Possibly Probably Poetry I

Poetry has a tendency to spill over our lives. Picture this: you’re eating at a diner when an overwhelming urge to pen down a dirty limerick grips you because you thought the afritada tasted funny. Or maybe you’re thoughtlessly enjoying a piece of artwork at an artsy/indie/hipster lair when the gears click in your brain and suddenly you know the perfect word that rhymes with ‘obstreperous’. Or that time when you stub your toe and you promptly recite the most awe-inspiring tirade in history. Could all these be poetry? Maybe? Possibly? Probably? Possibly probably poetry!

Its shadow
Looked to me
Like a bird of prey
Eternally locked
In a frightful battle
For survival

In a shrine
Dedicated to deities
Birthed by
Both ego and need
And nourished
By fierce sacrifices
Of sweat and fortitude

Her gift – a journal
Rife with prying questions,
A legion of unwritten answers,
An ink-stained future,
And, maybe, quite a bit of self-awareness

Strange delicious twists
Under a cool moonlit night
Delights tongues and bellies
After a day of sun and sand

A taste
Ofttimes never
Sometimes forever
Locked in time
Until tea becomes
A waterfall washing away
The memory

8 awaits a feast
When a thought occurs
To scribble
An offensive crime
On a legal surface
Marked by an upright
Infinity sign

A thousand may vie
To be called one of the best
They just satisfy
With tastes far above the rest

Happy thirtieth!
May you be blessed with more kith,
More new spaces to stray,
More reasons to ground knees and pray,
More moments of unchecked glee,
Lots more for my one and only!

Be thankful
For the breaking sweat
For the invites to the zone
For the epic brushes with greatness
For the hellish exertions
For merciful rests
Be thankful

A thousand taunts
Plus a million insults
Can never weather
Deter or fracture
A person who truly intends
To find happiness

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