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The nights often grow cold where I live,
So I try and do what seems logical--
Build a fire.
I hastily take to the darkness in search of kindling--
Success!
The storm from last night seems to have littered the ground with
Dead branches large and small.
I'm unfamiliar with this type of tree, however...
But it seems quite promising.
I do hope it burns well.
Back in my cabin, I find the smaller sticks break with ease,
And the larger pieces split at my command without hesitation;
I then proceed to load the stove and fire it up.
All has gone according to plan--
Save for one minor detail...
Despite my efforts to further stoke the blazing inferno,
It produces no heat.
The warmth of my excitement from finding the wood
And subsequently constructing the fire has now subsided and I'm left with a
Beautiful orange flame which - no matter how hard I try -
Can never fully satisfy.
I had a cat named Snowball.

        She died, she died.

Mom said she was sleeping.

       She lied, she lied.

Why oh why is my cat dead?

      Couldn’t that Chrysler have hit me instead?
So once more he appears before my eyes,
And I am well aware he is no friend
Of mine, but a companion that I do not wish
To view; a companion that hovers around
In a reluctant mist; although never fails
To reveal his foul breath, his harsh whispers,
Together with his depressing stench of odour.
For I did not summon his deeds;
Never sought his favour; nor offered prayers
Nor burnt incense; nor gave from out
My own batch, the warm gift
Of wine to his altar; never in song
Have I praised his pale face,
His rotten black teeth; never bathed
My bare ankles, nor quenched my thirst,
In his poisoned waters. Yet he found weakness
Within a humble heart, an equally willing mind;
For he latched upon my soul, bearing
Fierce claws; and now, with his stealth clasp,
Arm in arm refuses to grant me space;
Feverously denies release.

Oh! How I do pray I could banish him
From my daily thoughts, my woeful strife;
For he seems present more recently
Than ever I can recall from drifting memory.
Be sure, he does not reside
On one of heavens branches; he would,
With all his deceit, be not allowed
To even graft upon the blissful airs
Most lowly of roots. His dulled stare,
Adamantly pierces through any desire
I have for the light ahead. A grey
Dusty cloak, that he wears draped
From his shoulders, like bitter winters
Shortened sun which shrouds the heavy leaded clouds,
And plunges the sky into deep sodden colour;
Saps any inspiration, which my dreams,
With kindness, revamp anew in sweet slumber.

My mission I do know sincerely, to be
Holy honest, is not entirely a struggle;
And shown before my sight appears
Respectively clear, is however, weighed
Toward the earth with added pressure
By his ****** presence alone. A strategy formation,
Delved from battlefields past, is a want
That seems out my grasp. Shall I
Soothe him with tender lyre strokes,
And with kind words may he leave my side
Willingly, at his own leisurely pace,
In unhurt peace? Why does he have such
Effect on me? How do I relinquish
Him from my sight? Shall I guide him
With me to fresh slopes of pastures green,
Showing his cruel appetite, the beauteous feast
Which bountiful Nature banquets? Do I
Attack him with all force at my disposal?
Unsheathe the sword? Balm protection
Around my clench fists? Do I ignore
His embrace which rivals a death-grip
Engineered from a lioness’ jaw, breathing
Smoke from her nostrils, clasping down
On her prey- unyielding, prey essential
To subdue pains that torment her hungry cubs?
Shall I believe him foe? How do I proceed?

I do realise with no barren shadow,
That he must be nursed into a corner,
Trapped, and halted, for if continuation occurs;
I fear Happiness, a fleeting sense,
Will never approach with ease, nor greet me
With a wave of her snowy hand, nor ever
Blush her lovely pout lips, and settle
Her most welcome custom, within my heart again;
And though my pathway be tedious,
Raised to the brim within a golden goblet
Of questioning; let my last task be this:
With a calm prayer to relight fading embers
From my *****. Kind souls, delicate muses,
Come to me, come to my aid,
Help relieve me of his burden.
Heap upon him glittering song,
Bow his cowardly head further down
From whence it came, and place
The dying mournful strains of the Swan within;
May dark unveil an ebbing stream
Of wondrous hue; let summer sun
Break through thick woods; may no shade
Shield me from intense light; let notes
Resound aloft upon high peaks;
May you pour nectar down my throat,
Place fragrant rich petals from perfumed flowers
On my tender tongue; and therefore,
Knelt before you, sister maids,
With submissive eyes gazing the hallowed ground
Beneath your feet; bathe me in tuneful grace
Once more; assist a humble servant,
Hear one solemn slave voice; for you
Will be praised within my lily-scented verse;
Forever will you be fed on my gentle honey-dew
Measure; if I only be granted solace
Within your flowing spring, deep
Between your sacred gardens fruitful caress.
Heart, oh heart you keep my existence!
Keep on pumping, you show much persistence.
How many times do you break?
Are you getting tired from this heart-ache?
Nevertheless you move on strong,
Making the beats last very long.
Oh, and how you love with such force!
Making me dizzy, taking the beats off course.
The beats get irregular and are hard to manage,
With our continuous meetings, it’s such a disadvantage.
So thank you, my little worker, for doing oh so well!
Forever you shall pump in my chest, forever you shall dwell.
You might
get the idea,
when reading
my poetry,
that I am
some sort
of a dumb guy,
who really doesn't know
about Zen or poetry,
and really isn't very good
with the English language,
or you might
see something different,
some guy behind this stuff,
who really does
know something,
like that he really
shouldn't use the word
really so much,
and who
is sort of a tongue in cheek,
Zen wise-***
and that he actually does know
something about poetry,
and that he uses
the English language
this way
intentionally,
but the real poet's voice
is probably
none of the above,
and then there is
the real kicker,
and that is
that he is
all of the above!
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