Calamity

There is calm in calamity
the way there's a pip in an olive
lodged right in the middle,
felt at only when bitten into.

one hundred and two years old

one hundred and two years old
we are turned away from the face of the fire

by virtue of one document
oh, how important is paper to this land

taken out of the roots of its olives
splashed with the ink of hundreds tears

black as the day we were signed off
a place for no one, left for everyone

this is the fate of nations
for their kindness, a blow on the head

an increased hundred and two
years of pain washed out with sea-salt.

has this autumn started yet?

Has it started, a season like autumn
hot like summer, heavy on the heart
why then, does all this death look like a joke?

it has then started, the cycle of regeneration
fitting into us, a skeleton into the trees
like finger for wooden tables

does it have to make sense?
this destiny, this end
this vacuum?

blood moon

a blood moon
eats our skies

eats away the clouds
another face to the same star

eats away the anger
keeps still the pain

a blood moon
predicts

the end of an earth
with an earthquake

not a bang
not a whimper

not big or small
just a little shake

who said earth isn't allowed a dance
for her lover,

a heart-torn
blood moon.

heat and cold

how to do deflect from cold?
try a sheet made of wool

how do you deflect from heat?
try a bit of water for better measure

how do you keep a heart warm?
try small things

how do you keep a heart cold?
try the wrong statements

longer

Here lies a collection of all the years that passed
since I started holding a pen, or typing what was in mind
it keeps growing and has been with me longer than the years themselves

longer, I have kept you
than analog and digital formats of rolled-film cameras
than the times I decided it was easier to let go

longer I have kept you
than the faith that I have lost and regained
than the clothes that I have worn and given away

longer I have kept you
than the flight-time between the axis and the point of origin
than the longings made over cereal boxes

longer I have kept you
than the times I thought my friends were made up from love and hate
than the education I received in the daily

longer I have kept you
than the anniversaries I have made in my head
while I sat with folded table clothes and beaten jeans

longer I have kept you
four years to be exact, I poured into you words
then you gave me a scene off a high skyscrapers
an understanding that transcended even my own understanding.

A super blood moon, tonight

Keep your eyes on the skies tonight
the witching hour has a spectacular sight
tonight's full moon is the product of three phenomena

it will be a blue moon, a red moon, a super moon
for the times you were red and blue, moaning
the moon will appear larger and brighter

it will also be a blood moon
the shadow of Earth
will lean to breach over the fields

Stargazers, eastern and central will see a clear skies
the Wolf moon falls over us, it had once inspired
mankind, enchanting with witches' calls

packs of wolves hungry
to rare breeds, run after the thirst of blood
yet there are many bleeding without purpose

here is everything you need to know
full moons can be admired
they light up the skies, like fireworks, like phenomena
gathering wolves, witches and men under one roof.

challenge to pick sides

It is a challenge
to pick up a side, in a battle
if you are always looking at it unfold from outside.

these tears, dry

Where do these tears come from?
I thought I was dry
questioned the barren desert is cactus.

Copying

I repeat
the words you say, all the adjectives, all the names, the letters
line them up until they become mine

hometown

I have seen a different rain this winter
mothers' eyes clouding over
sons screaming, fainting on the tarmac where the warriors once walked
locking children in the houses
clouds lifting from earth- skyward
this is my hometown, midwinter. 

Don't wait

for the hail to apologize
for breaking your windows
for wetting your clothes
for not keeping dry, your most intimate garments
for storms don't apologize
for ruining what falls in their tracks
for all is waste to a storm, all carried along the way

don't wait

for those who left to return
for had they willed a return, departure would have not been a way
for the moment that marks the inauguration
for beginnings
for they don't come presenting themselves
for your eloquence
for  your considerable desires

don't wait

for the sun to shine
for it has its own mood
for it functions regardless of your needs
for it breathes and lives
for those who will it life

don't wait

for a call
for lines are expensive
for words are cheap
for those who have mastered them like second skin

don't wait

for old lies to get straightened
for water doesn't run the same current twice
for it obstructs nothing

for your early sleep or your longing nights
for an end, or a begging begining,

don't wait

for you know better how these games end.

strangers help

Extend an arm out for the stranger
who does not turn to you
when you least expect it

you call it sympathy,
this offering
of yourself over strangers altars

filling up with resentment
to the things you do not want
to keep down

extend an arm out for the stranger
who will turn to face you
saying grace

when you least amount for it.

Iowa city, in memory

The fall with its colors 
Canada geese flying in the Tom & Jerry patterns, 
The English V the Arabic 7 
Corn-fields and grilled cheese sandwiches 
Red glasses by the river,
Midnight evacuations, hold your passport and run
Words, words, friends and utmost kindness
Iowa city, a year later, in memory

Our voice

Look! the amount of minutes you spend
voicing other people's concerns
. but failure to voice, your own

Why?

Why grow roots when wings can lift you up,
but why develop wings when you can just stay rooted in earth
why then, this struggle to be one thing over the other
you are the world but settle in a piece of ground

the evil eye

An eye that winks
with the reverence of a tear
can also sting with envy

Canary song

Your voice matters
he tells me, this is why canaries are locked
they sing only to the nearest ears, out of the bars
can listen

Mindless repition

How do we avoid mindless repetition?
asks gently
the echo.

Rejection, like a ring

You treat rejection like you would a fallen stone
at the bottom of the lake, taking down a precious ring with it
you know it lives outside of you, while you cannot see it
it is still there, in the deep, for the fish to swim around
scoop or glare at the glistening shine and your misery.