Tag Archives: poem

The Pond

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How the landscape changes

With the moving seasons…

No rebirth without dying

Water and cut grass

Shoulder-high saplings

And all the encounters with pain.


The piercing shrieks of white gulls 

Plunging, and us happy to disintegrate

Why is it that in nature

The lost are found, and dying

Is grand and mollifying and fearless

Like an embrace?


Blessed solitude that transcends

Loneliness and need

Feeding, soothing, nursing

The lightness of your being and

The fullness of your light.


Critters, short-legged, short-lived

Going about their business

Without 

Bitterness.

September reading

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here I am,

sitting on a bench next to autumn

absorbing the last of the scorching sun

and watching the ants

move like clockwork

in a playground we call our own.

here they are,

mapping the maze

with staccato precision.

I am reading a poem,

like every other year.

later, I’ll get up to go home,

pass the picket fence with the tiny

porcelain cats,

walk into a heap of crunchy leaves,

and stomp out

all regrets.

Discoveries

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Venus – that ancient

goddess of carnal desire – 

has a poisonous atmosphere that might,

just might,

hold the life of a microbe.


Immediately,

the microbes here on Earth

began to show signs

of restlessness.

fighting each other for supremacy

and claiming poison

as their territory.

Copyright A. Sepi 2020. All rights reserved

To Belong

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when she first discovered water

she did not go in.

she stood hypnotized. it was too wonderful.

she was, like the lot of us,

gripped by a fear of drowning,

arrested by the vastness and the gleaming.

to discover beauty is to discover

the heaviness of self and the terror

of irreversible sinking.

but look at her now, floating expertly on her back,

swaying with the waves

in her hair,

glistening like a fish,

all serene smiles and joy

and relaxed muscles.

weightless.

she has not mastered water.

she has mastered herself

(the high art of belonging)

and now water buoys her,

offers her up to the sun

cupful by cupful by cupful.

Copyright 2019-2020. A. Sepi. All rights reserved

The Racket

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Once in a blue moon,

beauty settles into my soul

like a swallow in its nest:

gracious and quiet and fertile.

Mere seconds later,

hordes and hordes of selfish people

with steel-toothed hounds and motorized wheels

come rushing by,

hurling themselves at the air, at the landscape, at other people’s souls,

a merciless stampede

raising the dust;

an unleashed army of carnal restlessness, a cacophony of hubris and outrage,

charging headlong, chasing the next empty minute, the next self-righteous cause,

cutting open words they don’t understand

and letting them bleed to death.

In their tow, the bee is sucked out of its flower,

the sweetness of honey is said to become unpalatable

and cross-pollination impossible.

I let them pass,

envy not their rapid advancement,

their heedless lack of regrets.

In God’s love, I am nourished.

Copyright 2020. A. Sepi. All rights reserved.

Watch for timelessness instead

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Watch for timelessness instead

a watch is a little

glass prison

for time –

 

where the seconds

serve a life sentence

without the possibility

of parole.

 

people like to wear

captive time

around their wrist.

when all the seconds are numbered and can never escape,

they call the watch good.

 

measuring

heartbeats,

counting down

to the end.

 

I’d like to start a petition

to free time

I’d like to see it

fly

and watch

for timelessness instead.

 

Copyright A. Sepi 2020. All rights reserved

 

 

Ballad

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We’re so fucking great

Masters of our fate

We’ll conquer the stars

We’ll colonize Mars

 

Make a million bucks

Drive SUV trucks

We’ll upgrade our lives

We’ll get trophy wives

 

Your pocket’s your Savior

Be snide to thy neighbor

C’mon, be a winner

The pauper’s the sinner

 

Forget all the ancients

Make profits off patients

We’re so fucking bold

We’re breaking the mold

 

A virus so small

Is breaking us all.

 

Copyright A. Sepi 2020. All rights reserved

 

 

The Days

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The Days

Remember these days

these brief days

when we walked in groups of one

we gave thanks to the ones who toiled

and our lives touched each other even though our hands didn’t.

 

Remember these days

these brief days

when daddy was no longer at work (yay!)

because people mattered more

than production:

we discovered we had lungs (so fragile)

and the air became breathable.

 

Remember these days

these brief days

with the deafening chants of birds, their speeches, their courtships, their pleas

finally audible,

and how we watched them build nests from our dining room window,

the whole family gathered around the table for once,

the playgrounds locked, quiet,

the streets devoid of the screams of neglected children;

the strange intimacy.

 

Remember these days,

these brief days

when we looked at each other with fear and awe

and doubt and hope and kindness

– but we looked! –

and were on the verge of rediscovering

humanity;

 

A book and a stroll meant the world to us,

we sang on balconies

while deer with unnatural eyes and glistening antlers

wandered into Nara and took the empty metro nowhere.

 

Remember these days

these brief days

when the trees stood erect and reached into the sky while the stock markets fell

(not the other way around)

when the river exhaled a soft haze at dawn before the buzz began,

the buzz of a thousand and one insects.

 

Remember the days

when the engines of destruction stood still for a minute

while food continued to grow out of the dark soil

and we were afloat in the poetry of necessity.

 

Remember these days

for they will not last forever

and maybe, one day, who knows,

they shall be missed.

 

Copyright A. Sepi 2020. All rights reserved

 

 

 

Covid-Spring

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the heavy, menacing tread of the lone jogger,

the scented solitude of the wild cherry blossom

down by the water.

 

a silence overpowering, thunderous.

undaunted gulls shrieking about trivial things,

ripping through it –

ear-piercing, alive.

 

two-dimensional human shapes in the distance

revealing the magnitude of the landscape:

floodplains and clouds huddling over and thickets and brown grasses and beavers

hidden from sight

the musical chirping of warblers,

the regular knocking of woodpeckers.

a sprig, a bursting bud, a thin green leaf timidly exploding

as spring self-isolates amid

this prodigious heaving and gasping,

this fear of inhaling

punctuated by the scampering dogs.

 

industrious zeal grinding to a halt.

 

how slow the river flows.

how pale the grey sands.

it feels like Good Friday without the church bells.

 

Copyright A. Sepi 2020. All rights reserved

 

 

Behold the searing wind*

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It is upon us.

Its blistering tongues lurk behind the levee,

They pounce like savage beasts

Mercilessly they wheeze

Blowing the tumbleweeds against my doorstep.

 

A goodbye kiss, crackling dry.

Deserted yards, howling.

 

The yellow earth swelling and swirling,

It is in my eyes, my nostrils, my teeth.

Every time I spit,

I spit grains of sallow sin.

 

There used to be ponds along the river

And fishing nets heavy with fish

The cabins on the lake full of

guffawing and cheer,

There used to be trees and snakes.

The forest playing organ to the gales.

 

It is gone now.

Its birds scattered

like dust from old carpets.

 

The vineyards are dead.

Their grapes, dried up and shriveled,

Won’t be quenching no thirst

Won’t be crowning no wedding

dances

There ain’t gonna be no toasts around here

no more.

Only the sheer shriek of the southerly wind,

Only the curses of the departed still drifting

across the inward-moving sands.

 

*poem inspired by this article: https://www.vice.com/ro/article/9ke3nz/seceta-si-nisipul-au-cucerit-sudul-romaniei

Copyright A. Sepi 2019. All rights reserved