The Boys

Early morning, a few blinking street lights 
off in the distance 
Red flashing color slices its way through the darkness; 
"...stop don't rush the day has not dawned yet..." 
Perfection in, just bitter enough coffee 
with a dash of cinnamon - aroma therapy 
a sentimental tapping into a holiday season 
that has always resonated peace and good will 
I wonder what Francois drinks as the sun rises over the city of lights 
How strong the coffee is that slip between the lips 
of Vladimir as he saddles up for his A.M. ride photo op in-style
Or Bashar as he reads the daily obits 
sipping some strange brew, pondering what else is there is to do 
- rattle sabers background white noise 
I wonder, briefly, if Rivlin and Benjamin break bread 
while gathering stones 
And if Mamoud stays in bed a moment longer to clear his head 
before the first one is thrown
Does Barack grab a cup of joe while on the go
kissing his girls as he rushes to the daily debriefing 
And what if anything starts the day for Hassan and Mahmoud 
when a figure head is only recognized in the palace 
paper to pen and a pot of Persian tea simmers ever so slowly...

I think about things like this 
as I linger over the perfection in 
just bitter enough coffee with a dash of cinnamon - aroma therapy 
a sentimental tapping into a holiday season 
that has always resonated peace and good will

© 2015 TrilbyYates

Someone Is Shouting Jihad

Clear Parisian sky 
a sweet night 
to live and die 
without purpose
or validation of intent
but a twist of fate 
walking down 
the Champs Elysees 
and in my heart 
there is a love song 
and bright city lights
and what is that 
I heard you say 
not in a soft whisper 
but accusatory verbiage
and solitary sob
someone is shouting Jihad
you have a cause 
but you have no home 
you hide, linger and roam 
and wander in obscurity 
blanketed chatter code 
distant and detached
from the pulse 
of the universe 
you were born 
to cherish and to hold
loyal to a higher source 
fantasy wild illusion 
of what may be waiting 
for your brothers
on the other side
there is no solution
there is no pride
stained in blood and flesh 
your stairway to heaven
is a fiery inferno 
leading not to the purity 
of innocent virgins 
as you have been told
but as a venomous snake 
you will find only darkness 
not shadow or light 
nor colors bright 
but an abyss 
of nothingness 
we create what we are
someone is shouting Jihad... 

© 2015 TrilbyYates 

Forever ‪#‎JeSuisCharlie‬

They are like air
non-tangible 
of no material
substance - 
Yet they are powerful!
Thoughts, words, opinions, perceptions
dialogue; internal, external 
beliefs, doubts, questions, answers 
All up in the air 
Throw it against the wall 
...to see what sticks 
or lands on the floor - 
Pen to paper,
pen in hand 
Words, caricatures
They are like air
non-tangible
of no material 
substance - 
Historic words translated
passed down generation 
watered down interpretation 
Mind boggling
degenerate, debasing 
string of pearls 
words of wisdom 
Yours, mine, his, hers,
theirs, no ones, someones 
Does it matter?
Does any of it matter 
- at the end of a long day? 
End of a long life?
Does it matter 
when a life is taken?
...because?
They are like air
non-tangible
of no material 
substance -
Living is believing;
breathing, loving, hating 
strength, weakness, depravity
giving and taking 
Enlightened, mystified 
acceptance, judgmental
Saving grace, cold blooded murder 
Martyrdom, Sainthood 
Heaven, Hell 
...and all that floats 
between is the truth 
My thoughts 
My words 
My opinion 
My perception
...will continue to grow 
and strengthen 
I am not afraid
Forever ‪#‎JeSuisCharlie‬ 

© 2015 TrilbyYates  

Slow flow...thoughts and photo's...

Bended Knee

Walking a path that is unfamiliar
Kicking stones at the crossroad and the
Crucifix faces places unknown with
Hands outstretched pointing the way
And while it never touches me
Each step wanders further from
That sanctuary for poets and martyrs known
And the questions of evolution and faith collide
With smoke of incense lace pattern’s rise
Over an alter of Saints and Sinners
That we trust naively with each step
Taking our chances with Hope as our Guardian Angel
Rosary beads fall gradually to the ground
Slipping from the grasp of a zealot's hands
Yet I continually take the time
To reflect on bended knees
With little to no anticipation
That my prayers will ever be heard …

********

First Yawn

First yawn of summer
A slight breeze
The air is warm and cloaked
In an early morning walk
I hear the surround sound
Of a bird’s song
As insects dance above
Blades of silky green
Threads spider webs
Weave across the lawn
While flowers tire of being in full bloom
After spring’s burst of joie de vivre
To the slow exit
Of another season
That comes around
Full circle over and over again...


Photo's - Rebecca @ work, Paris home for summer, Me sunset sailing, Ari in Paris, France, Me and Jerry NY apartment.

Poems - Pamela "Trilby" Yates

© 2008 Pamela Viscomi Yates