cobbled, with a mirror image.

No one speaks. Wordless. Mute.
Personal thoughts? Dubious!
Typical English. Restrained. Controlled.
Vehicle now approaches. A two-tiered behemoth.
Military Green-hued. Land-locked missile.
Troopship travel. Ever advancing.

Rubber eating asphalt. Esurient bugger!
Be-capped captain of the vessel, front right aligned.
Serious, concentrated. Steers to our loading bay.
Shuffles begin. Slow, but steady as she goes.
No smiles, no colloquy. Simply shuffles.
Tuneless accordion doors slide open.

Onboarding. Pass showing protocol.
Welcoming officer, cold. Indifference abounds.
I bid him “Good morning, Sir”.
A practiced scowl retorted. Disparaged.
At last. Now, as one with the tacit team.
Herd comfort. Recognition. United.

Conquer the stairs to level two. Privileged deck.
Seating rare in this terrain. Semi extinct. Scoping panjandrums.
Hunters all. Survival of the fittest. Perchance
Target identified. Crosshairs locked on. Homing in.
Document case launched. Laser accurate. 
Target secured. Touch down. Seat meets seat.

A window glance confirms movement. Forward motion.
Speeding. Burning gas. Ice caps thawed. Globe warmed.
A juggernaut hurtling. Chasing time. Mach 1.
Soon be there. Raging anticipation. Pulsation. Momentarily.
My private happy place. Mon endroit heureux.
Secrets to be shared. Jointly enjoyed. Canopied euphoria.

Emerald canopy infiltrated. A virtual, verdure veil.
No others stir. Oblivious to nature. Unseeing. Unappreciative.
Sunlight on dappled leaves. Rays converse. Au Courant.
Morse code messaging. Covert contact. Mine alone.
I revel. This is MY time. Although time’s halted. Frozen.
Enter the single Silver Birch, stoic in a realm of Horse Chestnuts.

That Betula Pendula taught me so very much.
We communicate as I glide by. Subliminal sign on.
Actual logging in. Mental discourse
I query if he is sad, lonely.
“Alone, but not lonely!” He continues.
“You visit, Flora and Fauna drop by, the sun, the wind…So blessed”.

Certain about the canopy?
“Absolute certainty. It’s the pain”
Trees do feel pain?
We accelerate past. Strain for the last words.
Glimpse skyward. The sun still messaging.
No branches touch the top of our vehicle.

Words float over the engine’s roar,
“Yes, we all feel pain”.
“We all feel love. Like you, we avoid the Via Delorosa”
Over and out. Communications link lost.
Until tomorrow. Jusqu’à demain mon ami.
A smugly smile steals across my face.

Eyes tight shut. Blind celebration. Yes!
Virtual high five. Fist bump fantasy. Ultimate pctureless selfie.
Ephemeral ecstasy. Cerebral celebration.
Furtive observation. Other travelers oblivious.
My secret secure. Locked up tight.
As tight as a very tight thing. Key concealed.

Terminus looms. The canopy, a rearview mirror throwback.
Glorious morning. Another miracle. One of many already today.
Cradled once more by Mother Nature. With absolute proof.
Loneliness is a mental state. Alone, exclusively physical.
Disembarking. Stepping out. Eyes peer heavenward.
Pupils contract. Gratitude expands. Thankful.

Thankful I have learned all living things have feelings.
Thankful for complete acceptance. To be trusted. Intimate inclusion.
Meandering through the milling throng. Trudging. Diluted enthusiasm.
To the daunting building on the hill. A bastion of cruelty.
Supposedly of learning. Dark, foreboding. School.
A manifestly different journey ahead. Purely, a real mental state.

It was far from a normal day in Heaven
Though how could you even begin to categorize
A normal day for the Architect of Creation?

Yet one fact could not be disputed:
God needed an extra spare pair of pants.

Bring to me a new tailor, the Lord commanded,
Only to be greeted by nearly-audible overtones of silence.

Father, came the voice of one valiant angel,
We could begin stitching now, yet it would require
Half of an entire Creation merely to piece together your fabric.

So? responded God… What’s a mere half-of-a-Creation compared to all of infinity?

And we would have to link all the riparian lands of the earth
Simply to connect the seams, another angel observed, in a studious and scholarly tone.

And your point is? God inquired.

They could sense Him simultaneously overhead and sideways, as if
The primal essence of His Beingness was steadily filling each and every
Vacuum of uncharted space with opalescent luminescence.

What’s unfashionable about the current pair of your leisurewear? Archangel Uriel prodded, ever-so gently.

I’ve had this ragged, old smock since the beginning of Creation, replied the Lord.
And its pockets are currently encrusted with the grimy dust of time!

Have you considered the Whirlpool Galaxy? Archangel Michael boldly inquired.

And WHAT am I to wear whilst my ‘smock of ages’ is washed via whirlpool? demanded the Creator.

God, we will surround your visage with a cloak of light, replied the assembled seraphim.

About your head, we shall place the constellation Orion.
About your torso, we shall drape the powerful constellation Centaurus.
About your midsection, the expanded bow & arrow of Sagittarius;
Whilst about your legs and feet, almighty God, the laughter and dimples of an entire expanse of Pisces.
And remember, Lord God Almighty, we can always apply fabric softener in the river Eridanus.

Beyond that, Father God, a cherub squeaked, to his immediate regret,
You can always consider previewing the still-fashionable online store, BIG & TALL.

Humph, said Father God. Then quite a bit louder, HUMPH!

And WHERE is BIG & TALL in my Bible? The Creator pointedly asked, arching His inquisitive eyebrows
Higher than Mount Everest.

Somewhere east of Jerusalem, a pipsqueak of yet another cherub answered nervously,
Only to be shushed up. Yet befitting his youth as well as his boldness, this particular cherub
Could not so easily be silenced. He stood upon the brawny shoulders of more than 100,000 angels,
Who quite easily read the little one’s thoughts, yet spoke altogether in an eerie and perfected unison:

Lord, none of us has ever been able to see you, announced the entire angelic choir. You are so big
That a single follicle of your hair elongates further than the Amazon River. The zipper for your blue jeans
Is longer than the transcontinental railroad. And —

THEY’RE WHITE JEANS! thundered Father God.

Seven thousand light years away, in the Eagle Nebula, a new and abrupt flowering of dazzling stars was born.

Into the massive spinning of the cosmos, comets began streaking like searchlights across the eastern sky.
Venus erupted with a fresh lava flow. And little Lord Pluto, for several minutes, was bumped off its far-distant orbit.

God stretched, and for as wide as the eye could see,
Yods and sparks of light sparked and streaked
Within the royal purple velvet of continuous and unending space.

You know, sighed the Father, perhaps I could get by, merely for three or four hundred years,
With some drawstring yoga pants. Cotton. Yes, pre-washed cotton! I shall ask
Athena, Aphrodite, and Diana to locate a pair of extra-comfy drawstring yoga pants for me,
During their continuously restless celestial travels.

Lord, added Ezekiel, we can also gather the flowers of the earth, to create a fragrant Hawaiian lei for You,
To drape across your never-ending shoulders…

There was what appeared to be an eternity of silence after Ezekiel’s suggestion.
Until God spoke with a most-gigantic belly-laugh. Vigorously. A boisterous laugh of unparalleled enormity!

Far below, earthquakes rocked and shook Fairbanks, Alaska; and the upper half of Siberia and Mongolia;
As well as barely-contained, completely secretive caverns; and the as-yet unmapped and rarely-traveled,
Virtually remote parts deeply nestled within the Caucasian Mountains.

I’m not a tourist, announced the Lord, and never shall I be merely a visitor
To the unspeakable chasms of My splendorous Creation!

All at once, He smiled, and everyone assembled basked in His multidimensional radiance.

There was nothing left to say. As it was, and had always been, since the beginning of recorded time,
The love of God cleansed and washed away every concern and momentary worry.

© 2021 ShaunDarius Gottlieb

The German Restaurant

They vacuum the German Restaurant;

put chairs up around us,

calculate the cost of a triple order of sour cream,

then throw us out on Queen Street

where there is no air conditioning –

the wine in take-out cups.

“Stop laughing!”

(It’s July)

“You’ll attract the Police.”

Back at your apartment, Dylan’s on the headsets.

Your video is walking over ashtrays and smiling.

“Stop it. I don’t feel like reading your lips.”

You’ve had enough wine to lie down on the kitchen floor;

the only cool place in Toronto, maybe the world.

Wish again that you hair didn’t curl like that.

Continue your theory on the effects of my boyfriend’s religion.

Say again, say how, “YOU AND I ARE THE ONLY

DECENT PEOPLE LEFT IN THIS WORLD.”

And suddenly, the ferocious feline, snares me;
with her bovine like-
venomous paws,
lips locked in blood red,
and glow that can only blind.

Enthralled,
Enthused,
Amused,
Amazed,
Engulfed,
Evolved.

Awaiting, a moment, longing for them to bind.
A promised decade after lease.

And suddenly, Alas;
yet again, the silk of her hair,
embraced him like a guillotine.

The shivering limbs,
the dimming vision,
the breathless hope,
the paralysed sense…

All of him…
Much of her…
Stays deafeningly echoing,
in the abysmal graves of their souls.

——

Poet Bio

Amol Redij is Indian poet based out of Pune. He has previously published two books of poetry. Amol has his poems published in international magazines. Amol also works for short films as a dialog writer, assistant director, and executive producer. He had been working in the IT industry for the past 16 years and now pursues writing full time.