Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Noel Negele- Three Poems

An Unresting Gamble.

Jimmy was the straw dog of my childhood
A dog I loved dearly-
A menacing Rottweiler who didn’t care much for any human fondling
Used to walk around with a bored look on his face
And enjoyed licking his balls and scratching the back of his ears
Where lice made their nests

His bark resembled a wolf’s howl
Sort of
Since it always dragged more than the usual
Ending up to a muffled low tone that lasted
Just before yawning
Showing teeth and red tongue with eyes closed

We were really small in comparison
To this dog
( Being children and all )
But we were not afraid
Since he always pretended we weren’t there
Besides the times we threw stones at him
Selfishly annoyed by his indifference-
But we loved him nonetheless-
And I always used to follow this dog to gypsy camps
Where he brought other dogs down
And the gypsies would go after jimmy with sticks and stones
At which point I would defend him as much as possible
But the result would always be the same:
Both of us running away

One afternoon
As lovely and mundane as
All afternoons are when you are a child
Jimmy staggered into the neighborhood
With five holes and an eye carved out, hanging from the socket
Like an egg cracked open-
And he fell close to us
-      As we were playing football-
Exhaling heavily
Each time also making a rattling and weeping sound
His nose filled with blood that along with snot
Bulged into pink puffs around the nostrils and mouth

We stood there, all of us
Terrified, mouths open
Some of us already crying
( Including yours truly )
As he was lying there
All the tragedy in display for us-
Jimmy stretching his legs spasmodically
Unwilling to die-
And to think that dogs die alone
This dog wanted company
Or help
But none of us moved
He was helpless and so were we
Trying to endure the martyrdom
Of death devouring the little life
That was left in him.

Out of nowhere
Lorry, a gypsy everyone hated
Came with his truck
Got out and approached the dog
Kneeled before him
Took him in his arms
The dog’s blood dripping from his elbows
And he went in the truck-
Jimmy on his lap
With his tongue hanging out-
And drove off like a madman.

After a few weeks Jimmy was back
All bones, limping and ugly as all hell
But alive
As alive as each step we take towards the bathroom in the morning
As alive as you reading this-
Maybe a little more

But Jimmy had changed
He was afraid
Of people he didn’t know
Of loud noises
And of other dogs he once used to bring down
With little effort- dogs lurking for revenge
And his bark now had a permanent weeping sound in it.
He didn’t run anymore
And for the most part
He would curl to a round thing
Close to us and watch us play
And when we would sit next to him while we talked
There was this magnificence that I felt
( as I would talk with my friends
With my hand over Jimmy
Feeling his fast heart beats against my palm)
That I can't describe,
As if the dog was teaching us something
With his silence and his unspoken affection
Something I couldn’t understand then

Jimmy was a good lesson in humanity-
He was the perfect outcome
Of a gamble between good and evil
And another thing he told us is
That even though evil didn’t win that time
It didn’t exactly lose either

But then again
Neither did goodness

What matters in the end
Is where you put your faith in.

Getting Closer.

Devoured by the night
( the sun always climbs over the sky uninvited)
with that heart beating against the chest like a stubborn animal
with those veins like rusty pipes of anguish
with that loneliness residing inside
sliding through the bars and the hookers and the depth
of the large gigantic titanic overweight worthlessness that is you
in essence beaming your nothingness
in a world already overfilled with it,
with the littlest of those scattering moments of contentment
like small delicate ripples
on a calm sea.

The Days

Every day is a second chance
a second chance wasted

sometimes its not only sadness
one learns how to live with it
and still have some good times

some times its desperation
along with anguish 
and they become one
and shift their weight against you
and sometimes you endure
and sometimes you collapse
and turn to the bottle
the pills, the powder

Every day is a second chance
a chance effortlessly wasted

and the pussy can save a lot
but not everything
and writing can cleanse most things
but not everything
and alcohol and all the rest can make you forget
but a few things never leave you
those few you so desperately want to forget...

Everyday is a second chance
it remains to be seen
if tomorrow
will add to the waste.

1 comment:

  1. Enjoyed these poems, Jimmy was the straw dog of my childhood, a beautiful tribute.