There are things that seem
to never get done
but who cares when
I’ve waited
for you to finally come
back to me
never knowing when
that moment will arise.
Blue jays screech
in the background
reminding me to do the laundry
sweep the floors and
wash the breakfast dishes
as I teeter, on this precipice
this crazy lit up place
clinging to your essence
I won’t let you go, just yet.
chores can …READ MORE…
Shakespeare was an insomniac
A maniac, word-slinging poet
who ate his delights, masticating
his sorrows, while feeding our
wide awake hearts
with his poetic desires.
Shall we in return dance tarantellas
to celebrate you and…( read more )
I go inside where rain pellets the skin
piercing and drenched
I recall, as I sit and feel the years
of despots and dictators reign control
my belly contracting like a beast,
unwanted and violent.
I recall my youth, the beginnings of me
I recall my innocence, I retract and recoil
the memory of despots and dictators
lurking around and about every corner.
Rough, tumble, soft,
plush innocence.
To un-know would be pleasure.
Yearning to un-know
that the absence of light
is black dark colorless
thrusting that back inside,
is all but impossible.
Yet, to be wild again
if I can for a minute,
even recall how that feels.
The un-infringed upon mind.
Freedom.
Yes freedom. Free-dom
Free dom dom
dommm…
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Hmmm…It seems misplaced
I know you want to- EXPLODE ME – into my place
Yet, there’s something missing
I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s
screaming so loudly
into this space
Where can you find the words?
Words to grab me, hold me
in your most compelling embrace
Words that come pouring from
the depths of your most
descriptive place
You see- I believe you are holding back
Holding back the crowds
the images, rushing the gate
the words of poets trying to escape, years
of exile from their place, their homes
their words, their ancestors
beating their tongues, their drums
their words
return- return, return, return!
Can’t you be more descriptive than that?
I’m losing my taste
Your words just seem so
out of place
These words of your ancestors,
overwhelm my ability, to grasp
control, control of their
proper place,
these ancestors, these poets
who speak so eloquently
need to remember, their rightful
place
Places misspelled, covering the trace
of words, so right, so worn, worn with words
lacking in grace
You see- Can’t you be more descriptive please?
But with taste, taste my place
this is where the words should come from
Those ancestors are all wrong, they all belong
In captivity! Capture their song
Your words are stifled, not strong
But, I see a flower waiting to bloom
Your words are steeped in a sadness that
has longed, for sweet freedom
Your words are imprisoned
your words are all wrong
Can’t you be more descriptive please?
Scholarly words, smart words, words
of intellect. There is no place for your words in this
world. If you forget those poets, those ancestors
of primitive place, perhaps
Perhaps, we can embrace- most certainly embrace
Your words would make sense
EXPLODE in my face
Words of descriptive meaning would trace
a grid for me to embrace, most certainly embrace.
I don’t understand that place
where our ancestors have been driven
Driven behind those gates
Of HELL
Their words beaten back by captivity
Can’t you be more descriptive
than that?
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Khaled Reese from Pexels
#Poetry #Ancestry #Exile
This is a cropped part of a painting I hope to finish one day. It is a mixed media collage and it is on a large piece of plywood. The painting is an expression of the pain of occupation, oppression and turmoil in Palestine; and being part of a family from the larger diaspora, feeling a sense of deep sadness and dismay about the current situation rocking our brothers and sisters in Jerusalem and Gaza today.
Admittedly, The pic is not so great, but I hope you get an idea of it.
And this image below, is a close-up of a piece of poetry, by an unknown Palestinian author, interspersed amongst some of my own poetry (and others) attached to this collage…to this day unfinished but I am hopeful…as I am, for the future of Palestine.
I have coupled it here with some poetry I wrote. I wrote this a long time ago, but after revisiting it, it is exactly how I feel today, with all this chaos in our world.
Climb this ladder into the night
Gazing from up high
down below
turmoil under the stars
the worlds’ picture show.
Leave it for now
in the lens of escape
the fracture upon
the collective landscape.
Bask in the comfort of
peaceful black softness
resting the mind’s eye
weary from exhaustion.
© [Jay Mora- Shihadeh] and [artistfromtheinsideout.wordpress.com], original [2012], and (revised 2021). Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jay Mora- Shihadeh] and [artistfromtheinsideout.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Lately, since being vaccinated and also working on some other writing projects, I’ve taken some time to take stock of this past year and the immense gratitude I feel now, to get back to visiting in person with my mom, and some other outings we weren’t comfortable taking before the vaccine.
In that vein, I’ve been revisiting some older poetry I wrote, while reflecting on what’s ahead of us. This past year, as traumatizing as it was, has allowed me to shift my perspective to understand on a deeper level – what, where, and how do I want to spend my time moving forward. As an artist and poet, this is the “good” part where being alone and holed up can produce some good results, I suppose, in this collective trauma we faced/face.
The poem below was first posted to my blog August 2020, in the height of this pandemic.
I wrote this poem several years ago when I was still very much into handwriting everything. Things have definitely changed since those days. I can’t recall the last time I picked up a pencil to write any poetry or other writing, except to jot down some lists etc…
this pencil is my savior, it is my voice
this pencil sings of lost love
of lost hope
the tree of life that grows
the garden of the dark fruit
this wood; it is my (Read Poem)
#Poet #Artist #Reflecting
Burst forth the ships! Time has come, forever traced, the
legend, the place where life lives to never-cease. She
strokes the night and whistles through daylight, the legend
of prowess and praise, her locks flowing like honey, sweet
and free. The deserts welcome the quenching rain, the
love from fountains above, pouring like wine into chaliced
mouths in an endless time. The forests and mountains
share their love forever-more, dipping backwards and
forwards through the valleys and hills. An infinity knot
mapped, the mathematician’s plot, a scheme, a schematic, a
mariner’s eye taut toward the East, toward the West. The
sun never stops shining where begging hearts stop.
No maps, no fortune, no ships on watery graves, no lockets
etched in fancy sayings, will satisfy the need for eternal life
living. This goddess slips through the streams and rivers
from clear fountains to the never-ending mouths of babes,
of youth, she ages never-never in the land of Zeus. A
perfect answer to the riddle of death, she delivers a gold
chariot that rages and rages! A fireball, a white star
shooting, streaking a blaze. A trail traces time through
clouds, through space. Unseen by eyes, by time but minds
great, the heavens fade away, away, afar across the ages
gate. A quest, an answer to the riddle of sages, handed
down for centuries… The truth, the myth, the legend of
Hebe… The mariner’s trips across seas and pages to land
upon foreign shores, a promise born, springing forth from
lore to lore, a search for truth, a sip of heaven to bless a
soul with endless youth.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
THE RIDDLE OF DEATH first appeared in FREE VERSE REVOLUTION, Issue I: hebe (the fountain of youth) explores what it means to be young and the hallowed and mythologised nature of youth.
#Prose #Poetry #Literary #Magazine
I am happy to announce my poem “RAVAGED” is featured on SPILLWORDS PRESS today. Spillwords Press is a great community of Poets and Writer’s from around the globe. I am so grateful to be included in this community, so stop on by and give it a read… and make sure you let me know when you do.
written by: Jay Mora-Shihadeh
@painterspalate
That greedy glint
in the eye of the fooled
the eye of the lost
my heart left in the home of the tricked
what does it take for them to wake up?
to stop selling their fortunes
for the land of milk and honey
the land where the streets are paved in…read more
approved!
now move
to the back
of the room
they will call
soon
6 ft. apart
masks on
but don’t move
or you’ll lose
your spot
and your chance
to get vaccinated
given to
the next
poor lot.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Artem Podrez from Pexels
#Poetry #Micropoem #Covid #Vaccine
twinkling swirls of lunar dust
rocket themselves on star tips
curling their lips around fragments
of silver moons that blanket
the galaxy that exists
light years ahead of this
in dreams and dreams
landing inside my dreams
as martian alien scientists
bleed out the green
blood-let of the unseen
fragmented worlds divvied up
for transport at breakneck speed.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash
#Poetry #Space #Galaxies #Freeverse
someone please tell me, where has all the humanity gone? nothing now but scum fronting like a hu-man! i can’t take the cruel profane, of ‘a Lot of a man’ gone insane, or a wo-man acting like an ali-en! stop the purposeful targeting of the asian community, the asian elderly, the asian humanity, a humanity lovelier than you and the despicable hate you propagate, for god’s sake, you inhumane fake. an elderly woman beat for no reason, shocked from dis-belief at her ungodly beat-ing. blond-haired scraggly beast felt the need to assault a lovely, elderly lady, who lived long and hard, punched like garbage, in-humane, only to please the backward grunt of a brainless mutant nut! what message are you sending you long-knuckled-hairy, well, I won’t…but you get my rant…my plea…my cut it out! who made you the way you are, to lay a fist between her eyes, unseen to her sad surprise. long-knuckled-hairy-blond-grunt of a man, hit a lovely lady without a care for her humanity. i’m disgusted by the sheer lack of love and distaste for the sanctity of her life, now living in utter fear, the end of her life near, to live in such fear, who are you? you inhumane beast, you stole her freedom, left her eyes a-bleeding, who the, where the, tell me please, where has all the humanity gone? Please…
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Siavash Ghanbari on Unsplash
I’m excited to have my piece, “The Riddle of Death”, included in Issue I: hebe
( the fountain of youth ) over at Free Verse Revolution .
Thank you to Kristiana Reed, for including me in this great first edition, alongside many other talented poets, writers and artists.
The Riddle of Death
Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Burst forth the ships! Time has come, forever traced, the
legend, the place where life lives to never-cease. She
strokes the night and whistles through daylight, the legend
of prowess and praise, her locks flowing like honey, sweet
and free. The deserts welcome the quenching rain, the
love from fountains above, pouring like wine into chaliced
mouths in an endless time. The forests and mountains
share their love forever-more, dipping backwards and…read more
That greedy glint
in the eye of the fooled
the eye of the lost
my heart left in the home of the tricked
What does it take for them to wake up?
To stop selling their fortunes
for the land of milk and honey
the land where the streets are paved in gold
the lies told to lure them
What will it take before the tales of fools
are replaced with the folklore of the ancient?
The contentment of the indigenous?
What will it take for the
Mad Hatter to end his greedy voyages
into the hearts of the innocent?
I am ravaged like the forests of the Amazon!
Ravaged like the tombs of Egypt!
And where do the tombs rest now?
In the land of the greedy, the violent
in the land of the weeping
I am the ravaged exile!
The ravaged land of the tricked
and the ravaged heart
of the fool.
©️Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Free Creative Stuff from Pexels
#Spokenword #Ravaged #Poet #Lies
Did you know I could stay here all day?
writing and wasting away
words keep coming
releasing a gorge
an orgy of thumping dancing syllables surge
playing on my tongue, jumping in my head
begging to display.
I love this feeling, intensity and healing
pleasing my body with lusciousness reeling,
bleeding from my mouth to my page.
Did you know I could stay here all day?
penning and pining, bated breath reclining
waiting, for something to say.
it’s nighttime now, but time is out of place
when images are flying, bouncing from space
to grace this page alive,
with such disgrace
emboldened, completely burning away.
Did you know I could stay here all day?
©️Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Lisa Fotios from Pexels
Original Post first blogged on Feb. 9th 2020
This poem came up, when my wife and I were talking about how fast time goes by, when you are in that flow of creativity as an artist. And, I wrote this as an expression of that experience, and damnit, it’s hard to pull ones self away from that flow, to attend to the ever nagging “tasks”, that prey on me, on a daily basis. This will forever be my love and my potential demise, I suppose. arggghh!
#Poetry #Rhymes #Healing #Writing
I cannot explain to you the heart and the stone
they are configured different but feel same for some
cold smooth and hardened, a heart can become
the stone in the hand that bled out your soul
cast by judgement, by seaside you roam
the heart feels heavy like a weighted stone.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Ivo Raeber on Unsplash
#Micropoem #Stone #Heart #Judgement
living in this world today to wonder
about and pray of not dying
the living live in constant death
and of love and of fear intertwined
like a ball of yarn spun then dropped
in dismay.
living in this world today to ponder
away the life given in love and lust
and sometimes in rage, doped up
by the news bitten from hate.
living in this world today to squander
the love born yesterday to strangle
the innocence of nuance and play.
living in this world today to blunder
the blessing of angels and saints who
deliver from evil the human decay
‘a life worth living’ is what they say
however you cut it, don’t piss it away.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by sergio souza from Pexels
#Poetry #Freeverse #Life #Living #Love
saturation comes in quiet realizations
blanketing the soul you left behind, in haste,
on annunciations of your lack of caring,
of giving a shit,
about the effect it had on you,
to jolt you like a
wicked bolt of lightning,
into a wreckless oblivion
a mainlining of pure rage,
into your veins, then lost
to that perpetual joke of a chase,
of the good life. hell-
the saturation blessed you,
it pummeled into you,
an existence of god. in your way,
slow, steady, feeling the pain,
not by happenstance, by southwest by 66
but by love, it saturated you like a slow-moving train,
an experience of electric shooting into me a wave
of enlightenment saturating my brain,
unlike all those moments
i neglected to care for,
back in the day.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Elia Pellegrini on Unsplash
#Poetry #Freeverse #Love #Healing
i’ve walked for days this wayward path
loving every minute we are apart
as if the final testament of our depart
will belie the torch carried
in friction and salt.
bones dried ready for mort
buried treasures, your hidden heart
gold ungirthed despite the fault
uncinched, unsettled
from knot to knot
to breathe, to relieve into the winds,
settling the dust,
the dirt amends.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Gabriel Jimenez on Unsplash
#Micropoetry #Love #Relationships #Longing
love lights the sky from the milky spirals
the galaxies full-throttle of radiance and smiles
fixed in time, not demised to banish these stars seen
for miles and miles,
to a black hole, gravitational pull, locked and sealed
with no room to shine on you or me or the heavens
seen, the light of love sucked backward through space and time.
a force of intense magnetic nothingness, no escaping, no way out
a compact mass of a magnitude blankness, no! there’s nothing!
nothing but this, nothing to see inside the spacetime abyss.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Bryan Goff on Unsplash
#Poetry #Freeverse #Galaxy
Tell me all the ways to love you today
the bridal bouquet has stopped producing
the answers that feed your love lost heart,
unripened, fallowed, the veins filled with dirt.
How do I bring it back? Will blood run free
and wild again? The light evades dark and
berries redden their face in waste, as black racers
and woodpeckers attempt to invade.
Love come back and show me the way.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by George Becker from Pexels
#Micropoem #Love #Bouquet #Freeverse
