Words felt

  The Slaughtering of Chicken   The task at hand is both jovial and heartless Not for the weak and clement, but for the brute and merciless,  And many a men have named it the dirtiest game. Now when the neighbors are away And none answers when you call their name, Start with the water in the pot And keep it boiling till it’s deathly hot. Then get a handful of grains to lure the victim of the day; A trapping unneeded and is only but a bonus treat. For the little children will be jolly and gay When later they consider the retrieval of undigested grains a wondrous feat. Remember as well, to give something small to your sufferer Is a deceitful act, but crucial and clever, so they don’t christen you a murderer. O here’s where the fun will begin, The chasing and racing, but careful that the chicken doesn’t win. Remind the bastard of his days of running after hens, his crowing and sway, And make him swear that every dog has its day. Catch him you must and will, And get him to be...

The Closing of Curtains  Orange rays the last kicks of a dying horse, Down the horizon they struggled to breathe upon the earth, Shone mournfully as their source the sun finished the day’s course. All around, an atmospheric sadness and no mirth. Crickets chirped the wail-song, their noise at its best, Birds sang their last to send the day away, Trees stood still in silence for the sun that was dying in the west, And I too by the window blew it a kiss to send it on its way. Something singular about the air that night Made me hesitant to shut the window’s veil And as I stood steadily clutching its rail, I heard a plea from the soft breeze as in crept the night, That in that night and always my curtains should remain unclosed. The thought was serious and quite unshaken, Though from my mind I at first wanted it disposed. It was written all around me that I should to its acuity be awaken, And see precipitation in my act of closing the curtains: Shutting out the beauties of the night and...

A ship in port Sometimes your waters Are calm and unruffled  And I long for waves and ripples Of comeliness and pacification  That’ll drive me To the glorious horizon   Sometimes you are wild Your emotions are a storm Your unpredictability like lightning  Your quiddity a raging wind  That strips my inmost parts bare, And I’m mystified by adventures  That lie beyond that storm, Wanting to be tossed about In your romping world But a ship in port I remain. Fear, my dear That your storm will wreck me Or your calm but deep waters Deceive me A ship in port, I remain.                                     James Kaluna  

Sonnet 2 How offbeat the nature of man should be, In this hour of strife and many a troubles That here amongst us still reign squabbles.  O that we would then use our eyes to see, And past us put our fighting and warring Seeking neither one another’s tearing  Nor worse yet our own gain and self-gloating  But disregard ourselves in unity And put to work our affects of doting  Holding each other in esteem and gaiety That though terror may to darkness drive us And the world dare to tombs speedily take us In accord we shall remain Herculean And feats we will achieve never be mean                       James Kaluna

A sonnet of appreciation   Sacrifice’s the sowing of seeds pure, true A disclosure of love towards your crew, Family, friends and even foe alike. So also it is power and courage For to go towards a conflict with rage, To commit oneself to the course with psych  Is a feat of supreme nobility, Knowing well that the return is not sure But still willing to give and your hearts pour. Honor, adoring, applause and praise hearty To you our mighty warriors we bestow There at the frontline to you we kowtow O our dear health practitioners, our stars  Fighting Covid-19, may your strength know no bars.                          James Kaluna

Raving the young must go Strength of ages to know When injury the flood shall sow And swept our hopes shall be Towards a battle brutal but core Against a menace all but sparing  Trusting the old must remain When fear shackles them in bane  Their words seemingly in vain When of triumphs past to speak they’ll deign  And swear of sunlight at midnight  Ticking the clock must endure Through troubles that know not cure Its cycle a new day must lure Remnant of a hope true and pure Strike at sunrise to refuel the young Chime at sunset to inspirit the old                  James Kaluna

A Bird Made of Birds I am a bird made of birds Soaring high above the skies With wings mighty my soul flies Against storms strongly it girds Behold, claws made of claws Feathers made of feathers Though against me the wind blows Every storm my being weathers Like thunder clapping in the air See me gliding through with flair  All my troubles torn asunder I’ve flown higher and left ‘em under My parts in careful coordination  Form a magnificent murmuration One true and holy togetherness  A puissant, inexpugnable gregariousness  Headstrong I will keep soaring  Through sweat, bloodshed and tearing A light in the dark I’ll keep glaring For I am a bird, made of birds daring                                          James Kaluna

The way I would wander In that pitch darkness Gave me an air of hopefulness  And yet I still wonder If I excessively dream  For in all sagacity  Out was the electricity And I nonetheless hoped The bulb would gleam When on the switch I popped                                        James Kaluna

Just nature Searing the midday sun, A lizard basks atop a rock Blesses the day with nod upon nod Whilst the badger cries foul, Seeks asylum amongst the shadows Bucketing the hourly rain The eucalyptus drinks greedily, ‘Thirst is a dangerous thing’, it says Under the ants gallop Curse the clouds for a hill washed asunder Timely’s the easterly wind, A flower rejoices much For its pollen travels far  Unalike the feebly twig Forced to bend and break To nature a ghost gives A body worth employment, To plants manure, to worms a feast Elsewhere a tear drops For a loved one’s lost Examine now the things of nature Flowing hence as is rightly due Choose then not to call these Names good or bad Blessing or curse, only, only just nature                                         James Kaluna

Of Dust “Man is dust and to dust he shall return.” Guilt.  I almost fail to feel my hands  as they  gently wipe the dust from off the surfaces. I  am consumed by guilt . The sort of guilt that I’ve in my musings a ccredited to warships. I imagine how terrible they must feel to smite each other at the command of their masters.  “Miss Conduct, friend, it is not I! I would never hoist my sails to chase you upon the waters or  fire my guns  to sink you.  My master forces me. He pushes me t o ram into you. ” “Ooh Master Baiter! Your own kind you have fought. With stealth you’ ve crept upon  many of our  sisters . How different then shall I be? But know this also, my retaliation is not mine. In defense my masters have chosen to  wreck you as you would me.” I can see the frown upon Master Baiter’s face as she sails away from the wreckage. Her steering is hard to maneuver as she attempts to make her masters cough away the...

Finding Freedom What sets a man free? Is it when from his sorrows he can flee? Is it the sound of chains falling- His heart’s plea? The hope of a new day? Like that of a cut-down tree? Or is it the head-on facing of trepidation? The hard, sweaty, painful way? The blasting of walls to find a way? Is it? Or is it the letting go to a calling? That of being held and not holding on? Of being carried up, up and away? Like a leaf in a windstorm? Or is it the sound of chains falling- His heart’s plea?                                              James Kaluna

The third man The first by my right The second a little behind In the middle I walked  Like a sheep to be slain Around and around, I stared and stared Plea in my eyes, distress in my heart ‘There’s three of us!’, The first declared, ‘Pay all you have, Or this syringe goes in’ Around and around, I checked and checked For a third man, that had so been announced  The syringe I didn’t mind, for his pressing arm I never cared But only for him, the third, my trouble  Shaken and rattled, I stood like a twig The streets raced by, the two they left My pockets empty, I’d given all I had, For fear of a third man, whom I never saw.                                               James Kaluna  

Methinks Methinks it’ll rain Soft drops beating down Cleansing for my brain Salvage for the old rusty town Methinks the sun’ll shine Beautiful rays glaring  Creating smiles yours and mine Making us brave and daring Me knows the rain’ll be too much Me knows the sun’ll be unbearable Me knows they’re lies But they’re lies I like, they’re lies I like.                                           James Kaluna