Epitaph for a Palestinian Child

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

[But before you find yourself beguiled ...
remember, I was just a Palestinian child.]

Czech translation by Václav Z J Pinkava

EPITAF PALESTINSKÉHO DECKA

Život muj živoril, do konce deje.
Pozor kam šlapeš: hrob do šíre zeje.

Turkish translation by Nurgül Yayman

Filistinli bir çocugun mezar yazisi

Something

for the children of the Holocaust and the Palestinian Nakba

Something inescapable is lost—
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.

Something uncapturable is gone—
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.

april 17 to 19 poems

Saturday April 17

You are my Lode Star

in the morning dawning light
you are always there
you are my lode star
my sunshine, my moonshine
the love of my life, my wife
with your endless love
I will face the evil corrupted world
even walk through the shadow of death
as long as you by my side
I will fear no evil for you are with me
and I will love you
until death takes me
from your your loving embrace

another Nigerian spam found poem

April 13 to April 15 poems

April 13 Poems

I believe in ghosts

I used to not believe
in ghosts or spirits
or supernatural phenomenon

at least
i used to be
quite skeptical

but I have had
some weird encounters
over the years

so now perhaps
I do believe
that ghosts might be real

I have had supernatural
experiences
things that defy my understanding

back in 1992
My Korean Uncle-in-law died
and the family hired a shaman

did a traditional shaman ritual
the shaman came out
a middle age woman

Another Note to God

I cry and break down a lot
I lie and say I'm okay when I'm really not
I reminisce and look at my wrist at all the scars I've got
When you took my mother at 10 months the heartache started
God bless the souls of ALL the dearly departed
Please tell me is my child up there?
You taking her still doesn't seem fair
I get depressed and won't come out for days
God forgive me for my vengeful ways
Daddy beat me I blamed myself
The pills and therapy, I tried to get some help
Ended putting my heart back on the shelf

A Game of Chance

talking to the ghost
who speaks in tongues—
flames indulged
and torn in two
 
          *
 
pulled down
among the darkness
from where I came
and where I’ll go
 
          *
 
a game of chance—
you laugh in my face
as you drown
in the River Styx
 
          *
 
the impact was red—
orange mixed with light
fallen in a cryptic grave
and saved for many lives
 
          *
 
chatter, noise—
the pot boils over
and spills for the rats

Stages of Grief

Stages of Grief
by Joan Leotta

 
The first week
My world is spinning
"That's nothing, the world always spins,"
 they tell me.
"They" always know best.
Their world is fixed
on its axis, firm and sure
Mine has lost its axis,
whirling and twirling
out into space,
out of control.
I am oblivious to all but my loss.
 
Three months after
I am quiet
when I used to laugh
Sad
when I used to be pensive
Still awake

Tale of One Silly Cock

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