The Reasons
Who knows
Who really cares
The crying alone
The waiting on stairs
Restless nights in awe
You, lover unknown
The reasons, all beyond
Eyes of wonder unshown
The loud words fail
Friend comes when still
Answers in glass bottom
No, not in air or pill
Questioning worth
as lateral climbs stall
The reasons for hearts
when no matches call
We've comes this far
No one told us why
this need's hunger grows
feeds on each sigh
Was birth a summons
from clouds of content
The reasons so varied
Our time here, well spent?
What I See
When I look at you, I don’t see female
I see woman, sure, but not just because I’m a man
I see strength, heart, sensitivity and so much more
the many areas I fall short, if not by design
I see family and how you hold it together
like a tree with many branches needing what flows through your core
I see beauty in ways I can only see when I look through better eyes
and this is why and how I’m becoming who I am when I see my best
Yet when I look at you, I see human
I see vulnerability because God gives us balance
I see you, at your best and purest, in pieces made whole
time and time again, because even angels sometimes need wings to fly
What I don’t see is color, origin or anything else as subtraction
of your worth or an addition to what I must feed myself
I don’t see the work you do, the mother you are or the care in your heart
in which you consider the world as any less important
And what I don’t see, what I never saw, is a past where you should be kept
I see you as worthy, capable and ready to lead
I am proud to follow
because when I see you I see a better man in the mirror
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Normally, I put pen to paper but this piece was
written on the fly here at Prose.com and inspired by
all the women with inner beauty and strength that
might’ve been disrespected lately by men or told
that they don’t belong in leadership roles.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
A.L.
Sometimes I Return
“I miss you,” is always first, whispered
and the night’s coolness carries far
accompanying sounds; soft footsteps, my own,
a luring fountain, a bus, a car
I come back every now and then
to the places we would share
Not because I can’t move on
but to remember that kind of care
There’s something about a man
when the truest love has touched his heart
and I know I’ll never be the same again
as if written in stars I can’t quite chart
The streets, some nights, are cold and distant
other nights, it’s just my wish to walk unseen
for I’m not new to its ways and games
I just hate morning memories unclean
Not often do I visit pride, you see
but I come bearing gifts those days
and the space inside is large and generous
beyond the walls, post execution stays
Yes, sometimes I return to our places
because the visions come in clear
and the emptiness is left behind
This, these, the places where we’re near
When I see your smile my night is made
until next, whatever may now pursue
for real time will always be my nemisis
unless I hear your, “I miss you, too.”
The Latest Scribblings of Aka Manah From The Hottest Vacation Spots (continued)
It’s getting much too easy these days.
In fact, we no longer need to possess.
We simply throw the bait into the wind.
Watch them scurry about, grab and caress.
They always love the shiney things.
or the latest ‘best thing ever.’
With many, it’s never something of substance
but with most, it bothers almost never.
The seed’s been planted long ago
The day the first took the ill-advised path.
Now we use their own free will against them,
rarely having to feel His wrath.
“You need this to feel you’re worth a damn,”
we tell them all and they run to buy.
Some we wait for patiently then whisper,
“You’ve prayed long enough. Give this new religion a try.”
We sit back at times, let them destroy themselves
because, of course, we take donations as well.
Finding it harder and harder to believe in anything
makes them not care who they let lead them to hell.
Their worlds collide, divide from disagreements
on the beautiful differences in His gift.
Self-serving acts for rewards, pointless victories
does not make what makes spirits lift.
And now to see so many mislead by one
sends the power we've longed through time.
That he can do much more than Master
exposing man's most hidden crime.
The wars will always come and go.
The acts of gods, always few and far between.
Man left to his own devices seems the answer
to most problems my friends and I have seen.
So here I lounge in your future swelter
dressed down, feet up and drink in hand
watching welcomings on big screens, followers
of the latest ones, the Pied Pipers of your land.
~End
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Originally written for the Challenge of the Week CXXIX (though submitted too late): "Angels and Demons. Choose one, and write from their perspective, or about them."
Aka Manah is referred to as the demon of the evil mind (bad thoughts and intentions). His purpose: to keep people from fulfilling their moral duties.
When Love Was Love
Remember when love was a dance in new light
with a careless sway on an endless night
and glances of heaven could be seen in two eyes
filled with the innocence of April skies
Remember that kiss, the making of days
the reasons for youth set clear in the haze
A waltz of two strangers learning to merge
on waves of confusion, this awkward converge
Remember the roar of spirits released
the knowledge misled as feelings increased
yet birthing dreams like never before
‘forever’ upon fingertips at the close of a door
Remember the plans, how they wrote themselves
like holidays’ overtime of fairies and elves
and the gardens of bliss on a summer’s eve
virgin hearts perched high atop sleeves
Remember then, now, this undying light
these chaotic days when sleepless at night
believing in love never losing its touch
or…
Remembering when we imagined such
Random Beauty
Random is the artist
when there's nothing else to say
when no one seems to care
or when there is no other way
The quill or silk strokes comfort
white whispers it can wait
like a friend with a blank stare
without judgment and never late
Therapy comes in silence
souls scream for all the good
such strangeness within between us
and the love's misunderstood
Someone else's work works wonders
and we know why, who we are
we are the gifted with the magic touch
touching hearts near or far
So when you come here empty
beit to give or just from need
come with open arms and feeling free
the place where good is greed
I'll save you, you'll save me
and we'll see right again by dawn
you see, we are the world's beautiful
the artists who pass the beauty on
* * * * * * * * *
~ A tribute to artists everywhere.
Thank you for creating & sharing.
″...Damn, Your God Sounds Stupid.”
It's 11(-ish)AM and I somehow make it to the kitchen without remembering the journey there. Obviously coffee is in order so I make some glance at the morning news as thrown at me via the internet. Late morning? Not for people like me that often hit the mattress just in time to avoid the seemingly judgmental glance of that wise old sun.
An NBA score and three web pages of article-glancing in, I see this headline:
ISIS REVEAL 6 REASONS WHY THEY DESPISE WESTERNERS
Against any desires that might have thought of awakening to be curious, I read.
ISIS:
1. Because you are disbelievers
"We hate you, first and foremost, because you are disbelievers; you reject the oneness of Allah – whether you realize it or not – by making partners for Him in worship, you blaspheme against Him, claiming that He has a son, you fabricate lies against His prophets and messengers, and you indulge in all manner of devilish practices."
2 . Because you are liberal
"We hate you because your secular, liberal societies permit the very things that Allah has prohibited while banning many of the things He has permitted, a matter that doesn’t concern you because you Christian disbelief and paganism 32 separate between religion and state, thereby granting supreme authority to your whims and desires via the legislators you vote into power."
3. Because some of you are atheist
"In the case of the atheist fringe, we hate you and wage war against you because you disbelieve in the existence of your Lord and Creator."
4. For your crimes against Islam
"We hate you for your crimes against Islam and wage war against you to punish you for your transgressions against our religion."
5. For your crimes against Muslims
"We hate you for your crimes against the Muslims; your drones and fighter jets bomb, kill, and maim our people around the world, and your puppets in the usurped lands of the Muslims oppress, torture, and wage war against anyone who calls to the truth."
6. For invading our lands
"We hate you for invading our lands and fight you to repel you and drive you out. As long as there is an inch of territory left for us to reclaim, jihad will continue to be a personal obligation on every single Muslim."
The article concludes that while foreign policy is an issue, the main reason they are hell bent on destruction is because they don't like the West very much. It reads:
"What’s important to understand here is that although some might argue that your foreign policies are the extent of what drives our hatred, this particular reason for hating you is secondary, hence the reason we addressed it at the end of the above list.
Briefly – and I do mean briefly – I found myself partially rereading the article. I felt that pesky inner-voice wanting to pick apart every one of those six reasons. I heard it whispering phrases like "jealous and insecure" and "childish schoolyard tantrum." I almost laughed at your unsuccessful distortion of the fact that most true Muslims despise you like you despise westerners. But then I noticed something kinda strange and eye-opening; it was that I wasn't mad, I wasn't afraid. I mean, AT ALL. Not one bit. In fact, I was barely phased beyond the measure of light morning entertainment. The fact is, I feel sad for your people. The people forced to be around you and people like you. So much hate, so much ignorance. Yes, this may exist even where I live on a lesser scale. However, you make it a point to credit your Allah with it, we don't. So yes, I felt sad, but not sad enough to let it ruin my day. Think I muttered something as I continued on with my day...
"If you were made in your god's image, then damn..."
A Kiss Before Sleeping
A kiss of love in the dark
the last kiss before we sleep
to each other as one and to God
we give that our love will keep
More than adjoining airs and touch,
and all that may go unsaid
so much of us is revealed
in the home we know as our bed
This kiss should always say Love
and confirm at every day‘s end
you, my co-protector, my calming shores,
inspiration and strength, lover and friend
I love you, it should further attest,
as you exist most comfortably in your skin
and lips, when relearning a body well,
promising I would fall again and again
Our kiss in the night, a safe haven
for all that’s concealed in a day
The balance unshared by words alone
can be shared between two this way
Hearts of true love know not simple kisses
in each there is meaning to take
every last kiss is not an end, but beginning
and should last until the next, when we awake
~ Originally written 7/2004
Portraits By Kelly
Silently, I had to give her credit. It had to take a great deal of self-restraint and composure for her to last as long as she did without asking the question. I was certain that she wanted to the very moment I entered her office. Rehearsed it in the mirror even, ahead of time. I sensed it instantly but it had now been a week since the act itself. I chose to keep my quiet comfort as long as possible. Down time. Besides, there was more ahead to do, then to prepare for.
Shrinks are sometimes at a disadvantage, I’ve always thought. Like the lily-white teachers I had in high school who wanted us to feel privileged for the grace of their presence without actually saying so. Like most of my past male employers, like my ex, the cops...They assume and/or believe that they are automatically smarter than others day 1 merely because of appearance or skin color. This, they fail more often than not to realize, sometimes clouds their judgment or hinders their ability to observe sharply. As I lay back in the moments before, she could not have known that I’d consider her royal blue business suit, especially over that bland grey blouse. Definitely not her to make the statement, TODAY I’M ALL BUSINESS. This woman was never all business and no style. And the missing bracelet made for her by her first grandchild that she gleamed about the day we met, a total giveaway. Even her desk, neater and lacking life now. I guess she figured I wouldn’t remember the faces of her family after two years. Yeah, she saw the local news over morning coffee and was afraid...but she had to come.
And the thought passed through me; it was nice of her to be available on her day off. She had always been considerate of my feelings, sensitive to my situations, as much as her pedigree would allow. When I was sick she sent me herbal teas, during the holidays she always mails a card, and when I can’t make the sessions I could expect a phone call even if I call in advance and leave a message saying why. As if she needs to approve.
Even now, before the inevitable meat and potatoes part of today’s session, and yes, I know it’s part fear, part psychology, small talk and such, she asks how my painting is coming along, about my daughter—if I’ve heard from her, how I am feeling overall. Sometimes we all simply need someone to pretend, y’know? The way we pretend for them. I once heard an ornery ol’ fart say, “The truth is like the proper medication: It’s effective as hell, but you can only take so much of it per day.”
* * *
There I stood at the foot of the bed yet again. Examining. This one I did not recognize so I assumed she was not an acquaintance of my daughter, Kira, but she could not have been much older. He looked so normal. Natural. Lovingly, he looked. I hadn’t seen this from him in quite some time. And spooning. A couple. Their skin matched. Ours did not. Maybe he grew tired of what that entails, or the experiment was now over, and peer pressure’s a bitch—I don’t know. Still, to someone without a sadistic daddy-does-daughter image in their head, they’d look good together. My husband, the financial advisor, was always so image-conscious, it was good to see him like this again; bare and uncensored. So I took a mental picture because...well, it’s what women do. Then I dug in where I stood and refocused. Revenge. We women are big on that, too.
Ah, the possibilities.
The ol’ pillow-covered bullet to the brain. Classic, but no, not on my new Sealy. Poisonous injection? Nah, that too screams of bloody murder. And by the way, this wasn’t my doing. Why should I concede my already-limited freedom so easily? Furthermore, this will affect Kira’s life forever. Bad enough to lose a father even if he wasn’t much of dad. More thought here is required. More creativity. I am, after all, an artist.
* * *
“Mrs. Weisman—uh, Kelly...”
Her slip-up slaps me back into real-time. She could never say my last name with the genuine belief that it’s mine. Weisman on darker skin, even if it’s caramel-colored. But I figure it’s the same as when I’m watching Mick Jagger sing and can’t get past the lips.
Stones fan ’til I die.
I glance at the clock on my phone. Lady doc’s done good; twenty whole minutes she’s lasted, small talk’n all to make me feel at ease when she’s the one that could use a tall stiff one, hold the rocks. In my thoughts I’m bettin’ her a million dollars she can’t go the usual sixty because her head’s starting to resemble pre-party balloon prep.
“The body found in Lake View Terrace...” she added this time, her tone urging me to identify it. I do and with much certainty. Hell, everyone in the city knows its name now. “Did you have anything to do with your husband’s death?”
POP! Brain matter all over her well-displayed credentials. Where’s my million, bitch?
Effortlessly, my gaze leaves hers and floats the length of the room — my last visit, surely— landing briefly on the strategically-placed voice-activated recorder. Ready to accept the consequences or not, it’s the delivery more than the answer I care about. That is where the truth lies in its proper dosage.
“I must have, don’t you think?”
She did not react but I had already noted that her body tightened for this.
“I don’t understand,” she replied, but do say more is what she meant.
“Why, I imagine I must have been killing him for years for him to do what he did to me as much as he had. Men aren’t perfect beings, I know, but would a man intentionally hurt a woman like me? A plain Jane homebody plucked from a small town who married him with the sole purpose of pleasing him and bearing his children?”
I look her in the eyes. Here, I’m supposed to. They are detail-oriented as always, inquisitive, analytical, and currently checking for sarcasm. Mine are filled with the passion of truth though I harness it carefully. Show passion but not rage, my imaginary future defense attorney has already firmly advised.
“Yes, I’m sure it must have been murder to live with such a woman. He was, after all, ‘a good man’ and ‘going places.’ ‘A great catch!’ I was ‘extremely lucky to have him.’ Just ask any of our acquaintances here or back home. Females, of course. They all tried or were trying to land him or fuck him and change his mind. I honestly can’t fully grasp why they failed. Natural blondes. Blue, hazel eyes. Porcelain skin, whatever that means. The right pedigree, the backing and demographics. I was a bank teller and all I had to offer was the perfect home-grown tan for the place he was headed. California. A new life in another world.”
A world too fast for me I suppose. I don’t fit in—couldn’t and didn’t want to. All his friends’ wives sound like screaming squirrels chasing golden nut sacks and reminded me of that game at the fair where you smack rodents with a hammer every time they’d appear. Oh, how I wish...
I extend my anguish, real or otherwise, by whining about how the women in L.A. can be so indifferent regarding their self-worth. How I could never see myself gaining fifty-plus pounds in a depressed state. Nor could I turn cold, bitter or heartless and grow content to jump from man to man for dick or bank account without the emotional tie of souls. That closeness that says, Yes, there’s a god and he’s made us so much more than animals. Hell, I’m near shedding a tear when...
“I remind you, anything we discuss in this office is guarded. Doctor-patient confidentiality—” blah, blah, blah.
She doesn’t sound like the woman I thought I knew, my preliminary assessment of how this would go was correct. She sounds a lot like detectives when questioning a murder suspect, trying to get the poor schmuck to do their work for them. She sounds better than—smarter than me...again.
“Have to go now, Doctor. Treatment today, remember?” I say with a quarter of the hour remaining and watch her body language go from quiet confidence to Flaming Chihuahua mode while she searches for that perfect day-saving thing to say.
“Tell me,” I stop to say as I take in the entire lay of my chosen outlet one last time on the way out. “How’s that son of yours? No longer a rookie on the force, right?” One of the photos missing from her desk. Yes, it’s the delivery I care about and I deliver my perfect day-saving line with a look that I hoped would announce, SMART COMES IN EVERY COLOR. Junior will have to earn his shield at someone else’s expense.
My husband, only because divorces have to take so much damn time, is a bit of a blur to me now. The last time I saw him I mean. I had things going on in my system. Like wars being fought and all sides were bad. Poisons, drugs and alcohol.
What kind of man files divorce papers after being told his wife of nearly twenty years has cancer? What kind of a man hits on a young nurse’s assistant in the hospital where his wife is getting chemo? Fucks that little slut in the same bed at their home? Anyone? I’ll tell you. The kind that doesn’t deserve to outlive his victims.
Did I kill him?
If it were you would you answer? Or...would you relish in the newfound power? People, not knowing how to act around you now or what to think when they always thought they had you figured out, suddenly somewhat afraid. Hell, it’s kinda like how some treat people with darker skin anyway, only with the arrogance in check. And why is it that the ones with big intrusive voices usually say the least worth listening to and the soft-spoken aren’t heard until you suspect them of something? It’s not the fear I need, it’s the need to be taken seriously—this nice girl from a small town. How much could I possibly have to say worth listening too? How could I really expect to land and keep a man like that in California? What was I thinking? Abstract, like some of my art. He could do whatever he wants—a man like that. How much harm can someone like me really cause? Seriously?
My ex-husband. Lady Doc. The delivery guy lately...Faces of change. Hmm.
The Voice That Can’t Exist
I don’t know what I ever did
or how bad I could be, this age
to make you say what you say
to make you feel such rage
was it the glass of milk I dropped
or the veggies I failed to finish
could it be I go to bed too late
perhaps, the time you can’t replenish
when you smack me, does it help
did the burning bring you relief
can the scars and bruises be my choice
over your words that give me grief
would you please just run the water
place me in the tub, hold me down
I’ll do my best not to kick and scream
grown-ups will understand if I am found
’cause moms and dads must be the same
I see so many yelling without control
is every kid as bad as me
that simply has to take its toll
I promise, if I live long enough
that I can grant your wishes true
I’ll hold a gun to my own head
for your joy, the silence, too
’cause beatings always come and go
but the words you say remain
they cut sharper than your bladed eyes
hurts more than razor’s pain
Yet, something in me says it’s wrong
sounds like a voice that can’t exist
maybe soon I’ll have all my answers
one faithful day when I’m not missed