Tree
Inhale
The valley below
sings of sparrows
Exhale
Darkness underneath
eyelids disturbed by
afternoon light
Inhale
children shouting in the streets
cars racing to points of no
return
Hold.
(Credit to Yateesh Mallya on Unsplash.com for photograph)
by Kamila More Cabisada
How astute you are, fair clucking creature
How hard for me to chase after
The family descends at midnight tonight
You’ll be queen of my kitchen counter
You will dance, you will romp
In the sand, in the hay
In flour, in grease
In salt, in spice
You’ll be dressed in the best
Your charm put to the test
As you sit on my table tonight
What? This is a Sunday?
You must be in church, you say?
[No, you may not!]
I beg your pardon, darling sweet
There are better, brighter, hotter things
Than steeples and pews and roosters that sing
So look at me
Stare into my eyes
And come to me.
What? You must say your prayers?
Repent of your sins?
Ugh, no! Utterly morbid, my sweet
The oil in my pan will wipe your slate clean
This comes with a sure guarantee
So look at me
Stare into my eyes
And come to me.
What? So who is this Friend of yours?
You cannot stand Him up, you say?
Not even for a night with me?
I have raised you, I have kept you
Protected you, fed you
And this is how you repay me?
With abandonment? Treachery?
Look at me, I say.
Stare into my eyes.
And come to me!
But now you run, why?
Because He says you must try?
I shall break your attempt
You’ll see.
Darling friend, lovely dove
What is happening? Where are you?
I can’t see you, I can’t feel you
I am burned by this horrid Light.
Please come out. Into the darkness.
This brightness dulls my senses
It blinds me, gags me, binds me inutile
You must show yourself once more
Come out…
Into the darkness…
Show yourself…
Stare into my eyes.
And return to me.
But you will not
Since you can not
I can’t stand it —
You are free.
“Chicken on the Run” painting by Gena LaCoste
http://genalacoste.blogspot.com/2011/03/chicken-on-run.html
by Kamila More Cabisada
Sort through
Piles of discarded
Memories, leftover pain
Emptied canisters of
Bubbling laughter
Sort through
Years of tiny
Running feet in
Over-sized shoes
Grimy hands raiding
An overused ref
Makeup kits used
For watercolor art
Empty red checkbooks
Tied up with a band
Sort through
Heaps of music box dreams
Sheets, staves, notations
Audible cats
Scratching lines on the wall
Sort through tears
And dried laundry stains
And doomed coffee acid
Shards of broken glass
Sort through bits
And pieces here and there
Crawl through time
And get yourself back.
by Kamila More Cabisada
***********************
Irena, won’t you sing for me
The day is almost done
I see the sun’s long, glist’ning rays
Upon kissed altar stones
They bid goodbye to Daylight’s glee
As Dusk crawls in to keep
My world in constant pace despite
The tasks in mounting heaps
Irena, should you lose your song
Don’t weep, sky-speckled friend
For I have one to comfort me
And croon with Love no end
Like yours, her ballad fills my life
With harmony, pure light
My aging pen is a nightingale
In the deadness of the night.
(Grateful to David George of Unsplash for this photograph)
by Maya Angelou (1928-2014)
***************************
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange sun rays
And dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
KAMILA MORE CABISADA 