In the Morning

it starts with shock

not awe

only alarm

at the alarm

that blares in the morning

she doesn't care in the morning

and neither do i.

it shrieks and i keep

grumbling...

'turn it off'

'turn it off'

why care in the morning

i don't care in the morning

but neither does she.

it isn't what i make

of the alarm

that alarms her

what shakes us

ajar is we don't care

in the morning

to take care in the morning.

©2011 RA

These Promises

These promises I make

to your supple, subtle nape

have no definite form or shape.

And—

These promises I make,

'neath the evening's shade,

are as fragile as the wave and its wake.

Still—

These promises I make

are not to be taken lightly,

nor are they likely to fade.

But—

These promises I make,

having no form or shape,

are subject, too, to being unmade.

Yet—

These promises I make

exist not in transient states;

so, fear not the coming of day.

©2010 RA

La Princesse et Le Thé

There was once a Princess who drank only oolong tea. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Her place at the table was always set with a steaming cup of goodness. Her Apothecary would often plead with her to take to another of his teas, to remedy her nightmares. And the Princess just as often ignored his pleas.

"Your Highness," he begged one night. "This chamomile will put you right and give you good dreams."
But the Princess wasn't having it. Not then, not ever. "You will bring me an oolong this instant and cease your foolishness," she decried.
The Apothecary could do naught but sulk from the room and fetch her Majesty's tea. And it wasn't long before the herbalist was back in her room with a loaded serving tray.
Despite her stubbornness, he was servant to the royal house...He gave his all to his Princess—in all that he did for her.

His service also included the ocassional disobedient act.

Though he'd only been gone a short while, the Apothecary had planned for such disobedience. Some weeks back, when the Princess had first woke from a dream with tears in her eyes, her servant and healer had begun to intermingle her preferred tea with chamomile.
And so this evening, just as the Princess was turning in, she took her first sip of pure chamomile tea. Her nose did not upturn. Her lips did not curl into a pout. The Princess gave a plaintive "mmm" as she handed her empty tasse to her faithful healer.
The herbalist then cleared his throat...
"My lady, I-I-I have deceived you," and she made no move to speak. He went on, "But not without good reason. Since your first night terror, I have been sprinkling a second herb, leaf by leaf, into your tea." He paused..."Your highness, your health is my health. If you are not well, nor am I."
The Princess yawned wide and her eyes glinted approval as she took in the words of her Apothecary. Her healer, she reminded herself. Of course, she had known all along of his "plot" to remedy her maligned dreams.
In fact, she wanted him to do just as he had done.

And when she closed her eyes that night, she knew, too, that her Apothecary would be by her side in the morning light...And every moment thereafter.

(No matter her taste in tea.)


The End

©2010 RA

All Fall Down

Shall I cry tonight?
Or shall I save it for
another time?
With naught being saved
but the moment,
I think I might
have a cry tonight.
She understands,
and takes my hand.
I cried with her
tonight.

©2009 RA

All Ayes on Me

All I need is a sock
and it's Espionage.
I fear none of man's Armies;
none of them can harm me
like me.

All I have is a cock,
it's hard as rock or flops.
I'm made of light so blinding,
but I'm being blinded
by me.

All I need is to stop;
say no to self and walk.
In this world it is just me;
if only I trusted
in me.

All I have is this song
to soothe and move me on.
This hymn here is a lesson,
and no secret weapon
to me.

©2009 RA

Kindergarten of God

In the kindergarten of God,

I'm naught but a pawn,

spitting in an infinite pond.

And in this universe

that knows no wrong,

I've done become

distraught and oblong.

Lord knows,

I should be excited

to be alive and writing.

Insight is in sight--

it's not that I'm blind;

I know that light

must come from inside.

I've just not found

lightning to strike me.

Spread me thin

in this existence;

leave the ego broken,

no room for a friend.

At this place in space,

I'm no more penitent

than patient;

I won't wait

for judgement--

I'm above it.

I do not grudge

my relation's ships;

in any one I'll sail away

to a simpler place.

And it will be in grace

that I seize every day.

©2005-2009 RA

There's Always Room for Vegetables

O! how full the cupboards

had been;

full of enough victuals

to feed a couple fattened

by evening meal rituals.

O! how full of pastas

and sauces,

exotic tea boxes,

and chocolates

to eat or bake with.

O! how full the cupboards

had been;

until, one day,

the vegetables had had

their fill of sitting still,

and carted to the landfill

all foods that filled

the stomach,

but made one a lummox.

O! the revolting shrill

of the good wife

(used to the good life);

and O! the resounding clap

of her husband's fat

as he collapsed flat on his ass!

"O! how full the cupboards

had been", they cried!

But up they hushed

when they spied

the vegetables.

And, salivating,

they made a soup

of lentils and carrots

and potatoes;

and then baked

garlic cloves and onions

into flour-dusted,

honey-crusted,

savory rolls--

and when their bellies

were full, they felt sillier still

for having never appealed

to vegetables for a meal.

©2005-2009 RA