In defence of being pardoned

 

In defence of being pardoned,

Youthful way’s growing pains.

Big feet stumble on the crack

Unable to explain; a scene,

An act, and we the actors

 

A room with items various

Of origin and shape

The wondering

Is cumbersome,

 

I wonder

Of each item’s significance

Some,

Like this copper cutlery holder

Need more explaining.

 

Through children we live vicariously

Life full of effort

With pain,

Bad upbringing

Troubled

By feelings left untended

 

Of the comforts of home

I have no claim;

A table, a chair, a window

Snow, destitution

How did the polar man survive?

But that a child

Dared to test the ice.

 

Community in cities

Foundation strength accepts

All who dare

 

Porcupine bids me,

Take this quill in hand.

As instructed by beaver of whose people you are

Construct lines

Cross the gap

A soul submerged

Deep in the mud of time.

 

Amidst the sleeping snow.

 

No pain; but a life

Not ice; but strong shoulders

Not mud; but these cold feet

 

Poetic lines,

Will form a dam.

Find safety in these words.

 

Except for literary constructions

What have I made?

This type thing abounds

The can, made of

Recovered roofing materials

Once a home now condemned,

Rooted in the past.

 

Sentenced, to

Three years for stealing

Maybe six, stopped counting,

And guilty as sin.

Maybe not the original sin

But another one that came very soon after.

 

I gather,

I have become the person

In a way, from whom I removed goods, these trinkets

Never knowing their full value

Tossed,

Depriving the worker

That proud moment

Of once reclaimed,

Experiencing value.

 

What presumption

Straddle the gap

That all things have value

Seems self-evident

In physics

 

A revolving door full cycle,

Thoughts of escape swirl

Karmic Wham!

Gravity shift,

Away comes the block

Darkness becomes clear

The pain of trinkets past

announce its uses

Logos, slogans, we have them,

Don’t let them get away

 

Reading Franz Kafka

Resistance to a force inside,

Until today,

Just like his,

Clear image of darkness

I am the vine, my umbrellas

A twisted lot.

 

Climbing up the wall

Like so many times

Seeking an entrance

To another’s realm?

Uncertain, if any

Value existed.

What right does one need,

To possessions

Intrinsic total value

Measured in shekels or pennies,

Memories, hopes, uses… maybe.

 

Or to proclaim it as property

The power to set its value.

One the judge could not ascertain,

So, adding to the loss

In multiples of six months

The preferred block to apply, it would seem.

 

What happened to daylight

It went climbing.

Inaccessible as,

Thoughts speed

Rations, some menial tasks

Kicking back in a cell

Lacking a sense of proportion.

 

Scratching puppy nails,

Pencils waited sharpened

Not an appropriate thing to

Allow around paper?

 

At first pain of lost pride surged

Through my chest

Attempts to rise from screws protruding into my back

but I must stay

In a simple chair

With…

 

What is private?

Thoughts and feelings of shame

My rehabilitation plan,

Somewhere locked away

Head counts on the hour

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