Sonnet

Awakening to sounds of foremost light
I feel the stories tear into my soul
Of someplace where the sun fell on the night
To vaporize a family once whole.
I see their faces turned up to the sky
And wonder if they ever wore a smile,
Or had they even watched another die
Yet never thinking they would. All the while
The images of death and grieving drain
The little melatonin left in me
Until these deals of Prime Day turn my brain
Away from where my heart would rather be.
If only there were great discounts for peace,
We’d know the real meaning of increase.

It’s hard to be a Muslim in these times
When random border checks have gotten cold
With camps and waterboarding on our minds
And neo-nazi haters walking bold
Like foreigners in lands we hold our own
We’re dust on maps dividing us apart
Unfounded fears turning hearts to stone
Impelling policy bereft of heart
We hear the names of prophets tossed in vain
By voices on the left and on the right
But can’t submit our intellect to gain
Admission to a Garden wrought from Light
It’s hard to be a Muslim till we see
That Muslim is just all we need to be

The words are formed and primed to do their dance
Upon the bones of honor in disgrace
You’ve strung your bow of tongue, awaiting chance
To send that verbal arrow nocked in place.
But then, just as you are about to fire
There falls a slowing hand upon your bow
Eliding tension for a reason higher
Than all the reasons you could ever know.
The arrow is dismantled word by word,
Replaced by disposition quite reversed:
An arsenal of patience undeterred
By thoughts seducing you to be your worst.
It is an act of courage to withhold
A poisoned arrow, be it cast in gold.

So here I am, I’ve found that slice of time
When I said what I said; I freeze it dry
And step toward its body laced with crime
To analyze the what, how, when and why.
It looks quite innocent from where I am,
A figure cloaked in camphor-scented lies,
So I get closer till the fog of glamor
Lifts, revealing all my tongue devised.
Its face glows bright, a blinding flaring red,
Its hands are raised, upturned without a care,
I look for smile but find a smirk instead,
And cringe to see the maggots in its hair.
I let time roll to crush its nasty head
And plan apologies for what I said.

Remember always: they’ll be watching you,
So watch yourself and be a bit afraid;
Injustice has a way of falling through
And dragging with it all who give it aid.
So think before you act if think you can;
It is a way to take a matter through
The stages of a formidable plan
And most importantly, do think of you.
For once a plan is executed, know
The livelihoods and lives that it enslaves
All come together as a hammer’s blow
On tyrant bodies writhing in their graves.
The angels watching, waiting, never tire
To drag the hands of tyrants into fire.

You cannot hope to be one free of pain
While pain is all around you and within
Where heart repeats perpetual refrain
To punctuate the story you are in.
But let your hope lay down its weary head
Upon the breast of prayer wont to rise
On wings of love sincere when they’re spread
To meet the wind. With tear-moistened eyes,
Go swim around that ever-fading star
Of life, and in your faithful orbit stay
That in the darkness whence you seem afar
You rise and fall, and rise to show the way.
It only bodes despair when you have lost
The solemn will to hope at any cost.

The first, when tragedy befalls a soul
Through sudden death or grievous injury,
Through feeling quite a measure less than whole
When comes the hurtful loss of dignity.
The second, when a soul is drenched in praise
With all its humbleness exposed as wealth
That in its terribly intricate ways
It attributes all greatness to itself.
The third, when heedlessness sets heart on fire
And pours despair abundantly as fuel
But then the inward eye, it drowns desire
And sends its soothing waters up to cool.
This is the day, now is the time to cry
To let your love return and cool your eye.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We like So Much so much; let me explain.
Some nights we cuddle up as dad and tot
And let the rhyme and flexible refrain
To captivate us for the time we’ve got.
Mom’s cool, and although Auntie Bibba rocks,
It’s Uncle Didi, Nannie and Gran-Gran
We love: the lingo Cousin Kay-Kay talks,
Big Cousin Ross, and Daddy who’s THE MAN.
“Again!” I dodge the sleepy tot’s protest
And send the book to shelf with skillful toss,
Distracting him with “Who do you like best?”
He flashes toothy grin, “Big Cousin Ross.”
So much is such an entertaining book
By Helen Oxenbury and Trish Cooke.

Another Friday here, there’s nothing new
But words of hate and death and plans to kill
All justifiable by parties who
Have pawned their souls to execute their will
Who measure justice, let oppression rain
Who ought to love their neighbors, want them dead
Who swore submission, fight for petty gain
Who long for peace, burn children still in bed
It’s time we turned to where our faiths still stand
Abandon feeling good about our states
Because if feeling good is all we’ve planned
Then we have crystallized our rotten fates
Humanity, all, at a banquet rests
Let’s eat what’s served and spare the other guests