Six Poems

Proet: M A Shaheed
June 2020

Rest Home

I live in a home that was intended
for me to rest in. It’s located in the
projects where I grew up in. Down
the street is the place I found my
first love on.

The schools I went to are now all gone.
In their place is a police station and
bail bondsman office now.
Two Chinese restaurant moved in to
the after- hour joint’s spot.

The crack sellers moved the heroin
dealers out.

Right besides my building there are
those willing to sell strawberries.
My neighbor’s grandson stole her
pension check stole her wheelchair
and sold it.

Then shot at her when he was scolded.
One block away is the emergency room
entrance. Every other day there is someone
dying. Others crying because nobody comes
to visits.

They had to close the day room at night. When
to old dudes got into a fight. Some of the ladies
have nice plants in their window sills keeping
their green thumbs up

The elevators in here don’t work all the time.
We are told if there is a fire stay inside until
the firemen come. The last guy died who was in
world War two.

he lived next to a vet from VEIT NAM, that could
never get his benefits. Life has come full circle.
I’m glad no one bet me, that this place would
be built on the house where my mom beget me.

Nature Lovers

I keep getting interrupted by nature’s
demands to do what it its self was
commanded.

I know mentioning how beautiful all
the flowers and trees are so nice, how
the wind sends scents through people’s
windows.

I know tall trees have a lot of leaves
and ocean breezes are so brutiful.
What does that have to do with anything.
The mind trying to find a soft place to land,
While the land is almost gone.

Rivers at the front door, drowning your Lilacs
and Lilly’s killing the grapevines before
they can make the wine. Nature blew down
the Xmas tress with all the pretty leaves.

Killed the dogs the cats and hogs and rats.
Made a home for mosquitoes and flees.
Turned the smiles to terror, now the police
got to watch out for their own homes.

Mighty nations think about saying please,
to who? It couldn’t be nature, it is the thing
that is bringing them to their knees.

If this is a war who you think is going to win?
You may have 10 minutes more than the guy
next door.

All the things you wrote about like the beauty in
the winds, the smoothness in the breeze. That
was all for you, because nature never heard or
promised anything.

Lights

I was able to capture the thoughts,
but not the moments. I shed the dreams,
but not the struggle. I still wrestle with
battles I almost lost. I watch plain people
being entertained by vain people, being
surrounded by sane people. I managed
to escape.

I heard some sounds that were just around
the corner from heaven, I borrowed them
for a while. When and where was there,
when what I was looking for, found me.
Pointing to parallels on levels that were
easy to understand.

Trying to close the gaps between my lapses,
knowing that time has its deadlines to meet,
others to greet before it runs back out in space.
Getting distracted by deviant liars and thieves.
Now and then running into superfluous pigs on
my way to something. Those entities not worth
describing.

Expressing my gratitude for the multitude of
things to be grateful for. As the days past fast.
Being on point to recognize when the chapters
end. I protect my feelings by feeling nothing.

Taking liberties with verbs and nouns, renaming
them with sounds that are familiar to Me.
Having clarity now, without my strings attached.
There was a high that was too high to touch.
Reaching and touching are not the same.

Havoc

What is supposed to make sense
makes a mess. Crooked ain’t straight.
What’s worthwhile to many bares no
fruit to others. A thousand zeros, is zero.

I never got a dime from the heaven you
designed. In fact, I caught hell trying to
get a penny.

The androids taking opioids gain fame from
the murder game killing kids is their favorite
ploy.

Rewarded with peanut butter and jelly for
their efforts. They will survive as long as
they can duck the bus their master drives.

They share nightmares with night time.
It’s after sunset, in the dark they thrive.
Doing dirt in the dark saying its fertilizer
to help plastic plants stay alive.

Will they ever know that their creation, is
a perfect infection?

C E Shy (M A Shaheed’s pen name)

Burgundy

Drab is the word that I’d
use that concludes the
mental state I find you in.

Burgundy leaks out of the
thoughts I see, while you
struggle to express yourself.

Sometimes words do stink
and stick to the roof of your
mouth, so do mine sometimes.

Finding true wealth and good
Health, is real peace of mind.
I’ve almost forgot the stuff
you thought you taught.

You tried to get me to remember
it. The crap you said, never
happened anyway.

Ducks and fish find plastic bags,
to be the water felons.
Calling on colors to blend.

To welcome in another season.
Only a cloudy mind, could
imagine things are getting better.

M A Shaheed began writing in the seventh grade and continued after high school. First published in White Motors newspaper under the name of Clyde Shy. The column was called “The Poets Corner,” that he’d helped to establish. In 1963/64 living in Stockholm, Sweden, he wrote stories for  a photographer whose pictures were sold to newspapers & magazines.  M A  Shaheed became a professional musician, playing bass violin and played  with major Avant Garde musicians. Continued to write, but it wasn’t on the front burner. In 1966 joined poetry workshop called the Muntu Poets, headed by Russell Atkins, noted Avant Garde poet and composer along with well- known poet and playwrite Norman Jordan located in Cleveland, Ohio. At the end of that year “68”,  began to work on his spiritual development. M A  Shaheed stopped writing for 3 decades, but driven back to his pen by a clearer understanding of the real reality. Has since published 44 books, been in numerous anthologies. Working with a new publisher, with 3 more books on the way. The genre includes novellas, poetry, short stories, Flash Fiction.

“My goal is to keep writing until I stop, until I can no longer hear.”