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Situation poems 

So that

So that I won’t forget
I have made it a point
To return to the season of my birth-
In the middle of famine.

But after famine comes plenty
That is why I count myself blessed
And could never choose any season but famine

The new child has to be suckled
After that one is weaned;
But men are truly never weaned, and
For the simple sake of remembering
They always return to suckle
Where they were not weaned.

Man born into misery, lives in pain,
After that he dies.
Where then is the joy?

But having tried my hands at love
And submitted to manhood;
Having applied myself to knowing wisdom
And always fell short,
I have seen the futility of this experience
And the tragedy that is mortal man.

So that I won’t go on forgetting
I have made it a point,
For the simple sake of remembering
Always to return to suckle
And to visit,
Where I came from.

 

Reason


To kill an ant with a sledge!
And cut a twig with and ax
O reason! Why have men forsaken the middle path?
And trod the way of savage brutes.

To cut a twig with an ax
And kill a fly with a shell;
O reason! What has befallen unthinking-man
And thinking-man has fled to savage deeds.

 

Arrivals and departures


Airports are like train stations
In more that one ways
They both have Arrivals and Departures.

Departures are cold and a little sad
Like a cemetery
They get mushy sometimes:
The hugs,
The kisses
The tear drops
One just lit my eye
I let go.
It rolls down
And shattered.

So you weep because some loved one is leaving;
Just remember that today’s departure
Is tomorrow’s arrival for another loved one.

I like arrivals. They are warm like summer
But be of good cheer
Someday soon, it will be your arrival.

Trouble is, you have to depart first.

 

Delay

My destination is three
Here I am, held up by one
Should you see two,
Do bid him make way
So I can get to three!

 

Inevitable


all roads lead to the end
those who worry
about losing their way
should rest easy
all roads lead to the grave

Labor wards


Labor wards are not particularly a place for happy campers
There is a rigid feeling of suspense about them.
A strange and distressing place,
Not to the woman whose faculty is now suspect
But to the man whose ego is punctured.

The day my child was to come
That was my first outing to a labor ward
He had told his mother he was
A mother and child thing so to speak

It was a rather fine day
A bright and beautiful October dawn
The sun rose with the winds
Hopeful and tizzy with fall.

We arrived quite on time
The hospital crew ready at hand
A stranger walks in hooded in white
Gaps her open and sticks a finger or two.

For what seemed like an eon,
The time stood still waiting for me
My heart skipped a beat or so
My head spurn like the loom

“What do you think you are doing”, I almost blurted
“It’s looking good” the stranger said
Not to me in particular
I believe he is a Doctor
And wondered if he knew that was my wife.

The rest came at scheduled times
Took their peek in turn
And scribbled something I would never know
I was roundly disgusted.

I stepped out into the open ward
Row after row of very pregnant women
Now add the pregnant of other lands
See how busy the world’s men have been.

The minutes limped along distressed
The men whose ego have been bruised
Paced back and forth the halls
The women whose faculties are now suspect
Groan and moan with clinched fists.

In the end the baby comes
More disgusting that the labor wards
“You are the proud father of a baby boy” someone announced
Lost as to what the response to that is
I simply grined and swallowed 
It would be moments later before I realize
What had happened to me .


 

script

script

Whitesmoke

script

script

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