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Finding the truth
Doesn’t always mean
Discovering something new
Sometimes it’s simply
Seeing what’s right in front of you
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BE CONTENTED
Be contented with what you have got
All life experiences are sanctifying
Enough, exceedingly more than a lot
to become inspired by an enlightening
core value of faith from a humble cot.
Raised by love, hope from the beginning
What triggers mercy, from a burning spot
in the heart, is the spark of gracious living
A personal guide, fated, reliable to the dot
Be contented, ask only to be gratifying.
©Johnny J P Lee
18 August 2023
A Gogyoshiren Poem (10)
Photos: Kaushal Kishore
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another poem about coffee.
I reach for my mug
though it's empty
reflex, I guess
I need more caffeine
you were my coffee
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when tomorrow comes
i might be missing
an empty space
where my heart used to be
i might have gone out
left the light turned off
so there’s nowhere to look
when you try to find me
just know that I tried
made a promise to myself
that I’d stay until the sun came up
try to find the soul
that washed away with you
i’d search under stones
never meant to be turned
in the past that still tangles
through the vines of our hands
always intertwining, growing viciously
bounding us to the demons
leaving little room for escape
i told myself I’d be honest
wouldn’t keep you in the dark
every truth would be questioned
each lie an open book
in all these revelations
i found the same thing
a love so pure and beautiful
it’s radiance burns through flames
i could think of no other
the best I’ll ever have
a future marked with your name
tattooed on every chasm
of my bleeding heart.
soon to be missing
//words for you, when I’m gone
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Out of Focus
I don’t know if any of this can work…
from the straight and narrow I will stray:
they said be a lawyer, a salesman, or a CPA,
a respectable lifestyle, dressed in gray;
follow the rules that they have laid,
they’ll give you credit, a roof overhead.
I don’t know if any of this can work…
writing poems to love, feeling no more shame:
a life out of focus, receding, and I am to blame.
They told me “say No,” but I will say “YES!”
to having no fear and embracing my mess
of emotions and choices that fate brings my way.
I don’t know if any of this can work...
give them what they want, make money they say,
so they can hold on to your life in layaway.
Then follow the herd straight into church:
be compliant and kneel down in sorrow to pray
to get the wafer-free-card out of guilt’s jail.
I don’t know if any of this can work…
labor in silence, get insurance and accumulate;
fear the future, save and don’t dissipate.
They say make money and also make haste
to offer your bones to the collective grave:
they’ll pick them clean, then celebrate.
I don’t know if any of this can work…
loving and longing for both women and men,
searching for meaning in the social maze
while in solitude staring at God in the face,
but from this life out of focus I’m ready to say:
“I’ll live and die by my rules and I’ll make it work!”
_____________________________________
Alejandro Fabián
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as I venture back home through the depths of melancholy
past torn bodies of previous loves
I flee the sweetness of my grieving mother's scream
and only look over my shoulder once
to see the gates of hell close behind me
giving in to the short illusion
of finally being free
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within my heart, a child sits
she sits and picks at poppies.
she sings to the song of the larks
i wish i could remember
the warm hum of the summer.
throughout all seventeen summers ive lived,
ive felt my wax wings melt from my back,
ive felt the centaur charge at my heart,
perhaps greed overtook me.
with that adolescent hope of warmth which
i wish i could remember
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swan song
a black quilt patched up with diamonds for stars looming above us.
our feet effortlessly following through the steps
despite the fact that we’re both bad at dancing.
you spin me around,
and pull me in for a dip.
all the while having your eyes trained on mine
with the kind of emotion i can't quite decipher.
but I didn’t mind-
in the back of my mind this could pass off as the one where I’m in
a white dress
and gold is found on both of our ring fingers.
the orchestra plays the song once more
and when we finally finish off,
there was even a smattering of applauses from the crowd,
the scene ending with us taking a bow.
“little did we know that we were dancing to our swan song.”
-caela m.
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Maybe you were a transitory stop
A mere collision of coincidences
A lesson that needed to be taught
Full stop
A feathery touch whose memory
Stubbornly, vehemently refused to fade
As I’d spin and spin in euphoric delight
Beneath a starry sky
At the end of each day
All soft smiles and softer words
But I see it now
I am not the priority, the one you seek
Delusions and spectres of hope
Nothing more
How could I have not known?
I emerge beaten
Heavier, limbs like not my own
I will trudge on
But my innocence is now lost
My heart forever closed
Full stop
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I could give you the shirt off my back
With my heart up wrapped inside
Because I don’t know how
To take it off my sleeve
I hope it keeps you warm
Because to be honest
My world couldn’t get any colder
Just don’t break my heart
I broke it once before
And it seemed like forever before it healed
Sometimes it feels
As though I need to protect it
But I realized I only hurt those close to me
Because defenses were too high
So here I am again
With my defenses lowered
Giving the shirt of my back
With my heart wrapped up in the sleeve
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Enough
I tried to do my best,
The worst critic lives inside me,
Apparently I can never be good enough,
Felt heartbreak was the worst I felt,
Life had some revelations, now in hindsight, not bad enough,
Nobody ever experienced the happiest ever,
Hope is a fickle mistress,
Always leaves us wanting for more,
You are never happy enough,
Everyone has been the saddest,
Misery loves more company,
I'll tower mine over yours,
Plotting an escape everyone,
They have been sad enough....
I sell the mystery of mundane,
My audience, content with my mediocrity,
Appreciating my ramblings,
I think they have been kind enough......
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On the beach; in the moment.
Adjacent to a sharp and heavy façade, we stand.
Responsible ones have an eye on the slow, incoming tide.
The foolish focus solely on their feet cradled by wet sand.
Sometimes I wish I were the former, but often, the latter.
What of the peace of living in the present?
How much does 'the moment' matter?
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I saw myself in you
A reflection I didn’t want to see
It kept me coming back
Just to find out more
To discover the reasons
You were just like me
Sealed and bonded
Fated to our past
Dark memories corroding
Every bit of sentiment
We had inside of us to last
I told myself it was a lie
That I could fall in love
With someone like you
Since I’ve eternally hated
Every single piece of me
And in the end it turns out
I still do.
//hate you
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Space
I’d call her a little person
but that term is reserved for those 4’10” and below.
She was half an inch too tall for such a label
and would not let you forget it.
Let’s just call her small.
And my bed,
while not large enough for the likes of Shaq,
I would not call it a small bed,
as it has accommodated three average-sized adults before.
However, when she and I slept,
she seemed to grow exponentially and my bed shrink.
Somehow, I became like a mountain climber
forced to attempt rest on the slimmest sliver of cliff,
one wrong toss or turn in the throes of slumber
and I was an avalanche of frustration
falling for her in all the wrong ways.
We’re not together any more;
there were few reasons much bigger than her.
How we slept, or rather,
how she slept really is symbolic of it all.
While it was not all bad,
I do not miss her.
As I stretch out
and roll over back into reclaimed territory,
her name is merely a memory
of confiscated space,
of the destructive power of avalanches
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I have wondered of where Aiaia lies, false and ungrateful for its epics do not lie.
Where Ariadne dances in her timed and wicked circles, falling apart on broken bricks.
A sweet yellow and a sickly gray shine to her at nightfall, undisturbed by her aunt's presence, undisturbed by all.
The Golden Fleece she has parted and never dares to flee for it will never touch her borders or her time to see.
Preparation, evening, tea.
She thinks of her brother trapped so deep below with knives as teeth and hooves as feet.
She does not know he will outlive her in
Epics and their tales
For he is Minos’ heir despite no plunging relational care.
I think of Aiaia often for her great and honest despair which rocked each hero from his nest and settled him far away on cliff’s side and shadow’s bare
Its license of deserted land brings gifts of sweetest pain, excitement curdling brain leaks with sight of what is there.
Ariadne will steady our forgotten tale in time spent over tea, berries cure her inside thoughts and shake loose my mortal treaties.
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