On my desk. Shemar

 

On my desk. Adele

 

Empty

I have to say 

I can’t really blame you 

For not being aware 

It isn’t as if I’m wearing a sign 

Well, not a blatant one anyway 

Quite the opposite, in fact 

I have taken great pains 

To present an opposite facade 

To wear the proper mask 

But there is a saying 

Relating to books

And covers 

And judging 

Sometimes I feel as if 

Events have opened my life 

And scooped out my feelings 

Not to make room for anything else 

Just to create this empty space 

A place for loneliness to live 

In there with all my nothing 

Rambling and echoing 

Emphasizing the hollowness 

There are prompts in my head 

Gathering proper social cues 

Knowing when to laugh 

Knowing when to cry 

Eliciting the right response 

To prevent the inevitable question 

“Are you okay?”

Which, of course, brings the reply

“I’m fine” 

But there is a saying 

Relating to books

And covers 

And judging 

Now, about this book 

And it’s pretty cover 

Colorful and vibrant 

And said judging thereof 

I fear I have misled 

For the insides are empty 

Leaving nothing to judge 

No content to examine 

Scooped out 

Empty

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

August 20, 2022

Misery

Misery resides 

Forever inside 

Even inconsequential 

Still it rises and falls 

Periodically it drives 

Pushing buttons 

Turning wheels 

Choosing destinations 

We think 

‘Destiny’ 

We use words 

‘Fate’ 

Merely misery 

A word 

Not a sentence 

No life sentence 

Inside 

Also hope 

Also joy 

Also happiness 

Today 

Misery drives 

Skies are gray 

Road is dark 

Discontinuously 

Rising

Falling 

Following 

Whispering 

Influencing 

Coercing 

Backseat driver 

Good times 

Susurrous 

Happy days 

Murmuring 

It’s all temporary 

Coming and going 

Hello my old friend 

Misery 

Speaking 

Out of turn 

Ever opinionated 

Seeing the dark 

Always interjecting 

Welcomed or not 

The sway attempt 

To topple the world 

Never able 

To chase away 

My old friend 

Misery 

Still 

We go 

We walk 

We run 

We survive 

Held at bay 

While others flourish 

Never really gone 

Just biding 

Misery 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

August 18, 2022 

Echo

 

Juniper & T’challa

 

I Saw Your Life

This was written for a friend who miscarried 

I saw your life

In the privacy of my bathroom

I peed on a plastic stick

And my entire life changed

I saw your life

I saw your innocent smile

I heard your infectious laughter

I inhaled your new baby scent

I saw your rocking turn into crawling

I saw you let go of my hand 

And take your first clumsy steps

I heard your squeals and gibberish 

I listened as they soon mimicked words

As eventually a ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ formed

I watched you scoot on toys 

And then the tricycle and bike

Feeling apprehension and dread

When the training wheels came off

I saw the excitement in your eyes

The first day you boarded the yellow bus

And how you ran to greet me each day

When it brought you back home to me

I saw report cards and parties

School Dances and first loves

And graduation ceremonies

I watched you grow up

Filled with life and promise

Determined to change the world

I saw you fall in love

I saw your heart break

And watched you fall again

I saw your college days

I saw your wedding

I saw my grandchildren

I saw all of that

In the privacy of my bathroom

Holding a plastic stick

Telling me you were coming

I saw your life

And I felt it all ripped away

There are medical terms

All sanitized and proper

To put in into a statistic

It can’t ever tell the story

It can’t ever express the pain

It will never explain the loss

I saw your life

You changed the world

That’s what’s missing now

I saw your life

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

Crossings

So began the lives of two

As small and fragile birds

Struggling with wings so frail

 

Two eggs hatching on the same day in different nests

Two lives so vastly different diverging upon each other

One living a directionless life of wasted effort

The other struggling with infirmities to rise above

Two mothers passing in the market

Two families growing always close by

Two children, one dependent, one independent

One child grows out, one child grows in

One strengthened in body captive in spirit

One captive by her body grows strong of spirit

Occasionally passing, crossing paths

Just enough to know the other exists

One struggles with identity, who he will be

The other struggles with life, knowing who, but not how long

He grows rough and sometimes unabated

She grows sheltered and sometimes feeling smothered

Both, on a path to cross, which will change them forever

 

His life is spent out on the cold streets always looking in

His crimes are petty and go mostly unnoticed

His mother hears the word ‘incorrigible’ more than once

In the cracks of society, there are always those to find you

Always those there to rally to your rebellion

His story is told countless times in countless lives

Written on dockets

His photos will eventually go into his ‘jacket’

To pass from worker to worker,

Lawyer to lawyer, Judge to Judge

 

Her life is more inside the warmth always looking out

Her spirit yearns to go places her body does not allow

The coldness she knows are rooms surrounded by white

There are doctors, nurses, and technicians

There are specialists waiting at the next phase

She hears the whispered word ‘terminal’ if she listens

Even in a world built on hope, there are cracks

However, in these cracks,

You are often alone with your rebellion

Her story is told countless times in countless lives

Written on charts

Her photos of inside, will go into her records

To be passed from worker to worker,

Doctor to doctor, hospital to hospital

 

Against the odds, he is converging on adulthood

The petty and juvenile will give way to hard crime

He will soon move into the big leagues

 

Against all odds, she is converging on adulthood

The decisions will soon become hers

And her weariness and frailty moves her

 

Still, there is one more crossing ahead

 

The stories we remember best rarely go as we plan

It is right when it should be wrong

It is wrong when it should be right

 

Two people were going to die that night

One in the final blaze of a misspent life

The other in a final act of independence

 

Two paths with a common beginning

Two paths with a simultaneous ending

Two paths with one more crossing

The police report was short of details

A boy on the brink of becoming a man

Whether it was his idea to be there was moot 

It didn’t alter the tragedy of the outcome

A young lady with her whole life ahead of her

It had to be a “wrong place, wrong time” situation 

The document used words like ‘perp’ and ‘victim’

Assumptions made throughout a work of fiction

There was an unregistered firearm involved

Shots were fired and the police rightfully responded

One was a victim of cataclysmic circumstance

The other following a chosen path to an end 

Which was which? 

Only they know 

Two souls came together in a blaze

In each other’s arms

Redemption and resolution 

He has found his purpose

She has found her peace

Two mothers will cry tonight

© Ron Simpson Jr.

On the desk

 

Grieve

 

You are captured in this moment

Numbed by the overwhelming loss

Held by disbelief and confusion 

With answerless questions

Grief is the cost of loving someone

The greater the love, the greater the grief

And grief is healthy as part of a healing process

But, you must get beyond this moment

You must know

I never intended to leave you

I knew I would, eventually

But I didn’t know it would be this soon

There were so many things

I needed to say to you

Now, I will have to say them

Through stories and memories

As you walk through the fields 

of our memories

You will see flowers blooming 

from seeds planted before my departure

You will hear our conversations 

From a different place

You will hear them differently 

You will hear what I tried to say 

And you tried not to hear

Life is fleeting

It rarely runs on our schedule 

It starts late or early

And it always end far too soon

When we were younger

Our conversations went on

Long after they actually ended

Because neither of us 

Wanted to be the first to say “goodbye”

It’s like that now

My time here on this plane

Is winding down

Soon, I will lay down to slumber

And awaken on another shore

You will stay here

You will continue on

You will cry and laugh

You will mourn and rejoice

You will grieve

Grief is the process by which healing begins

Grieve silently

Grieve loudly 

Grieve angrily

But, you must allow yourself to grieve

Weep

Scream

Cry

Sit in a dark room

Surround yourself with loved ones

Push everyone away

Hold everyone too tightly

Wander aimlessly 

Get lost in work

Sleep

Don’t sleep

Eat

Don’t eat

Read

Write

Sing

Look at old photos

Hold on to a memory keepsake 

Lose track of time

Reflect

Grieve 

Do all of these

Do none of these

Grieve

However you must do it

Grieve

When it is time

You will hear me

You will hear what I’ve tried to say

Life is tender

Life is tough

Life is fragile

Life is sturdy

Life is kind

Life is meant to be lived

Grief is part of it

Grieve

Then live

© Ron Simpson Jr

September 16, 2018