stop to breathe

‘creative writing’ has become my breath

while relating to people to find something

common like the ‘Good Samaritan’ sympathetic

to man stuck on road from Jerusalem to Jericho

speaking hence to Amber, Ashley, Arsha

Brian, Brenda, Bethusha, Beeby, Benji

and other children screaming and shouting

as they run to the ice cream vendor

and i stop not so much to fix the jammed

ice cream car, knowing well my ignorance

of motor mechanics, but to feel the pain

of man stuck on roads

and admire his patience and persistence

to make the machine work

though he carries not the tools

but a heart for children of rich shy folks

drowning in self-sufficiency

considering themselves more important

than a bard who stops to record

the pulsating heart; nay, to breathe!

henry victor    02.09.2002

spicing my creativity

pain, fire that purifies gold, my soul

and patience, cooling time

for the settling of my mind

are spices for my creativity

constructing my poem, my life

making my song from deep

within my heart prompting a dance

for my body to increase flexibility

for the river within to flow freely

into the wider ocean, eternal cosmos

with neither birth to celebrate

nor death to mourn

henry victor          04.05.2010

from your son

mommy! you made your slim and sensual frame

into a shapeless bundle, bundling my being inside
you for nine long months, keeping me, a worm, warm,
free from hunger and thirst, marks of the world outside;

and today! you struggle to work so hard to remain a mom
of great affection, cuddling me, as you march to a profession
greater, and your time for me is likely to reduce, to dim
like a lamp gathering smoke soot on her facial expression,

like your mom before you, travelling that path of darkness

prior to teaching you skills to swim, to avoid sinking in a pool,
without that settling in a trailer park, to bike and hike, distances
incredible to inspire me, that i may avoid the way of a fool!

henry victor     12.05.2013