Calloused Eyes

Ragged plaid blanket, all that remain,

Skin dirty, face faded, crowd in disdain.

Broken spirit, by dark shadow swallowed.

Calloused eyes, dead heart numb and hollowed.

 

God has not forgotten, the hurting lost.

He is waiting to see who will sacrifice the cost.

To love, beyond ourselves, and see the weak.

Helping others, seeing pain, may be good to seek.

 

Leaves fall, seasons decay, life’s dwindled flame.

The engorged, and the starved, share the game.

One day, perhaps, callouses will fall like scales from eyes.

Humanity, has value that may be important to recognize.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Dear Daughter…

old-computer-gilbert-pictures-453

Dear Daughter,

I can’t believe you are nine years old now.  I still remember when you were born and fit on my forearm.  We had a 2004 black Nissan Sentra, it was loaded with diaper bags, a pink car seat, and an excited mom and dad.  I think I spent six month painting your powder pink room, with lady bugs and castles on the wall, and a dark blue sky with a cartoon sun on the ceiling.  I had to repaint the clouds twice, just to get them perfect.  It was all for you.  I love watching you grow up.  I cherish each moment, each phase, and you.  You will always be my sweetheart, and I love you.  I feel like I have let you down countless times, but I will continue to talk you though my mistakes, as well as yours.  I love you too much not to.  I see you worry about my approval, but please don’t.  I am always on your team, and on your side.  I thank God everyday, that he put you in my life.  I will forever strive to keep your momma happy and loved so that you can feel safe everyday, and not have to worry about your parents.  It breaks my heart every time you cry.  I want you to know that I am willing to help you dry your tears, anytime.

We are going to have to talk about boys soon, and to be honest, I am terrified.  I think, silver hair is in my immediate future.  I know you have a buddy at school, but I know, things are going to get weird in a few years, if they aren’t already.  I think I may use your 2 year old brother as an example.  How he loves cars, stands up and cheers for anything starwars, and his vocabulary is half sound effects.  He is likely to never think about, or plan anything about his wedding.  Boys aren’t wrong, they are just so very different.  I want you to hear it from me first.  We will go on a date.  We will talk.  My silence, is not ok.  God gave you an extroverted, chatty dad.  Don’t worry, I am going to keep this date appropriate to your age.  I just want to build a foundation, for you to be able to ask your dad about boys, and life.  I think we are going to be ok.  I know I often say, “You are the practice kid.”  All that means, Sweetheart is that mom and I are constantly learning how to be parents with you.  Mom and I both were ‘first born’ so we understand your frustration.

So, what do you think?  Can I take my sweet girl, in the powder pink shirt, out on a date?  Just me and you.  We will load up in the 2015 black Mustang.  You can sing Taylor Swift, or Katy Perry at the top of your lungs.   I will tell some silly daddy jokes.  I love the way you laugh.  Sweetheart,  I am sorry I cry a little, every time you talk about getting married.  I take a deep breath, and sigh, and only lose one or two tears.  You put your hand on top of mine and say, “Don’t worry daddy, everything is going to be ok.”  I couldn’t agree more.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Mysterious Push

fire

The drive within, that mysterious push,

enraged orange fire, twists its fingers,

around my red throbbing heart, my blood is hot.

Cold statues entombed in green moss,

an overwhelming warm yellow light from my eyes,

dances for a moment, across their empty faces.

 

Fingers desire, to dance upon ‘clicky clack’,

Letter keys, become faded,

Stories, become clear,

Warm paper erupts from whirling printers,

releases a flat inky odor, and electric puff.

 

Reader, and Writer, embrace within,

cozy blankets of words, and worlds.

Life’s moments captured in text,

a waterfall of ideas, water of the mind,

The mysterious push of the flame,

forever, overwhelming.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Clean Heart

Murky, mud stained windows, block realities view.

Painful memories like thorns ache, lodged the mind.

Black talons,  a dark grasp, tears the woven curtain of thought.

What solvents can clean, a muddy cake, from a fouled heart?

 

The vacuum is loud, brushes are spinning in a blur.

A tornado of dust, vacant from the plastic cylinder.

Turn it off, unplug it.

An emergency surgery performed.

 

A clog is discovered,

of faded green pine needles,

black cat hair,

and gray dust.

 

Plug it in, turn it on.

A dust tornado,

dances in the cleaners heart,

alive in purpose, again.

 

Before God, a heart is removed,

Green slime, like dragon snot, falls.

Thick smoke, like burning bread, floats.

A daily surgery is performed.

 

Stand up, start the day.

Pain and worry, daily, cleaned away.

Existing happy, no longer hurt, and mean.

Because, the heart is light, the heart is clean.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary Gilbert

 

Rattlesnake or Butterfly

A Mountain trail, gives off a sweet scent, like exotic perfume.

The taste is sweet, like a warm cupcake, seductively placed in the moment.

Silence permeates surrender, as the trail chooses a hikers fate.

Rattlesnakes are under the rocks, and butterflies are in the air.

Devil’s Backbone, juts out near where the Rocky Mountains reach the plains in Northern Colorado.  Rocks and dirt, iron red, dry and crunchy, populate the trail.  The thin air blows in a warm swirl one mile (1.6 km) above sea level.  Trails twist and climb amid sparse vegetation.  The view is amazing, tight shoulder muscles and stiff necks, melt into natures embrace.

Rattlesnakes like to bask in the warm sun.  Their fangs are like needles that deliver a murky white venom.  It is a powerful coagulant that makes the victims blood congeal, and turn into a red gelatinous mass in seconds.  If anti-venom isn’t administered quickly, the tissue becomes necrotic, and limbs may be amputated.

Butterflies float on the breeze.  Silent and beautiful.  They land on bright mountain flowers and drink sweet nectar. Dusty wings colored yellow, and black, open and close.  Their tiny legs cling to flower petals with poetic grace.  Butterflies don’t sting, bite, or hurt anyone.  They are beautiful.  They don’t force their presence.  The moment is fragile and soon they fly away in the bright blue sky.

On the trail of life,  hearts are vulnerable,

to what lives in the air and under the rocks.

One shakes a rattling tail,

bites hard,

gooey poison is spilled

through curved fangs.

One floats silently in warm air,

loves peacefully,

content in its own business,

sharing beauty, in tender flight.

Rattlesnakes and Butterflies,

resist each other

in purpose,

in function

.

The two,  live within us all.

Of the two, which one,

will arrive,

when our paths cross?

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert