I FINALLY FOUND MY VOICE

Writing was always something I did…
On occasion…only when the need arose
I heard my sister repeat many times
What someone had told her…
Everyone has at least one novel inside them
Maybe yes…maybe no…we’ll see…
But time rolls on…and time is not a friend
I’ve lived long enough to learn
Not everything you want will come to be
Too often you get none of the above
But when I sat down to write a poem
After many years avoiding them
The dam of suppressed feeling broke
Is that enough for a sustained stint
Of pounding on the keyboard?
Don’t hold your breath…
But less likely things have happened
 
© 2017 Robert Mihaly
 
Posted also to:
WRITING REBELS.jpg
Advertisements

ACROSS THE SKY

Closeness doesn’t come
Only through proximity
Sometimes there’s none at all
Or it never feels real…
Lesson learned the hard way
But what now…
If you can’t count
On knowing the one
Beside you…
What can you know
Of one across the sky,
Of one across the sea,
Of one across the world?
All you can have is faith
That they’re true to their word
Without that…there’s nothing
I don’t want…nothing
I’ve already got the hat
And it doesn’t fit
I want the real thing
 
© 2017 Robert Mihaly
 
Posted also to:
WRITING REBELS.jpg

HAVE WE BECOME CHILDREN?

As children we had a tendency to want to know, long before we got there, how the story ended. And so it goes into adulthood? I’d hope not. Does it only occur to me that this attempt, horribly successful lately, to decide the ending and work to that end is the same thing? There are many examples, but one stands out. We know that one of our political parties has a limited time to be competitive in our politics, working against minorities of all races and backgrounds while those groups’ numbers rise. So their backers decided what they want to be the happy ending…for them…and demand results. That’s what we’re living with now, but with one exception. Those wealthy people with their fingers on the scale didn’t factor in an outlier…a totally unreal “reality TV” personality, actually barely able to operate a business, managing to use the language of populism to fool enough people to take the top prize. In a novel, such a character would be beyond belief. Yet, there he is.

Wouldn’t you think that only disaster would result? Well, it has…and it gets worse daily. The most perverse motivation, revenge, has taken the day, and all the good done in recent years is being undone. Though not their hero, this outlier is doing the bidding of the wealthy, even while they surely must have the deepest scorn for him. And the outlier Congress, brought to office through tricks, mirrors, and lies, again is proving that their party knows not how to govern…a fine kettle of fish.

Read what Libertarians wanted to do in 1980, and you’ll see today’s agenda. Their shopping list was endless…and totally mean-spirited. But all of it is now on the table, with the outlier party now leading the charge. Should they rename themselves the Outliar Party? The ending they have in mind for us is not pleasant, except for them. They make money, as we are marginalized. Time is of the essence for them to bring it about. But they need the help of people they intend to give the shaft to. You’d think those people would inform themselves…would wake up and see that there’s no limit to the harm that would be so willingly inflicted, even upon those who gave them power. But, as they whittle away at democracy, people are just becoming discouraged and giving up…or siding with the party wielding the blade.

If the story is already written, I fear the ending may be worse than I imagined just a short time ago. So, whatever you do, don’t tell me how it ends. I can always hope for a rewrite that way. 

WRITING REBELS.jpg

NO TELLER OF TALL TALES

You can call me Bartleby. That’s not my real name, but it’s close enough. I think someone once said…I write, therefore I am…or something like that. No matter. I write. And I am. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ll tell you why I’m here. For years I kept quiet, even as I became more dissatisfied, more disconcerted, with what I saw all around me. Personal disappointments and frustration with a deteriorating world finally brought me to the breaking point. So I began to write. Do you dare to think you can now shut me up?

Pushed into decisions that weren’t what I wanted, justified by fabrications, didn’t help me or anyone. Have you ever heard the stories of someone not feeling the need to tell the whole truth, minus embellishments? If I was there too, would I back them up? Would you? The truth matters, and the truth is that I won’t buy the big lie, nor will I let it slide. That isn’t nitpicking. It’s basic decency. For awhile, to keep the peace, you may learn to close your ears…pretend you heard nothing unusual. But after awhile, you’ll feel complicit…and compromised. Like I did, you’ll reach a crossroads…either you reach the breaking point or surrender your integrity.
 
“I am not a crook!”
 
“Welfare Cadillacs”
 
“I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”
 
“Weapons of mass destruction”
 
“Better and cheaper healthcare”
 
Just to name a few examples everyone has heard doesn’t cover the breadth of the problem. Anyway, the beat goes on. In a world where there’s so little regard for truth, does it make lies, or even tall tales acceptable? It doesn’t just happen in the political world. Much of what offends my ears is very personal. Politics, though, should provide examples everyone has heard…if only people cared enough to seek out the truth as vigorously as they seek out the latest Christmas toy phenomenon or see the latest “must see TV”. You may call me cynical…or a curmudgeon. Have at it if you don’t want to look into the mirror at yourself. I’m speaking truth, and you know it. Or are you willing to lie to yourself? I won’t be complicit.
 
WRITING REBELS.jpg

NEVER TOO LATE

I had no
Hold on love…
As if it had forever
Passed me by…
And yet I remained
A hopeful romantic,
Knowing that
Anything is possible
 
So often we find…
Their self love keeps them
From recognizing that
What they call love
Feels like nothing of the kind
To the recipient…
Like a foreign language,
It doesn’t translate
 
I knew I could never give up
And I never will…up till the end
 
WRITING REBELS.jpg

HOLIDAZED…NOT CONFUSED

Spooky decorations
Midway through September
Then…tis the season…
One day after Halloween?
When some bemoan
The “dismissal” of Christmas
Calling it an attack on religion
I wonder what they say
When the Fa La Las begin
Fueling the buying binges
That put corporations
Finally in the black…
Seems the complaint
Is misdirected…
Their faith infected
By the worship of greed
With Black Friday
Still many days away

© 2017 Robert Mihaly

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Have I the need or desire
To pen my autobiography?
Probably not what I’d do…
Not for any question of what
I’ve experienced or accomplished
Put bluntly…my bucket list is short
Not a question of having a life of
Checking off the boxes…and yet
Things that appear on the lists of others
Are in my rear view mirror…
Trying to lord it over others,
Never the way I rolled…instead
Modest acknowledgment
The road I chose to tread…
Still…there are times I regret
And even, for some things, resent
Finding no recognition at all…not fair
The good we do for humanity…
Why leave that to rattle around your head?
 
WRITING REBELS.jpg