Only in Time

another poetry challenge from the Almost Dead Poets Society the theme: Time/Winter the words: bleak, inspire, teapot, window, wood

 

 

In this time

of a failed economy

income loss

a rosary is choking the memories

sold

 

Give me a sax

to back

my spoken word

my moxie will inspire

only the brave will inquire

friends, who lost theirs

in a fire

 

only those

from generations past

know the meaning of the word

the word

         the word

 

Retire.

 

I think

         I think

I think I have dug my own grave

cleaned the roses, and think I

can rest in the sand of the sleeping sun

then...

 

The teapot Screams!

jolted by a violent, boiling reminder

I’m in a dream

a dream

         a dream

where I am helping scientists

save the endangered

I have won the lottery, and

I no longer worry

worry

         worry

about debt, and health, and

I heal!

I heal others! and

I got on with my mission

to save Africa’s children

animals of our earth, and

globally...women!

 

Mother nature opened

the window to her soul, and

I flew in

 

In this time

of a realist’s physical world

I share a bleak uncertainty

with suicidal tendencies

in an Almost Dead Poets Society

at The Avant Garde 2434

we throw up in the yard

wood and all

its profanities, and

my own vanity

you see?

         you see?

 

you see....

I’m dreaming again

while I fight off my mortality

liver and kidneys and heart and

jaundice and dialysis and stroke

and oxygen and prayers and rage

preachers sitting pretty in a cage, and

one hand

         one hand

 

one hand I loved living

hated to see dead, so

I covered those healing hands

with an ultrasound of my clapping heart

 

I dream

of signs, and

tattoos, and

premonitions and cheers, and

jeers, and years

years

         years

 

 

gimme that young, wind up toy

to  finish what I start

to see me buried in Jamaica

with my still alive heart

to raise our African children...

them knowing, feeling, my presence

because

 

I really am from another time.

 

I’m here, now

in this time

only to pen this poem

to guide them with my hand

as my mother did with hers, and

tell them not to look at it

when it’s gone