12.30.11

Night has fallen…

Tightly, I press my cheek against the pillow,

Close my eyes even more tightly and imagine,

The next time I’ll hear your voice say, “Hello,”

For some time has passed—

I just know the month ended in -ber,

And it's ironic the time gap is that vast,

For every time I think of it, I can't help but to shiver…

Time, silence and distance,

A deadly trio when working in concert,

And on it, I won’t dare write a treatise,

But know, if it has its way, in the end I’ll wind up getting hurt…

I’ve lost too much in the past to lose again—

I have no choice this time but to win.

— Kevin Waring

I'm Not Leaving

Rain was falling the size of pistachios,
The ground was muddy enough for a sow,
But lie over truth I regrettably chose,
And I was not leaving 'til she heard me out;
At her window, I cast pebbles,
An old pen that'd run out of ink,
I'd stand all night in the cold—
I couldn't care less if I got sick...
So let the rain varnish my skin,
Until the rain itself becomes my shroud—
This weather won't dampen my determination;
I'm not leaving...until she hears me out...


—Kevin Waring

Beaucoup de Miles

You're not a walk down the street,

Nor are you a trip across town;

The path to you is with obstacles replete,

But I'm going to make it there someway, somehow...

I've estimated the distance,

Out of curiosity's sake,

And even if I readjust the coordinates,

Over 400 miles still would separate -

Now, some would think the journey too onerous;

But the reward would more than compensate,

For you're the only you I know in existence,

And you're worth tempting any fate.

So, no, you don't live next door,

And you're not a "stone's throw away";

The path is long to the Jersey shore,

But I'm going to make it there somehow, someway...

This time last year...I was reeling;

The victim of a great deception,

I was on the verge of numbing all feeling -

Becoming completely deadened to human emotion...

That was before...YOU came onto the scene,

And so sweetly laid waste to that foundation;

Swiftly YOU scaled the scaffolding,

Deconstructing and dismantling,

Until all the barriers I'd erected were completely broken...

THANK GOD FOR YOU.

THANK GOD FOR YOU.

THANK. GOD. FOR. YOU ♥

YOU are the greatest you I know in existence,

And were worth tempting the fate of a repeat outcome;

However, a part of me still awaits that instance,

When things end abruptly

And I'm left brokenhearted...and feeling dumb -
That's why I agonize in prolonged silence,
That's when I lose my aplomb;
Whenever there's a break in correspondence,
I fear our friendship is on the verge of becoming entombed.


So, never let it die...
Or be prematurely laid to rest -
Don't send to dwell above the sky,
What has given me so much happiness;
Don't let me let things go awry -
Correct me before I create a big mess,
And... lastly...
I hope you, lovely, have a wonderful Christmas ♥


Though you don't live down the street,
Or a "stone's throw away";
The path to you may be with obstacles replete,
But I'm going to make it there somehow, someway...




Until then, in my life, stay.




- Kevin Waring

Ode to 'The Beginning'

Through the cacophony,
Interspersed with the voices of others,
I heard yours call out to me so clearly,
One I hadn't heard in seemingly forever,
And though 'twas only my name you bellowed,
It immobilised me, still,
For few voices are warmer than a meadow,
Awash in the light of summer crepuscule --
I turned round to be addressed,
By which time you'd already turned and run,
I knew then my pursuit of you I had to arrest...
And let you live your life without interruption.


- Kevin Waring

Together Bound

School and work keeps her busy--
A twosome with whom I cannot compete...
Sometimes I wish I could be the items she counts in inventory,
Just to be within arms' reach;
Or the computer she uses to type essays,
Then, I would always require her attention,
Her eyes transfixed to my display,
Like it offered a glimpse in to the Kingdom of Heaven...
Perhaps the pencil she uses to create,
Astonishing works of art,
Together bound for however long it takes,
Until that final mark...
Together bound...
until...


- Kevin Waring

Moves Like Potter

They saw our lights on...
"How come yours are...and ours aren't?"
"I've got moves like Ron."


- Kevin Waring

As Is

Yesterday I caught the garter,

Is it really true, what it signifies?
Will it only be a matter of time before I’m standing at the altar,
Peering into a pair of hopeful eyes?
Will I be able to provide adequately? -
I think maybe I should become a developer,
Get a stake in a tech company,
And, in a few years, retire a millionaire;
We’ll have a summer home in the Hamptons,
A phalanx of yachts to moor -
Vistas from impromptu excursions,
Will ensure life won’t ever be a bore...
But what if none of these things entices,
And, simply, life with me suffices?
What if I’m enough, as is?

- Kevin Waring

She Is Ambitious

From Sunday to Saturday,
Sunrise to sunset,
The most exemplary work ethic is displayed,
And I don’t know how she does it,
Work, school, work, school -
Always one or the other,
Leaving no void in her schedule,
And hardly any time for leisure;
Though downtime is elusive,
Rarely does she complain;
She gives all a person, of themselves, can possibly give,
Even if she gets nothing in exchange,
Because she is selfless,
She is ambitious...she is ambitious.

- Kevin B. Waring

Power

The power came and went,

Like a candle flickers before it’s spent,
And I knew at some point later that day,
Irene was going to take our power away.

Where I live, power outages are the norm,
Even without the presence of a storm;
But this here storm was a behemoth,
Having lashed us when her potency was at its zenith.

Around noonday the electricity was gone -
And by day’s end, so, too, was my religion,
I blasphemed God, doubted His power -
Especially when hours passed without response to my prayer.

God, are you even there? was the sentiment I expressed.

The next day was the Sabbath,
And I ventured out to witness the aftermath:
In the lot was debris, and a fallen branch I drug aside,
It was like a beach littered with flotsam brought in by ocean tides.

Noon marked one day without electricity,
And my cell phone had long run out of battery;
My mother’s - whose had passed us through the previous night -
Was on the verge of having read to it its last rites.

Later that day, however, we were fortunate,
To visit houses flowing with electrical current;
We got to charge our phones, eat a hot meal,
For awhile escaping a situation that seemed unreal.

But it wasn’t long before gravity rended us from our delight,
Back to reality - we couldn’t decline the invite,
At night, the darkness and silence encapsulated us -
It was like having been buried alive inside a sarcophogus...

Monday morning came. No power.

Afternoon came. Still, no power.

I told a neighbor:  I’ll gather my boys, you gather your girls,
And we’ll storm city hall like it’s the Bastille;
She laughed affectedly -
But I think she was high anyway...

I doubt I would’ve stormed city hall;
But the situation made it hard to remain civil,
Earlier that day we’d thrown our spoiled food away,
And the crews restoring power
Seemed to be doing so with delay.

Yet - a little after 3 o’clock - something remarkable happened,
And it caused me to cast aside all my suppositions:
Through the blinking clock radio and hum of the refrigerator,
I knew then that our power had been restored!

I went outside to spread the news,
Like a pastor descending the pulpit to the pews;
However, everyone was already made aware -
In an instant, THE CRISIS WAS OVER.




- Kevin B. Waring

L.A. Story

I read about your state in the newspaper;
The article read that it wasn't safe,
And, immediately, I thought of you...
I wondered how close you were to danger -
If it was staring you directly in the face,
If you were in need of rescue...


I can see the streets soused in crimson,
Carrying the slain in its current,
This is the fate of the men and women,
Whose drug dealer doesn't receive their payment -
Many a life is taken,
And many times, unfortunately...
It's the lives of the innocent.


You said you can't leave home unaccompanied -
It's just that dangerous,
And for this reason alone, to God on high I plead,
To be your armor, your aegis;
As you traverse a city by violence besieged,
I pray that He bestows you with providence,
That, from the grip of vice, Alagoas is someday freed...
And the forces that affright, like floodwaters, recede.


Together we'll turn the tide...
Through perseverance and prayer,
One day...you'll be able to step foot outside,
And not fear being caught in someone's crosshairs;
No longer will you need a guide -
A second shadow that follows you everywhere;
But until these dreams become realized,
In the meantime, know that there will be an answer...


Let it be, let it be.




- Kevin B. Waring

Foul Mood Descending a Staircase

In the basement doing laundry,
My mother had no clue,
That her toddler son had turned the lock to the door leading thereto.

I heard footsteps ascend the stairwell—
Methought, “Mom is on her way back!”
But I noticed that the doorknob had begun to jiggle—
Accompanied by a voice in panic:
“Open the door!” my mother yelled,
“Open the door!” I mimicked—

You’ve heard of Nude Descending a Staircase?
Well, my mother was a foul mood descending a staircase,
Trying to find recourse in an unsavory situation.

Outside, a stairway ran alongside the house,
From the cellar to the main story;
Atop the flight was the door that led to the kitchen—
Where I was…and where my mother, also, wanted to be…

So those stairs my mother scaled,
With a swiftness that belied her age—
But ‘twas to no avail;
That door was, too, locked,
And served only to further stoke her rage—

Thus, an even fouler, moodier mood descended another staircase…

Seemingly left with no alternative,
My mother returned to the basement,
A victim of my mischief—
Though I claim I was innocent;
However, that claim would soon be proven ineffective,
As the door miraculously opened upon her final ascent…

…at which point I received the flogging of my young life.

—Kevin B. Waring

Tom and Alicia

She rode on his bike’s handlebars—
They’re as steady as a dangling limb;
Side-to-side she swayed, like a boat on choppy waters,
Moving to an unknown rhythm.

She screamed…

Barely could she distinguish her surroundings;
All she saw was the colours,
Like being inside an abstract painting—
An anachronism in the world of its creator.

There was a chill in the air;
Feeling her shivering, the boy said to his girlfriend,
“Hold on, baby, we’re almost there.”

They were going to a clinic;
Alicia had gashed her leg on the concrete,
And Tom—with his own hoodie—fashioned a tourniquet,
Hoping it’d provide some semblance of relief.

By not wearing his hoodie,
Tom himself could’ve gotten sick—
But to him, continuing to wear it would’ve been a far greater risk.

When they finally arrived,
Tom held the bike upright,
And put Alicia’s arm around his neck;
Gently he picked her up, carried her inside,
His face wrought with fright,
As they approached the front desk—

“M’am, my girlfriend hurt herself—
Please—PLEASE HELP!”

The receptionist called the physician,
And they were told he’d be with them shortly—

Sitting her on his lap, he held her hand,
Rocking her comfortingly,
At which time she said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” replied he;
“You think you’ll have better transportation…
When I’m pregnant with and set to deliver our baby?”

“I hope so!” he laughed. “I’m going to try.”

—Kevin B. Waring

Defending the Vanguard

Fortune,
Your caprice has been decried—
You…have been vilified,
Flouted by those distraught,
Their plaint is having been denied—
Unjustly deprived of their ‘deserved’ lot.

Deserved lot?

From whence comes this haughty mindset?
Who are we to dictate the receipt of our blessings?
It’s like we’ve been hit in the occiput,
And are under the illusion we’re kings and queens—
But we’re not monarchs; we’re but mere subjects,
Whose irreverence is starting to become obscene—
In essence, we’ve become those that jeered and spat…
Upon He that died for our well-being.

And yet, “[W]ell-being is vain”!?
Why? Because, like the moon, it waxes and wanes?
When we say these things,
Virtually, we seek to deterge the cross of its crimson stains—
Ignominiously rejecting our undeserved claim…
Even when drenched by life’s downpours,
We’re only prolonging our misery when we mope & complain.

People lament Fortune,
But instead of saying God’s name,
They invoke her’s;
In the heart is bedded truth;
But cowardice so constricts the vocal cords,
That unto the air enters a more diluted form when spoken—
It’d be unrecognizable if we knew neither our heart,
Nor the sound of our own voice…

God,
Your caprice has been decried—
You…have been vilified,
Flouted by those distraught,
Their plaint is having been denied—
Unjustly deprived of their ‘deserved’ lot.

God knows what is best for us—
The rich and the poor alike,
And to the latter, God sees that you’re in anguish;
He’s not insensitive to your plight;
If you’re floundering in this economic detritus,
Stand upright;
You’ll make yourself easier to notice,
Even if jobs, right now, aren’t rife—
At times life can be insipid…
But it will always sate your appetite.

Stand upright… Withstand, period.

—Kevin B. Waring

Emily's First Day

Today is Emily’s first day of school,
“I am a little nervous,” she admitted—
“What if I break a rule?
Is there one that says where I can and cannot sit?”

But what if there’s a rule against standing!?—
“Mommy will be mad if I get into trouble on the first day,”
She thought, “maybe I’ll sit here till the teacher comes in,
And ask if where I’m sitting is okay…”

“Here comes the teacher!—
Ooh, her dress is so pretty…
On it are a bunch of flowers,
And tiny, fuzzy, smiley-face bees!”

“Good morning, class!” she said happily,
“My name is Ms. Beeber—
And I’m not related to Justin…”
“Now’s your turn to introduce yourselves to me,
So I want you to each find a partner—
Learn as much about each other as you can,
Starting when I count to three…”

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three—GO!!”

Emily asked Ms. Beeber if she’d mind where she sat;
Ms. Beeber replied, “No, not at all,”
And, “The fact that you asked me shows respect—
Now, that, young lady, is commendable.”

In the time it took to ask her question,
Everyone found a partner but Emily—
Well, all but one—
And he…looked differently…

The contrast of their features was stark—
So much so that not one similarity could Emily find;
His skin color was so dark,
It looked as though he’d just emerged from a coal mine,
And Emily moved backwards,
As though from the moment she was trying to resign…

She exhorted, “What’s wrong with him!?”
Ms. Beeber has seen this all before,
And on behalf of the children, it’s not for lack of gaum,
For some situations children just can’t be prepared for.

This was one of them…

“Before our bodies are made,” she began,
“Our spirits are made first:
A body is white when its spirit is finished under the sun;
And black when finished under a sky of perse…”

“In other words,” she clarified, “the color of a body
Is determined by the time of day its spirit is made.”

With this new perspective,
Emily looked back at her classmate;
Still somewhat apprehensive,
Unsure of how they could relate…
But she knew the similarities begin where the spirit lives,
That with an open mind, anything can eventuate.

Ms. Beeber suggested they go last,
Since everybody else was ready;
The earlier information was still being processed,
As Emily struggled to find the words to say—
All while her classmate sat, looking suspicious,
As though to her apprehension he was privy—
Yet—mostly for the sake of promptness—
She sat next to him, finally,
“Why did you take so long to sit?” at which time he asked,
“It’s n—,” she stammered, “it’s not you…it’s me…”

—Kevin B. Waring

Success

Just keep on trying, it just ain’t happened yet,
These goals you hope to achieve—
Rarely is success met at the onset,
And unlocking it takes more than a special set of keys…

And what, exactly, is success?
For it isn’t tangible, per se,
Is it measured by how we perceive others to see us,
Along with our opinion of ourselves at the end of each day?—
If this is the case,
Surely pride & vanity have a role to play.

And society, too—
The pressure they put on young children!
Whether from the media or their own milieu,
They’re constantly put under the scrutinizing lens…
Taught not to have a point of view,
And to shift continuously with the cultural winds.

Our children don’t deserve this treatment,
Having so many thoughts penetrate their mind—
Before them many an ideal we present,
Hoping they live up to a certain paradigm—
It’s time that we become better parents,
For a properly raised child will find himself in time.

We…try to teach success,
And pave the path thereto;
But its meaning need be reassessed,
Redefined by minds anew—
It’s not a popularity contest,
Nor is it driving a Mercedes or BMW;
It isn’t conveyed by elaborate dress,
Or being in the percentile of the top two—
No; success is measurable happiness…
And the only one who should do the measuring… is you

Success is what you make it, the pride you have in yourself and your work…

—Kevin B. Waring

The Barrio!

These gormless parents,
Letting their kids run around with no shoes on,
Someone please call Social Services,
Before they step on the shards from the broken bottle of Heineken!

One mom is upstairs,
Manically putting makeup on her face,
She needs to get her priorities in order,
Before she ends up with kid numero diez.

At the bottom of the stairwell,
A boy tinkers with his iPhone,
I guess with all the drugs he sells,
There’s plenty more expensive things he owns.

Every night the little girl next door sings,
She can hit every note on the register;
After each song, though, she can be heard weeping…
Because in her heart she believes she can’t go any further.

In the early morn,
Before the moon and sun platoon,
There’s talking—words spoken that I cannot discern,
And the sound of music blaring: BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

This place is far from photogenic,
The street is always strewn with debris,
It’s an eyesore that can make one sick,
And it reflects badly upon me.

But there’s a store nearby,
So I always eat,
And though the latest gadgets I can’t afford to buy,
I still fancy myself quite the geek!

Though I’m a geek, I’m, first, a guy,
And though some of these girls look summery,
I don’t want no children calling me “daddy”.

- Kevin B. Waring