The End of NovemberA Poem by Vishuddha An exercise in the expression of depression, in any season, without any reason.
The End of November
I have become fascinated by my own, Anatomically accurate inefficiency and boredom, My ability to write inarticulate poetry, To paint hieroglyphics in excruciating colors, And, to believe in things unproven by science. Fire has pretty much devastated earth, The end of the Age of Pisces is upon us, And, materialism has been conquered, Matter has been transformed, Particles outlived and overthrown, Force fields overgrown. Now, there is nothing left to do. I've gone about as far as I can, But, I still have to stay up, At least, until the fireworks begin. So, what are you going to do, Between now and then? Let's face it, fellow poets, Words are a pretty poor substitute for life. At least with a martini, you can dance. The End of December There is a tornado warning in the air. A strong wind has come up from the south, Although I don't know why it bothered, Because all the leaves have already blown away. Uranus is exactly square to Pluto, And, there is bad ju-ju in the stars. It almost feels as though some foolish person, Forgot to seek permission from Chango, Before cutting down a tree. But, who would do such a foolish thing? I am beginning to have serious doubts about myself. I am questioning my beliefs and my choices. And then, I wonder if it is possible for me to be anything else, Anything other than what I am? The world pressures me, impresses me, Stresses and streches me, Distorts me and, distresses me, But, I don't seem to change. I no longer believe anyone. I have forgotten how to sleep, And so, I can no longer escape into dreams. I am pretty sure my lover has gone insane, And, he knows all of my secrets. Sooner or later we will all be sacrificial victims, To the gods of struggle, Of destruction, of betrayal, Distrust and dust, Of our own ideas of romance or beauty. Darkness can be very deep, A long, downhill slope, Into the arms of a serial killer. Nobody is getting out of this alive. The End of January Let me have my illusions. I don't have anything else. I am a romantic, And, I would be nothing else. I am dressed up like a candy apple, Like a bubble wizard, Like a gazelle, With a cute, pink smile, And, everybody loves me. I am dressed up like a mermaid. Not a Coney Island Mermaid-Parade mermaid, A real mermaid, with scales on my eyelids, With seaweed under my fingernails, With starfish in my hair, webbed fingers, Grinding teeth, And, a trident in my hand. I know the mysteries of the deep, Like the Venetian Carnival Queen, Who mimicks, "Shush. I won't tell a soul. You just wait and see. All the mysteries of the deep, Are safe, as safe can be, with me." I am dressed up like a Goat-Fish, Like Aquarius, no longer tired, Like the Fertility of Rain, Bleeding out of the winter sky, Before the world is ready. My seeds are sprouting everywhere, But, none of them are showing yet. All that matters now, Is what has already been set in motion. You know, if you start a vibration, You have to pay attention because, You might set off some butterfly, In Hong Kong. And, nobody knows what will set off a wandlung, That incomprehensible event that changes everything, Ushers in an ice age, ends the reign of the dinosaurs, Starts the human brain. I wouldn't want to set off something like that. I am just living my life, Trying to avoid the waves of advancing history, That are crashing into society. The costumes are not helping. The End of February The afternoon is cold, and the moon is on the rise, As transparent as my fingers and as empty as my eyes. I am so far away the wind can no longer hear my words, My breath is barely separate from the shadows of the birds. I am self-contained. I am inside of myself, Inside of my shell, Inside of this gloom in this room. It is Tuesday afternoon, And, I am pretty sure I will be alright, If I can just hang on, Until the dogwood starts to bloom. Oh, but what if she does not bloom? What if she decides to be like other dogs, To bark instead of blossom? What if she becomes a snake? A grasshopper? A possum? What if she decides to never-more, Be host to the beautiful, four heart flowers? Then, never, would ever, this room contain another bloom, And, my shell would lose all of its protective powers. I am a creature, tied to the future. I survive by looking ahead. Tomorrow is always yet to come, And, yesterday is long-gone, dead. Sometimes hope is around the corner, Somewhere up the staircase, Somewhere under the bed, Somewhere over my head. But, sometimes the dogwood lets it go, And, it falls to the ground instead. The End of March Holi is over. I have let my hair, Go loose in the wind. Now, it is a tangled mess, And, a good expression of myself, With no idea of where it wants to go. The End of April Wash me rains. I run to you. Give me a blessing, A kiss or two. I close my eyes, I let you run. These days are gray. I seek the sun. I am undone. I am covered in clouds. The End of May Confetti in the air. But, nothing has really changed. The End of June The wild beach leaves me stranded, With memories of sandbars and rising tides, Coquinas, escaping, faster than my hands can dig. How delightful it would be to share my summer dreams. But, no one, it seems .... The End of July It is to fry. It is time to eat blueberry, pie-in-the-sky. It is time to wonder why, I even try. The End of August Oh, robust, genuine, hearty laughter. Is that what I'm really after? The End of September Remember September? Or, just forget the whole thing? The End of October Dibble, dabble, Bibble, babble, Come on kids, Let's play some scrabble. Clean the chair and, brush my hair, And, make believe I really care. Get in the car and go somewhere. Is it better here, or over there? The End of November Bartender! Oh, bartender. I'm not here to make any trouble. All I want is a vodka martini, And, this time, make mine, a double! [November 2014] © 2015 VishuddhaAuthor's Note
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VishuddhaA Looking Glass Land, FLAboutI am a romantic, born into an unromantic era. I am a restless wanderer, always seeking, in love with nature, in love with life. I am a native Floridian, with one foot in the Everglades and one foot on.. more..Writing
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