A. Gee Where words collide

Poems

The Arrangement

"Speak now", the preacher says. I hold my peace.
Forever is so long... but time runs out.
I've failed to carpe diem, failed to seize.
Beset by possibilities and doubt
I dare not stop the knot from getting tied,
and everybody breaks into applause.
The preacher's celebrates with "kiss the bride".
but it is timid, there's an awkward pause,
as if the lips that must be joined at last
are doing so unwillingly, at best,
uncertain of the future and the past,
and hoping it's not real, it's just a test.
But it is real enough, and hope is buried.
"Smile, silly!" mommy whispers. "You are married!"

At a Funeral

The Lord of Mercies, he is rarely tender.
Severity is more His Lordship's style;
The world, with all its majesty and splendor
apparently the staging of a trial.

A jury of your peers? Not in this venue,
where no amount of fervency or zeal
puts clemency or pardon on the menu.
The verdict is not subject to appeal.

And yet we persevere in our devotions,
swear fealty, in this world, and the next,
though some are simply going through the motions,
too scared to deviate from sacred texts.

Bring peace, we say, down from the skies above.
And add that God is beauty, God is love.

Utter

I'm trying utter honesty for size.
The soup could use more salt, I tell the wife.
Cold, withering contempt within her eyes...
I leave for work; she's sharpening a knife.

You're vacuous and lame, I tell the boss.
He's urged me in the past -- be fully frank --
get fired, promptly  -- never mind, their loss.
Time to discuss the mortgage with the bank.

The longer I have gotten in the tooth,
the harder to glaze over the inept.
I must be missing something... Why is truth
so difficult for others to accept?

The teller tells me: sir, you have no money.
I call the wife: hey, what's for dinner, honey?

The Lizard King

The Lizard King, he of the lizard people --
some think him a conspiracy, a hoax --
climbs to his temple's roof, the very steeple,
coughs from exertion, taking out his smokes,
and lights one up, observing his dominion.

Oblivious, his serfs perform their tasks,
each thinking that they own their own opinion,
that faces are just that. They aren't masks.

This is his favorite part: observe the masses,
especially the ones that don't believe.
The ones that fail to see, though wearing glasses,
the ones that, frankly, can't even conceive.

Of late, a sinking feeling in his gizzard.
Is he like them?  Is there a bigger lizard?

For the Trees

The forest, damp and gloomy, welcomes summer,
green canopy a shield against the heat.
A woodpecker, the grove's incessant drummer,
accompanies a youngling's "mommy" bleat.

And down below, all manner creepy crawly
is rushing to complete the season's work.
A praying mantis preys upon the holy.
Behind its compound eyes, an evil smirk.

An aging deer -- will he retain his harem --
hoofs stepping softly on the rotting earth.
Perhaps this winter will be kind and spare him.
His does in tow, some fresh from giving birth.

The leaves are rustling with the slightest breeze.
And now you've seen the forest for the trees.