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Life’s Elixer

by ZacharyWGilbert

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

by ZacharyWGilbert

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

Holding Fire

by ZacharyWGilbert

One night, as I laid next to a mountain campfire, you arrived in the cool darkness.  I was finishing my warm food, and enjoying a cold crispy drink in the moonlight.  You began speaking, no, you began preaching.  Without offering proper introductions, you spoke of your difference and advancement beyond the common desires and flaws of men.  I watched you take up hot coals, and burning wood.  In your cupped bare hands, the fire ate your flesh.  All the while, you were telling me how fire could not harm you.  Your foolish words filled the air, “Ya know, fire isn’t hot to me…  I am different, I won’t get burned.  Relax!  It is of minimal risk!”  As the smoldering ick smells of cooking meat rose in white smoke plumes the you  took a seat in an invisible chair.  Like a en flamed sculpture, you held the position of a seated person, while the flame devoured you.   Your lips flapped your tale, until they dripped down your chin.  Your ash became my ink, and my finger became my pen.  I wrote in the hot dirt, “Fire, will burn us all.”

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Redlining the ’77

by ZacharyWGilbert

At age 40, I am not quite 20 anymore…

Those throbbing neck-aches,  they get into my ears,

I put too many projects on my shoulders.

My pulse becomes pain,

ache…. ache… ache….

Ice… more ice… Advil, hot shower

drink water… water…

too late, I am toast.

I hate that I know that.  I have done this before.

Now I have to grab the cell phone,

pain pulses, I feel nauseous,

I have to cancel, call in sick, miss out.

Sometimes, when I do too much,

I end up, not getting to do anything.

…

Official note to self…

“You can’t do everything!

Just do, somethings,

or you’ll max out

and do nothing.

Acceptance of this notion, is pending…”

…

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert