The Mighty Viking

Conquering those things we must, one story at a time

Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Ode to the Rocking Chair

In each man’s heart and seldom shared

some passion burns and flares

in mine when silence takes me there

doth creak the rocking chairs

there’s nothing there of power

nor bold display of might

in fact the humble cane and wood

seem fragile, weak, and light

the symphony of squeaks and groans

syncopate with creaks of bones

yet still reverberate the tones

of laughing youth, and lover’s moans

the wood is etched, yet hid from view

with loving tools, and from that grew

a place for love to be so true…

a place to sit and be with you

In August’s sun, or April rain

we sit upon the supple cane

and touching binds our love in gain

in sickness, health, in joy or pain

there harks upon the heavens fair

the angel’s glorious aires

but sweeter still, without compare

doth creak the rocking chairs!

Learning to Focus

They say I must learn to focus
But they do not mean I must learn to focus
what they mean is I must learn to unfocus
on everything but them
whoever they are, whatever they want from me
that is what they mean; that is what they want
they want my full and undivided lack of focus
They want my will to become theirs
and so – it becomes theirs
I give it willingly
because I want to be loved
and they promise that giving them my will makes them love me

They do love me
but when they say, “me”
they do not mean me
my heart is not a heart to them
my spirit is not a spirit to them
in their minds my spirit does not soar
in their bosom my heart does not beat
they harvest my spirit
they dissect my heart
they take from within it the jewel that God put within
and grind it up, create for themselves a paste
a potion from which they acquire perverted power
an aphrodisiac, from which they entice the lusts of the next one
my powers no longer heal others, but sicken
my beauty no longer inspires others, but entraps
the blood that gives life to my body
poisons the next, and the next…and the next

I focus
but the things I see me doing horrify me
I avert my gaze, ashamed of that thing that was me
my shame is used against me, to slam as a gate
against my escape
and so the fortress is built around me,
not to protect, but imprison me
in my own shame, I do their work

I focus
and I see that my shame is a mirror
there is no shame
only a reflection
By beholding, I become changed
indeed, I must learn to focus
They were right
and yet they lied with the truth
perhaps they live with shame as well
and perhaps I shall tell them, “you must learn to focus”
and perhaps I will not mean that they should learn to unfocus
on everything but me
But to focus on everything but them

Sweep the Kitchen Floor

I do not wish to sweep this kitchen floor

unless, by my swishing broom, I can sweep you off your feet as well

The scrubbing of the countertop holds for me no interest

except, in inspecting its shine, I can chance to see the brilliance of your smile

gazing back at me, in love like when our vows were spoken so pure they felt like gifts from our angels.

The compost, which fills the corner bin, I’d leave it there to regrow as it will

but my heart hopes by taking it out to the pile in the corner of the yard

I let the anger I felt, the shame of having passed another day, not being the man you promised to belong to, of not being able to protect you from such pain

as we have felt sometimes

I’d take that compost out, if even one moment’s pain went with it

I feel no love for a fresh scrubbed pot

except, sometimes, I think about how scrubbing feels, and how radiance exudes from behind a fresh scrubbed child’s face

Because the mere whisper of radiance, regardless of its place or intent

makes me think of you, with that smile, and that heart that cannot hold inside its compassion

and it leaks out of your eyes in beams, and runs down your cheeks like tears

but it is not tears, and what and who it touches beams with being loved

I’d scrub any number of pots

for one drop of that radiant joy to fall on me, for the way your love feels on my chest, when you smile standing there held, where I cannot see you

but I can feel you, and know exactly how you look.

I put the leftovers away, tucked away for another day

and I wrapped a secret inside, carefully hidden

I hope you find it, but you might not

I kissed a morsel, and left that kiss for you to find

and for you to feel

and for somehow, even though it wasn’t quite right

for you to know, that I swept tonight, for you.

And hoped with each stroke of my broom, to catch you by the heel, and catch you in my arms

and deliver a matching kiss, directly to your lips

For that moment, I would sweep our kitchen floor, all night, for eternity.