Vertigo Allegro in Indigo

pelly-benassi-2368

Photo by Pelly Benassi on Unsplash

Vertigo Allegro in Indigo

Clutched,

spun in terror,

gripped by rage,

my eyes deceive

 

Fire and grief,

I bleed, spinning, listening,

inhuman laughter splatters

 

Shattered visions falling,

screaming at the blur

unsure of perspective

 

Settling

upon my bed,

resting my head,

exchanging one dream

 

For another,

never waking

***

 

Written for dVerse Quadrille #38 – Dream, hosted by  De Jackson (Whimsy Gizmo). Go here to read other poet’s contributions.

Hatred and Meditation

PeacefulProtest

Photograph by Ian Frank, taken during the white supremacy rally in Charlottesville.

Hatred and Meditation

Do I hate?

Do I use the word correctly?

Do I respect its insurrection on rationality?

 

Do I feel the emotion expressly revealed

through introspection?

Is hate’s searing devotion the lesson that seals

our soul’s subjection?

 

I hate potato salad.

I hate country western ballads.

 

I hated sweet potato

but I ate it when grandma said so.

 

I hate vapid pop music;

I rate it invalid acoustics.

 

I hated when daddy hit momma

when they hated the trauma of hate

that made strangers out of lovers,

dispirited hate externally creating

the hate from within.

 

I hate butterscotch,

and yes, I hate pop-rocks,

and yes, I hate culture shock,

displacement while vultures flock

 

I hated bullies, and

I hate being bullied.

 

I hated bullies who bullied me.

 

I hated having to fight them

for the right to subsist.

 

I hated fighting bullies

so the fight in the next bully

would cease to exist.

 

I hated fighting

for the sake of fighting.

 

I hated lightning and thunder

of fists rendering flesh asunder,

my knuckles knuckling under

my hated fate.

 

I hate being marginalized.

I despise being patronized.

 

I surmise that I hate that surprising

ill-advised, revised

hand-waving

of genocide of the natives.

 

I hated being born fated

as a second-rated citizen

in my nation, born from hate,

fear, and superstition.

 

I hated suspension of disbelief

in reality offering no relief

in fostering only grief and suffering.

 

I hated my place in the universe.

 

I hated the racial fight

in the perverse plight

to maintain the right to exist even

as second-rated civilian.

 

I hate that I relate to privilege

from the bottom of a boot heel.

My hate in its sacrilege

is throttled by acute appeal.

 

Is it hate

that makes me try to avoid hatred?

 

There are many who hate

that makes them try to destroy

what they hated.

 

I know we don’t hate the same

or mean the same thing

when we endure hatred.

 

I want to eradicate

the lame machine of pain

screaming of pure conflated abhorrence

that makes one man crush another

for discovering differences.

 

We all suffer.

 

Do I hate?

Do I verb it correctly?

Should I select an interjection

with less lethality?

 

Can I kill an emotion that exists

to make people kill?

Can we fill a devotion that persists

as a poison pill?

 

Why do we hate?

It’s self-rot

Can I ever relate?

I hope not.

***

NOTE: If you are offended by the image above, the words in this poem, the embedded video, but feel nothing about the riots, hatred, and violence that took place yesterday in Charlottesville, then you need to do some soul-searching. I am sickened and deeply saddened by what we have become as a nation.  

 

Recurring Nemesis

shadow

Image source: Google

Recurring Nemesis

He was nonchalant, dismissive, scornful

of me. Always has been, from our first meeting

way back before memory. His visits

leave me fitful, restless, waking in a

 

frightful sweat, but only when I force my

release from his domineering grip. Or

perhaps only when he releases me

out of boredom and acute disgust.

 

He visited me last night, as he has

many nights before. Though I don’t recognize

him, he is oddly familiar. His smug smile

lives in every bully who has ever

 

toyed with my meekness. His unforgiving glare

is in every bystander who ever

had their doubts of my abilities proven

by observing me fail spectacularly.

 

He is strong, masculine, fit, handsome, and

firmly confident, but just short of being

obscenely so; he is everything I’m not,

but wish I were. He is kind to every

 

other soul inhabiting my mind, but

exceptionally cruel to me, and only

on exceptionally cruel whims that seemed

to instinctively align with when I

 

was at my lowest, most vulnerable

moments. He openly mocks my appeals

to his reason, decency, and empathy,

targeting my darker nature, the part

 

of me I try to ignore, compartmentalize,

and starve to death. He ignites something

primal in me, strutting away from the

embers floating around the tinderbox.

 

I feel my evolved sensibilities

burn away, leaving only the cruelest

intentions hooking themselves into my limbs;

if he approaches me once more, I know

 

there won’t be anything left of me to

reason with. And this fills me with a

primal joy that frightens me. I know that

if he invades my space again, if he

 

seeks to belittle me with a face slap

or an ill-advised shove, the three-strike

combination I have chambered for him

won’t simply be warning shots to get him off me.

 

They won’t be angry, bleary, wild lashes;

they’ll be highly-focused nitro-glycerin-

fueled blockbusters designed to take his smug smile

on his arrogant head right the fuck off

 

of his fucking shoulders. I would lean in,

attempting to channel those three strikes into

punching and kicking him out of existence.

He smirked and moved in my direction, just

 

as I envisioned. As he entered range

and readied a dismissive slap for me,

I released every ounce of rage from my

left fist, followed immediately by

 

my right fist and a left front-thrust kick just

for kicks. All three blows landed with great, lush

satisfying thuds, evaporating him

from my dream, throwing me into the harsh

 

reality of morning sunlit skies,

punching, kicking tangled blankets and air.

Immediately, I felt dread, for it

wasn’t my fancy words that had prevailed,

 

but my violent nature that I had tried

to deny for so long. Disoriented

and ashamed, I tried to regulate my

breathing, eventually cracking an

 

ironic smile because right or wrong, I

finally got that bullying bastard.

***