Drugs and cigarrettes are stupid. Maybe you already agree, maybe you use one of these products right now, but I will never in my life try a cigarette or take drugs for any reason.

When it comes up in conversation, I go silent. When I see someone smoking nearby, I subtly cover my nose. When someone cracks a joke about crack, I fake laugh because I know I can't convince them anything different from what society has taught them. I don't even try, because I know what their arguments will be, and that addiction hears no reason. The only thing I say--the thing I find myself saying more and more nowadays because a conversation can't stay away from these topics for long--is this:

"I have never smoked or done drugs in my life, and I never will. Period."

Guess this isn't really the right prompt because I'm not trying to convince you to agree with me. I just know that if you disagree then there's no real way to convince you otherwise.

I dream of a heart nestled in its cage, enjoying the protection around it. It’s been hurt and battered. It’s been cornered and neglected.

I dream of a heart resting in its enclosure, singing lullabies to no one. It’s been humming a tune for so long that I hear it in my dreams. Is the song meant for me?

I find the heart in its confinement beating slowly as it stands alone. I walk to the cage, and the song is louder and beautiful. I’m mesmerized and haunted by the melody. I touch the cage and the heart thumps...and thumps. I hear whispers of pain and hope.

Animals aplenty

aardvarks, ants and alligators

always alert and active

antelopes acceleterate

alpacas amble amongst aged areas

aardwolfs, arowana and ambiable agoutis abound

all abloom and animated

#animals #A #letterA #wordplay #freeverse

I have held Hatred

with passion unmatched

near to my bosom 

as Love's never been

steered upon this soul

not as a farmer on

some olden tractor 

but as the baron

who without sound sees

me turning soil so's

nothing's to grow save

for Hate as my lord...

with each systole I've

less 'n less place for

the good of the world

in ground I've crusted

...single-handedly... 

while damning the heart

#IsItOkayToHate? #Challenge #No!

<font face="Helvetica" size="3" color="silver">02.08.2018</font>

Does it feel weird to sport a beard?

I’ve wondered once or twice.

Some men I know just let it grow

regardless of the price.

It could mean kissing that they’re missing

for their lady’s ease.

But then again, there are some men

whose whiskers sweetly tease.

Does ‘grooming face’ create a space

testosterone enhanced?

When one is happy with his look

does this increase romance?

It’s really neither here nor there,

this left-field query spent.

I guess to know how these things go,

I’d have to be a gent.

How about it gentlemen? With or without beards - why did you make the choice you did?

I'm impulse-sharpening my pencils again. 

Whenever I see a dull point, it must be fixed: 

Then when it's sharp, I have to write with it

But I only type anymore, so I have to draw circles

And eyes and the same face again and again and again

Until the tip of the graphite is not thin enough to trace the dents of his nose-

I then get out the manual pencil sharpener and spin the wooden thing

In circles. I imagine it's dancing. Sometimes its tip gets lost inside

And I have to start again. Then I sharpen another pencil, and another

And it's hard to imagine that I will even someday use all these pencils

Because all I do is type words that no one reads onto a computer

Onto this goddamn website, hoping to make myself feel liked

Hoping to change something by rearranging the same words

Toying with the same idea. Then it's back to drawing the face again, 

Trying to get it perfectly right, until I realize 

It's 7pm, and zero of my one hundred sharpened pencils have done

A single math problem.

So muscular and handsome, my boy is.

His hair is so soft and smooth. His legs are

so white and beautiful. The shape of his

feet are identical to my father’s.

My son’s feet were always cold, for his warmth

was always concentrated in his soul.

But I cannot leave…not now, not ever…

The moment I leave I will no longer

have a son. Right here, right now, I have come

to claim his body…I am visiting

my son…I -am his mother. As long as

I hold his flesh beneath my hands, he is

still here, with me, in the room, spending time

together. I love you, son…And even

though I, was your mother, You, were my best

friend. It almost killed me to bring you to

life, and now it is killing me to let

you go. I didn’t leave you then, and I

can’t leave you now. Son, even though you are

lying here motionless and weak to the

eye, give me the strength to Live! I want to

crawl up this refrigerated metal

slab and lie with you. I’ll sing you songs, and

read you bedtime stories like I did when

you were just a boy. Even though you’d sleep,

they were unforgettable times between

both of our souls. But I refuse to leave…

I just won’t do it…not now, not ever.

Copyright © 1986-2017

Alan Salé

All Rights Reserved

contact: AASalehi@gmail.com

PoetryByAlan.com

I would’ve never married you, had I known:

You would make me fall more in love with you by each passing year;

transforming to an us more than a me.

You would tangle my heart with yours and cause a soul-dependence on your energy;

where you start and I begin is forever blurred.

You would give me these children which I cannot function without;

dependent on their breath more than ever my own.

You would push me endlessly to grow, explore and find a deeper us;

and then hold on sternly for each painful touch.

I would’ve never married you, had I know you and I would be separated some day,

since you believe the hereafter,

is but none.

*I missed this challenge deadline, but was finally inspired enough to post.