The looker inside my brain has fogged over a memory of a life I believe I once lived People—lots of people Parties—lots of parties Laughter—forgotten Happiness never conceived— Onslaught of pains Shame Shame Shame I’ve morphed into who I knew I was from inside-out Ashamed to expose the truth Lost in not knowing— But now I do. The looker in my brain asks how— Why hold the fog On high ground? Not now Not now Not now.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Olesya Yemets on Unsplash
insipid but still you curl your lashed tongue and leap like a leopard at my feet feral indeed your venom spit through cracked teeth you spew hatred like fire feeding on dry boughs withered branches and dead vowels that use to mean something to someone in need lost egos and soulless bodies left in a heap of black ash whispers of failed bureaucracies minted inheritances and shotgun marriages sealed and consummated at the end of long-gun barrels never proposing just grunting— then taking.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Bogdan Pasca on Unsplash
Celebrate? I’ve turned it down shirked the moment for stead/ I pretend no need exists in my human calendar created from birth to now the moment gone psssst fluff a cloud like dust on graves and lifeless frowns the celebration ignored muscles taut around thoughts of pointless ness ness dark caught my eye and i got sucked into a vortex tex tex regret lingers in my cerebral cortex tex tex Piss off you viper— I’m back!
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Ben Rosett on Unsplash
You’re super weird clearly lost to your ego dream nevermind me/ i am only three and lost in fantasy— learned to protect my feelings spilling out my seams way too early but that is only relative to your ability to see me/ even at three.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Ksenia Makagonova on Unsplash
cruel child, stops in his tracks and wonders— what would happen if i crush the soul of this poor little buzzer? no, he has to go! he’s a stinging hot mess of a threat! it’s me against him in the dry sunlight/ beams bathing the garden I still the heartbeat of the little bumblebee silent winks and smiles/ soul-crushing-emptiness living in the burn-holes of suburban nests non-existence repelling happiness yanks on the chain of my Uncle Bajis pissed, he yells— then lights the firecracker! i feel the neighbors glare as i run to fetch the ball and crawl across musty grass/ muddy-socked/ soaked hiding my skin i retreat to the tree/ i retreat to the crick to the woods/ to the broken treehouse— a shell abandoned, long ago. eyes whispering/ winds of words swirling trauma’s and graves/ shattered bits of promises creeping-up my legs/ in-between an innocence saved by machinations of world wars/ with hails and waves and hideous histories white flags and gray-bombers light the sky/ and red-powder mysteriously drops like rain on playgrounds/ on lots/ on mobile homes and supermarkets and—on arms of teens smoking cigarettes unseen hiding from hall monitors/ and teachers wondering what the hell it is! like chicken-pox/ red—spotting—trailing marking the arms of decades gone dog-eared on empty pages of half-told histories of dime-store paperbacks of betty-crocker recipes and playboy magazines.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
it takes all of me to meet you here in the middle or at least an agreed upon center it takes all of me to leave my cabin and ignore the pause i cultivated this past year, or more to settle the moments of shared space left in the past yet lingers oft and over and around like a stench into our future it takes all of me to engage a care when all my energy demands i stay right here— alone in my thoughts alone in my peace alone in my sentient being, and happy to agree to never leave it takes all of me to reckon a care.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
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The dark cloud looms like a harrowing expletive leaping from your mouth in violent rhetoric— besieged in the prison of your cold silence I pretend to ignore this brutality of practice— brutality in practice/ held like a captive— one day captured/ held in a dark cell stone-walled/ depression/ cold walls of hell banishment/ containment/ clinging to my flesh leeching emotion/ cradled affection/ longing for long moments quartered/ drawn/ executed—one by one with pinpoint precision.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Ashkan Forouzani on Unsplash
i locked you out you/ and all of them it was clear there was no way forward long ago/ severed and i hung onto nothing and i clung to hope and i hoped for something turns out it was fantasy a bludgeoning a falsehood and fallacy a foregone conclusion a reckoning clearly— never fulfilled.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Moritz Mentges on Unsplash
LIKE I SAID…
As I watch the TV and witness the horror the day slips away as if it never began the powerless feeling the air heavy light becomes dark day turns to ashes the gray in my brain matter becomes black no joy in birds chirping the people lack hurt driven deep into a pit of no turning back I ask for nothing hope for something the chatter the denial smiles of dolls appearing to sleep I clamor for news to break the hell— to no avail people boiling fear shit soaked rumors inferiority beliefs holding patterns that sever love and disintegrate into hate posing as knowledge arrogance on steroids don’t ask my opinions— ‘til truth matters again.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Stereotyped into your forehead the rage—the anger your mouth sealed shut frozen/ unbirthed a still-born moment a child caught between a glance unnoted between a mother/ a father disputes unfolded the truth revealed contradictions emboldened.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Daniel Mingook Kim on Unsplash
Single malt/ single file one mash/ one glass all you are/ wooden laughing at your stillness loving your silk and ash sipping on your sweet sass you say— life is a blast then bottle it up slow and steady studying— the tasting notes long/ fast/ smooth/ strong no need to linger/ fingering round and round on the tip of your tongue.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by YesMore Content on Unsplash
do you think me a blotted sky with no moon, sun or eyes? do you find my words a soft breeze in double-speak? I had this amazing memory of once loving you before a scream of questions pelted my mind like eyes boring alien-holes penetration deep-space-black lasered by nines forward into the backspaces of lost time.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash
The nebulous atmosphere sifts through a black hole/ dissipates escapes without a glance/ nod/ or an adjustment to the cause of humanity no one cares about it/ no one notices it no change in pressure exists/ upon the lighting of day nor the pending dark/ of night. I thumb through pages of past mentions and accolades/ unencumbered by the chatter and wince at the sight of myself in the mirror— what has become of me? what has become of me? meaning—what has become of me in the sense that I look unsteady/ unsure not in the sense of dishevelment that’s a given I care less for— in fact/ proud of it’s less relevant than the scattered thoughts and projects littering this floor collecting dust/ it’s nebulous.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
The decrepit shallowness we live with day in and day out dictated by a calendar with hallmark bullshit mapped out stealing lineage/ history/ in bits doled out in porridge bowls for misfits/ who live in doggery— think less of themselves than dogs care to consider given into a story of we know better we trod on in misery/ some shiny moments of bliss/ marked on a calendar/ for next year we fold it up/ carry ourselves to post mark it for good times/ celebrations if we have anybody left who cares or wants to pretend it’s a new day/ same as last year— we carry on/ we throw parties/ we throw our lives away.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Xuan Nguyen on Unsplash
This is a rarity for me…but, totally share worthy. A great little poetic piece written by our friend Giusy. I loved this from start to finish, but the ending in its simplicity, speaks a magnitude of truths.
E poco importa se hai donato fiori a chi non ne ha saputo curare le gemme…
Se qualcuno ha provato ad arrestare la tua corsa, sbarrando la strada al vento che sparge il tuo polline.
Poco importa se l’incontro sbagliato ha arso la tua gola incenerendo le acque dei tuoi occhi, ora asciutti.
Nessuno potrà sradicare il tuo seme; nessuno potrà mai completamente inglobare il (tuo) vento del cambiamento e della crescita ; nessuno è tanto importante da crepare la tua gola, i tuoi occhi.
Come i petali siamo fatti di sottili lamine sovrapposte, delicate e al contempo forti e resistenti; siamo (analogamente alla foglia) necessarie perché se la foglia colorata attira l’insetto necessario per l’impollinazione anche noi, attiriamo e accogliamo l’umano.
Siamo quel che siamo ed è sufficiente ma -soprattutto- importante.
Chi si ostina a non capire, non capisce.
C’ è poco da dire, ma molto da fare
(Per…
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sometimes when I’m sitting here writing and staring I get stuck and can’t move— time has no pace space has no time the night became day day became night the numbing of my seat tingles and shocks my back my mind is struck awe-struck by night lost to day— spun into a dream and spilled like milk the black fleck of type peppers the page and I iiiii….I sputter away….
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Hannah Wei on Unsplash
When things seem too stagnant and the world too difficult, ponds and rivers and streams don’t flow, and words and music and lyrics don’t rhyme or reason, a note to fret, a sound delivered of logic or heaven. The negating and the infantile unleash like wild beasts, as the population mounts their ego’s deceased. Humanity pins their faces to walls of social-media accounts and digital digitizing, replaces their hearts and dislodges their brains, and the lovely old lady down the street spews hate, and your neighbors nice family lacks that familiar repose, as you contemplate, how the man over-there, doesn’t show you his cool collection of vintage cars anymore. No more can you claim your humanity next to someone you knew as friend, as they, unrelentingly bash your good name for play.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Elia Pellegrini on Unsplash
As hearings begin tonight, I am reminded of this poem I wrote, after witnessing that crazy event. Don’t know where this will all lead, maybe nowhere, we shall see… but it is worth the time to hear the evidence and progress.
UNBELIEVABLE was written on Coup Day—a reminder to January 6, I can’t unsee…
I have no words
Today
I’m spent, exhausted
Merely from
A viewing
On my screen
A coup… read more
Photo by little plant on Unsplash
I saw a fireball fall from the sky in slow motion low-hanging above treetops hovering like a headlight on a motorbike stuck on brights mode zoomed real close then fizzled out in a black ashen stream of thin air— poof gone into nothingness! Not there. That’s when it became real clear I just witnessed a ball of light falling/ in control/ it seemed— unreal. A falling star controlled by hands unseen— a meteor ship sent from a distant galaxy of our outermost stream of consciousness. A marvel jetted through our atmosphere like Thor raging down from heaven’s door.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Mindaugas Vitkus on Unsplash
