5 Pastels – 4

On 2019020620190206 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

More beautiful than
A sculpture and a symphony,
Her hands and her voice —
Locked forever in my mind, and
Interlaced in every idea I have
Of love

“commodities”

On 2019011920190119 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

one of the best restaurants in my town
seats, at most, about twenty-five;
we were there tonight, and this:
my stars! was that food good —

a group of four came in, first time,
and “special ordered” like you do
when ordering commodities :
knowing they wouldn’t like the taste
of food they’d never ever had before.

because, it’s all the same, you see;
when you prejudge, it always saves you
recognizing anything as new –
outside your categories –

like people do with restaurants, and

with other people

My Doctor Says

On 2019011720190117 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

My doctor says that I should x,
But I am through with x’ing;
For every x, there is a “y” —
The whole thing’s rather vexing.

So many known unknown unknowns;
They vary in the passing —
My doctor says, if I’d be whole
I need to quit half-assing

My mind and body are my own,
Except, they go where he goes;
He looks at wax inside my ears
For reasons only he knows

He’s late, and so I sit and wait;
My schedule rearranging —
My doctor says that I should x,
But “x” keeps fricking
Changing

It Feels Like Grief

On 2019011520190115 By Beleaguered ServantIn Personal Essays1 Comment

“Jobs are merely leased, and leases get called.

But it feels like grief.”

— From my Instagram feed

She messaged me at work early Monday:

I am very likely getting fired today. I want you to know it was a true pleasure working with you, and thank you for all your support through the years.

She did get fired, later that day, although with some kind of financial package to aid with transition.

I heard from her later that night, having reached out to her through Facebook. She said she thought this meant she had a better future ahead of her somewhere else.

I told her I would miss her.

She messaged me at work the next morning, asking if I would help her replacement, a guy she had only recently hired. I said “of course.”

I first met her eight years ago. We had an immediate affinity. She changed jobs several times, all promotions. I changed jobs once and bosses multiple times. During all that time, we either worked together or stayed in touch.

Her last promotion had been to a very high position. One with a lot of responsibility and a lot of employees. One where a lot could go wrong.

It did.

She has a family, a husband and three kids. She has been the primary earner.

She just last month became a U.S. citizen. She’s been in this country since the mid 00’s.

As of this March, I will have worked for the same company for twenty-four years. I have seen a lot of people come and go. Some few of those who left did so involuntarily. I have come very close to being fired myself on two occasions.

The longer you live, the more grief you accumulate. It makes me rethink how wonderfully brave the old people of my youth were, although I was uncognizant of it at the time.

The respiration of life involves the inhalation of hope and the exhalation of grief, and like breathing, we do both automatically.

I wake up worrying about various issues to do with this company. Those are not concerns for her anymore.

Later, I walk up to a door and scan a badge. The door opens. She can’t do that anymore.

I walk to a desk and see pictures of my wife, my kids, and my grandkids. Her desk now lies empty.

My friend will be fine. She’s smart, she’s capable, and she’s no longer tied to this particular corporate millstone. I’m happy that she is finally free.

But it feels like grief.

A Gypsy Dream

On 2019011320190113 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems4 Comments

My friend, the gypsy, shared a dream
Of how she’d found a carnival,
A type of old tradition where
The best of their technology
Was brought to bear to try to make
A wonderland of lights and sorcery.

Where lovers could walk hand-in-hand
And feel excitement from the crowd,
As she did; with some unknown he
Whose face was handsome, though unseen.
But still the glow of love was there,
Among the scents of summer on the pier.

But love, she said, is not her way:
At least, the way that many think
That love should be: just one for good –
A night, a day, a month, a year,
That’s fine, but even in a dream,
She knew the carnival must have
An end – a letting go – a final turn.

She stared away, in shadows, then
She said, “I’m built for wandering.
The hands I hold are many, as
I make my way across this life.
I’m sure that dream was just my truth
As written on my neurons in the night.”

I watched her kiss the sunset, and
The gleaming colors in her eyes
As she arose to meet the night,
And leave me in a cafe seat
To ponder what a gypsy thing
That lives and hearts are in the very end,

That lives and hearts are in the very end.

Genuine(ly)

On 2019011320190112 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

Genuine love

Is love between people being

Who they genuinely are —

In addition, it will be

Genuinely incomprehensible

To most of the world

A New Day’s Year

On 2019010620190106 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems2 Comments

There comes a time the frost must fall away;
Sometimes the thaw is difficult and slow.
Though night be cold, and bitter be the day,
With snow and rain, and cutting winds that blow,
The sun will work its magic, even so.
Remember when the ice your feeling numbs:
The heat will come. It will. It always comes.

I stood out in a field of many stones.
The trees were frozen white on every side;
Familiar family names, and some unknowns,
Through tears that froze before they ever dried.
So little life the words there could provide:
Of what and where and who all these had been,
These unknown women and forgotten men.

I looked for one, and found him on a hill.
A handshake firm, a strong and steady gaze,
A tender heart withal an iron will,
And ready with encouragement and praise
For fighters of the family fight, always.
The long winds blow, they blew him to this place;
Asleep now in this high and frigid space.

To know of life, we have to know of death.
It seems so cruel, but that is how things are:
The careless, one day, struggling for breath,
The poor unfortunate, the superstar,
Alike in this. We all end up at par.
And it can all seem vanity, and smoke —
A tragedy, or maybe one big joke.

There comes a time the frost must fall away;
Always the thaw is difficult and slow.
Nights will be cold, and bitter yet the day,
With snow and rain, and cutting winds that blow.
The sun will work its magic, even so —
Though tears may freeze before they ever spill,
The heat will come one day.
I’m sure
It will

Photo credit : ID 62364939 Mulikov | Dreamstime.com