Blue Pen Haiku

A blue pen lays on my wooden desk.  Its soul is encased in transparent plastic shell.  The tube of thick blue ink is a pipeline for my creativity to flow onto the page.  Imprinting my words into immortal tales.  “What was it like to be human?”  Writing; a mighty force indeed.

Breath captured, by her.

Love rises in a white cloud.

My heart sings her name.

Fingers dance softly,

on lovers skin. Goosebumps.

Must I go to work?

Hot sweet  swirl.  Coffee.

Thick book. Crisp pages.  Author long gone.

As I read, he lives.

Dusty red stone path.

Blue sky.  Cold wind. Summer fades.

Mountain Man walking.

Rusty roof.  Dying old truck.

Young son.  Middle aged dad.

Memories are born.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/mighty/

Origin

The existence of demons is indeed, a visceral notion.  No zoo or museum houses the supernatural for the scientific mind to sample and define.  Consider for a moment, that perhaps demons are real.   A massive load of worry and anger from the injustice of favoritism, started as a hot neck, and an invisible lead straight jacket tugging on aching shoulders.  Then, as the lights danced in a tormented brain shadowing scars began to accumulate of the wall of the mind.  A creature was born of hurt, resentment, and hatred.  It seemed harmless at first, reaching out into the world with shadowy and sticky tentacles.  Warm black ink would run into the ear canals of any who would listen and incubate more demon spawn.

Humans may possibly be the parents to the unseen darkness of evil, as electrical brains hum and swirl events of hurt and anger.  Churning a massive centrifuge of thoughts and dark fantasies.  Unleashing darkness upon all that step near.  The blackened mist is not bound to it creator.  A human, deprived of life, leaves behind a footprint of warm glowing sunlight, and choking smoke.  Like living creatures they penetrate and saturate those left to life.  The creatures of emotion, live beyond the nest.

God saw it necessary to quell the veil of black, that evil creatures cast as they swim in the air between people.  A bright light, silent and hung on a cursed wooden monolith for a moment.   Light was lost for three hours, so that it could burn away darkness for an eternity.  Without light, demons will nest in the wounded brains of humanity.  Love and forgiveness is poison to evil.  It will writhe and scream under its dose, but eventually, it will die in the light.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

 

Life’s Elixer

Toxicity of evil, served in a rusted goblet,

a chalice decorated with bug carcasses,

that are called jewels.

Sugars, coloring, and  soothing words,

say, “Drink, drink, drink!”

Evil, though often denied, is never,

good.

Behind the heavy velvet curtain,

evil minds marinate in a cauldron

of putrid rot.

A voice takes the stage that tells

tales of light, and banter,

yet the floorboards,

are bloated with black, mossy,

mold.

Why not consider,

serving another human,

a glass of encouragement,

a clear clean glass,

filtered mountain water,

for pure unencumbered love,

is life’s only elixir.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

When Math met Poetry

Friday, sweet day,

Stress melts, warm butter

yellow covered smile.

Math and Poetry, a forbidden love affair in the backdrop of my thoughts yielded a child.  A young five year old boy now runs through the halls of my mind, with bubbling giggles, melted chocolate chip cookie crumbs on his chin, and calculated banter for suggested  metaphors. Colorful equations on the soft tan baffles of my brain show  Dirty hand prints, frame crayon equations…

Take a look at this wall, inscribed on the squishy yellow sparks of my mind, the question, “How is respect measured in love?  The world, as it is, holds many beautiful women.  Consider for a moment, a man.  Who is charming and funny, or perhaps rich and athletic.  A lost ship in a sea of possibilities, does he have one love.  Is it possible, that the magnitude of his, firm “No thanks,” and “I love only one” state of mind, is in fact the measurement of his love?”

Perhaps as the sand of time scours away the dying mist of my thoughts, I may find more pondering to share with you, my beloved fellow human.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

And then my words tore through the air like cannon fire…

As a Christian I don’t have a very good track record.  Apparently the ten commandments are a, ‘NOT to do’ list, and not so much a ‘to do’ list.  I look back on the last 40 years, and realize, that evil in all of its twisted forms, is something that is done by me, to someone else.  I am supposed to value others, and not hurt them.  When I find myself in a verbal volley with an adversary, my instinct is to inflict as much verbal damage as possible.  Our exchange mimics the ancient sea battles with wooden ships, and belching cannons.  What is the cost behind words?  You have to judge, (aim) then hate, (load gunpowder) and not care about the hurt you are about to inflict on someone else, (fire!).  The handle side of the weapon often feels less pain than the bloodied recipient.  Words are weapons.   Who’s side do I fight for?  As a burning ship sinks, why do I find joy?  Does taking something away from someone with criticism and lies help make me better?  No, it simply shows I am worse.

Every human on this Earth has a backstory, a history, a perspective, and a soul.  If I truly care about them, and who made them, then why don’t my words reflect that?  Do my words take something away, with my witty observation of physical defects, and social choices?  Or do my words offer hope, with my perspective of their value, to me, to the world, to God?  To immerse myself with the struggles of another person, will silence my gaping cannon of my mouth, leaving me only whispers while talking to them. Then maybe I can tell the true tale of their value to God, and will only leave encouragement and support to saturate the air.

This reflection, is to remind myself, that there is nothing wrong with being a chatty extrovert.  But, I do need to do a better job seeing people, and loving them.  To be more ears, and less mouth.  My words are loaded in my guts where evil in all its forms writhes in a ready cauldron.  In the storeroom down there, there can be light, and hope.  Scripted musing of the wonderful things of people, and the world.  How will I stock the latter? The choice becomes mine, to pillage conversations, and wound listeners.  A Christian should know the tale of God, and the undeniable value of people.  Before I am silenced, and planted in the cold ground, perhaps I will leave behind words, hanging soft in the invisible air, that let you know, there are many great things I see in you.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert