What If?

What if...


What if no one apologized anymore?
Or the guilt-ridden expressed not an ounce of remorse?
What if justice eludes the mistreated,
And criminals offend without being meted? --
What if we...do nothing to preclude certain horrors,
To the extent that they become repeated?
Could we look into the mirror...
And live with the monster our apathy created?


What if...


What if a country so disdained its president,
It likened him to a terrorist to justify their resentment?
What if it'd extenuate the actions of his predecessor,
All while scrutinizing everything he did to help the nation to recover?
It'd eagerly anticipate another taking up residence,
Thinking he'll perform the job better,
But what if it's just a heifer's excrement,
That gives the other side its verdure?


What if...things aren't as bad as they seem,
And we exacerbate matters by going to extremes?


What if he realizes she'll never love him?
Will the chase become time wasted should he choose to succumb?
It is exhausting,
To give your all and, in return, get nothing --
The ultimate conundrum,
Love, how it makes us do what we'd never dreamt of doing...
But what if someday she misses his poems,
Words as warm and sweet as a summer gloaming,
Maybe there is truth to the aphorism:
Some people don't ever come around, some people never change...


Robert Kennedy said, "Some men see things as they are,
Asking, 'Why?' Whereas I dream things that never were,
Saying, 'Why not?'"


The woman who's been unemployed for a while,
What if she finally gets the long-awaited call:
"Ma'am, I'd love to have you on my payroll,"
No more worrying about how to make ends meet,
Or whether her malnourished children will have food to eat,
To go from feeling miserable,
To actually having reason to jubilate --
Could she bear having the title:
"Latest to rise from the ashes of defeat"?


What if...


What if America -- rankled by this financial crisis --
And the Americans holding on by the strands of Her tresses,
What if we adopted our president's whilom campaign slogan,
Saying, instead of doubting, "Yes, we can! Yes, we can!"
What if, incrementally, we can winnow those digits,
From trillions to thousands?
It may sound like a will-o'-the wisp,
But we deem impossible that which has yet to be done...
What if our best days aren't behind us,
And the American dream is, still, more than just an appellation?


And what if...


What if someone...riddled with infirmity...
Awakens the next morning healed by the Lord, becoming a living testimony?
A man with cancer and a woman with kidney failure,
Both told by their doctors, "Your illness is no more,"
What if there wasn't need for another surgery?
Or another night spent in hospital room 234 --
Not another IV,
Nor reason to take painkillers --
What if, here, in the 21st century,
People could experience healing like in the days of yore?


"Some men see things as they are and ask, 'Why?'
I dream things that never were and say, 'Why not?'"




What if...what if...




- Kevin B. Waring

Soul Parlance

When I reach my potential,
And everything finally comes together...
I'll remember the present-day dole,
That serves as my inspiration at this hour;
All the pipe dreams and unmet goals,
They'll only serve as fodder,
For life is too short to dwell,
Upon the things I failed to do or could've done better.


People, they're funny, actually,
Waxing and waning like the moon;
Some are fickle and phony,
No deeper than the groove in a spoon,
They ridicule me,
Say I'd better make a change soon --
And one has a son in the penitentiary!
I'm like, "B****, STFU!"
I haven't the time for hypocrisy!
Either encourage me...or get swept aside with a broom...


(Scrubs and detractors, STEP ASIDE,
I have a rendezvous with Destiny, if you don't mind.)


I don't need people pointing out the obvious --
Granted, at times, I can be a little obstinate --
Do not make me feel worthless,
Simply because I don't have yet;
Life is more than the chase,
And mine isn't yet a case of torschlusspanik --
But I know time is of the essence,
That, to have the future I desire, I cannot be stagnant.


(My actions, no one person can dictate;
If you can't, don't you dare stick around for the wait!)


Yes, there's work to be done,
Changes needed to be made;
Remember, however, that I am a good person,
The cards I've been dealt are the only ones I've played;
I'm rife with imperfections --
Yet the highest price for me was paid,
So I don't need validation;
My worth is already essayed...
And I won't apologize for not being what you envisioned,
Because my Master...is still molding the clay.




- Kevin B. Waring




P.S.  I'll be rich someday.

She Likes Them More

Sitting in my silver Audi,

I noticed out the corner of my eye,

A silhouette moving slower than a freight train,

Heaven, have mercy --

As I'm sure you guys will all agree --

Waiting for a girl to get ready can drive a man insane...

Gently the wind blew,

As night darkened its hue,

And eagerly I anticipated her door opening;

When finally she was in view,

I exclaimed, "Sacrebleu!";

That which I took in far exceeded breathtaking.

And not to be impolite,

I joined her under that faint moonlight,

Sweetly escorting her to my car,

"No babysitting tonight,"

I said, "Even if it makes you blithe;
Just relax, amiga -- let me be your chauffeur."


The taillights' crimson glare,
Shimmered upon the thoroughfare,
Wet from an earlier downpour;
And the scent of Garnier,
That wafted from her hair,
Collided with pungent petrichor.


I turned the radio on,
To the sound of James Durbin,
Singing that Carole King cover;
But looking in her direction,
I noticed a wistful mien,
Prompting me to pull my car over.


"I shouldn't be out having fun;
I should be home with the 'little ones!'"
She said to me emphatically;
It was midway through my three-point turn,
That I had the stark realization:
"She likes the kids more than me."


Now, I was despondent...
But my friend's happiness was salient;
Indeed there was nothing like seeing her smile --
To make her content,
After seeing her upset,
Nothing gives me a greater thrill.


Before I took her back,
I filled her breadbasket,
And got something for the kids as well,
In spite of the setback,
The night was still perfect,
For I was in her presence, if only for a little while.


The feeling was bittersweet,
As I turned onto her street,
Her house in my ken;
When we arrived, I opened my mouth to speak,
To wish her a good night's sleep,
And that's when she invited me in...


(We...babysat...together.)




- Kevin B. Waring

The Closer II

Not all tasks are seen to completion,

Many people in the course of battle remit,

But y -- you encompass the heart of a champion,

That cando Latino spirit.

A three-year peregrination,
Culminated by a night you won't soon forget --
Indeed, I recall when and where it all began,
The classroom in which we first met;
Then, high was the sun,
As were the numbers on the thermostat --
It was difficult to sit in class, pay attention,
And ward off the beads of sweat --
Moreover...it didn't help to have near me such a beautiful person,
Even when far away from me you sat.


Not all tasks are seen to completion,
Many people in the course of battle remit;
But you encompass the heart of a champion,
That cando Latino spirit...
When others exclaim they can't, you say, "Yes, I can!"
And persevere until the job is finished.


When summer ceded to autumn,
I began to loosen up a little;
The class learned of my fondness for Bryan Adams,
While my affection for you I wasn't as eager to tell --
Not vouchsafe to them,
But to you without shticks or frills --
Yet, at the same time, it couldn't be ho-hum,
Because -- with you -- I didn't...want...to...fail.


I really wanted you, and still do to some degree,
But perhaps it's not meant for our lives to be woven into one tapestry.


From my soul's recesses...
I spoke the words that longed to be freed --
Well, rather, those words I expressed,
In a form a la Coleridge and Keats,
Really, Love, I tried my damnedest,
But nonetheless failed to succeed --
Lesson learned:  The breadth of a harvest,
Isn't always proportionate to the number of sewn seeds --
Please heed this knowledge, Genesis,
As unto the future you, with caution, proceed.


The tasks that are to completion seen through,
Don't always produce the desired result --
But of all the things you can do,
Never blame yourself and say, "It's all my fault."


I blamed myself and found fault within,
Wondered what I could've done differently,
To elude your heart's cordon,
And be the one to make you happy;
There would've been no greater guerdon --
Save making it to Heaven -- than being your one and only...


...


As with any failure, there is little consolation,
Knowing you gave your all only to come up empty --
So, as you ready for the next phase after graduation,
If ever during your journey should you grow weary,
Simply recall the Lord's oblation;
Know He wouldn't have done it for just anybody.


You are somebody, and always remember...


You encompass the heart of a champion,
That cando Latino spirit...
When others say they can't, you exclaim, "Yes, I can!"
And persevere until the job is finished.




- Kevin B. Waring

Whose Life Is This?

Taking a break from studying,

You begin to play your guitar,

And in your woolgathering,

Onstage you see yourself,

Precentor of a band ever popular,

"Laís!" you hear someone call your name,

Thinking it's a groupie, you rock even harder;

But the voice is faint, like echoes in a ravine,

You soon realize it's that of your darling mother.

She sits beside you on your bed, "¿Quieras estudiar biología?"

You give her that look that says it all,

"If she does, she'll be lucky to live in a favella!",

Yells your father, barreling down the hall,

What they don't know is... it's not just about lucre;

It's about saving a world that is, by our hands, in free fall,

About ensuring the future,

Of a state as fragile as the ground is friable.

The look in their eyes,

Says they're not content with your choice of emprise;

It's a look you've paid little attention to,

But through time have grown to despise,

Anger crescent like Rimini's libido,

If only they knew that it's tearing you up inside;

Yet the story thereat remains untold,

Expressed solely in sighs and moues.

(Allow me to speak for you...)

Knowing you get only one chance,

You return to studying for the vestibular,

Its importance cannot be overly stressed,

For it comes but once each year;

You study hard, with intent assiduous,

As though for each point you'd score

Reduces by one Earth's rising temperature,

Awaiting you is your spot amongst scientists,

Whom every possibility -- no matter how minute -- explores,

In their endless quest for answers and cures...

So, Laís, stop for no one -- nadie!

Let the naysayers delate,

And call yours an exercise in naivete,

For, to convention, you chose not to capitulate --

Perhaps you won't make much money,

But how many scientists you know live in dire straits?

Moreover, how many are governed by cupidity,

And not desire to make the world a better place?

We were deemed stewards of this vast land,

And hitherto we've all but failed:

Oceanic levels have risen,

As, too, have the number of endangered species...

Grandiose living necessitates deforestation --

But do we need that second or third home at the expense of animals' only one?

Hostile nations machinate --

In governmental labs do deadly diseases now originate --

The world needs intrepid souls like you...to help restore order and reduce surfeit.

You have the power,

Change is within reach,

Provide us with succor,

To excavate us from this depthless breach...

¡Yo creo en ti!

- Kevin B. Waring

I Can See

I can see us someday bridging the distance

Standing afoot on one soil, holding hands;

You're close enough to me,

I can hear your heart's cadence,

And feel the blood rush through your veins tantivy—

Lost in your beauty, I'd promise to be forever entranced,

As close to you as Votkinsk, unwavering in my fidelity,

Now, let's not cogitate the encumbrances;

Instead, let's imagine how great things can be...

For someone so beautiful,

Did intuition lead you here?

The heart doesn't discern aesthetics;

Eyes, however, can tell I'm far from debonair—

Forgive me...but I'm just one of those cynics,

Who thinks the world can't see past

The surface to see something special.

Yet, this time, there's an ostensible difference,

And I do believe you want to hold hands—

This time can't be a facsimile,

Another steatorrheic instance,

That befouls the confines of Memory—

Are you my destiny? And just how do you define "acquaintance"?

Can we be more than just friends?—

It's one of the many things I can see...

In your ideal man,

You've outlined several desirable traits,

And whether or not I encompass them,

Only time will eventuate—

But with me, know you'll never

Have to administer truth serum,

That when our lives interdigitate,

I won't ever do anything to cause you pain.

I can still see us bridging the distance,

Brightening each other's existence...

Dallying while the stars aloft glimmer,

For past lives' remembrance—

Would you remember?

Or, rather, can you see the story of

Ours limned in future constellations?

Will all these questions we have soon be answered?

Please lend me your ear as I implore your patience.

From across the world, you smote me,

And I may as well stay down, for if I rise,

I'll only fall once more—

The view from alow is grand,

So as long as it's your beauteous face I see;

The trust you've bestowed me is mutual;

I've not reason to believe anything

You say or do isn't veridical,

And even though I don't know you...

...I can see us someday bridging the distance,

Standing afoot on one soil, holding hands;

You're close enough to me,

I can hear your heart's cadence,

And feel the blood rush through your veins tantivy—

Lost in your beauty, I'd promise to be forever entranced,

As close to you as Izhevsk, never remitting in my loyalty,

Now, let's not capitulate to circumstance;

Instead, believe in greatness...that has yet to be.

If I had a crystal ball,

I could tell you what'd come next,

But of all life's intricacies,

Perhaps love is most complex—

I could tell myself if you'd ever love me,

And whether my hubris will lead to another pratfall...

I can see us someday bridging the distance,

Standing afoot on one soil, holding hands...

But until that day,

I pray we maintain this correspondence,

Continually divulging the contents of each other's dossier,

Until all that remains is the alterity

Known only by He of omniscience—

New acquaintance, this will be an amazing ride—

That, also, I can see...

—Kevin B. Waring

Return Flight

Frost contouring the muntin,
Blurring the outside world,
I know more than just autumn’s set in,
As from my chair I begin to uncurl…

I rise up, listless,
Setting my feet upon the floor —
It’s as cold as Cocytus,
But a greater cold I’ve long endured;
The talks yet to prove themselves fructuous,
Of rendezvous’ and candlelit dinners —
All the things I would’ve done with gust,
Because the girl I so perfectly adored —
Reverie broken like a sorceress’ curse,
I continue that which I’d started up for.

Cryptic cold coaxes me into quickening my pace,
To the room whose warmth entreated its touch upon my face;
I retire thereto, hoping for a reprieve,
One of which came only momentarily —
At least till I saw the velvet drapery,
Coil her beauty with a Victorian, timeless grace.

Alighting the window sill,
She made her way closer to me,
Flickering that beautiful smile,
That seemed to moderate the degrees —
It had all the makings of a dead “deferral”,
Whose ghost inhered to some oneiric futurity,
Though, as much as I wanted it to be real,
I knew it was all just a reverie.

The room’s warmth evanescing,
Its entreaty proven spurious,
I yearn for something more genuine,
Less likely to renege on its promise —
Something I believe to comprise her being,
Few others in this life possess,
That has me, in my cold existence, pining,
For the plenary warmth of her kiss.

Teary-eyed, I turn towards the skies,
Now cloaked in its crepuscular guise,
Hoping for a tear in the violet still,
So that I may feel the unparalleled,
Love of God’s eternal will —
Tonight…I want — need…to feel alive.

Around that time, there came a knock upon my door,
At first, barely audible,
But eminently growing stronger,
Like the charging of an incited bull…
Though Night discouraged an answer,
I started thereto, all the while being careful,
For I knew not whom — what, at this hour,
Could be entreating entrance with such gall.

The knocking continued with no cessation,
As I continued forward in that direction —
And the closer I got, the more the knocking intensified —
The heaviness of which belied…
The size of the owl tittuping outside! —
Oh, how I marveled at this revelation!

I was, indeed, enthralled,
By this odd occurrence —
How could something so small,
Cause so great a disturbance? —
How this fearless, freckled,
Foolhardy fowl finagled such finesse,
I wondered whether it could be possible,
And the owl answered…”Yes.”

Though not mistaken in what I’d just heard,
I couldn’t believe the sheer fact he answered;
First, impressive with Antaean feats,
Now with ostensible gift of speech,
His spectacle makes it hard for me to breathe —
What, exactly, is the origin of this bird?

I cogitated the possibilities,
For he’s obviously not of this land;
Does he make his home amongst the Furies,
Or amidst the angels in Heaven? —
Did he form from spume like Aphrodite,
Some beautiful creature of mystic origin? —
Perhaps he’s part of some coterie,
That keeps qui vive till the break of dawn —
If so, bird, where is thy brethren?

Standing there like an ordinary creature,
He gave to me nary answer;
All he did was hop and hoot,
The cool wind massaging his downy thews —
Assuming it was all a ruse,
I started to close my door…when the owl said,
“Don’t go, for I’ve come to take you to her.”

All the while flabbergasted,
I followed him nonetheless,
Unto where the air was frigid,
Yet scented with a familiar fragrance —
I could feel myself growing pallid,
For I knew what lay ahead in the distance:
That which some men call kismet,
Mine is the girl…through whom beauty has its genesis.

That fragrance proved itself a Rosetta stone,
And I knew I was more than halfway home,
As I slashed through the night undaunted,
With the gust of a spirit just freed from bondage,
Running with neither care nor regret,
To a place long frequented —
In dreams — I can finally claim as my own…

My gracious guide stopped to address me,
Perching himself upon my shoulder —
“There stands the quintessence of sublimity,
As beautiful now as ever before;
Her bona fides are a fait accompli,
And everything she does, she does con amore —
No longer is it a pipe dream;
Yours to hold is one of the world’s greatest wonders.”

Thereafter speaking that oracle,
He rose up, encircled me deasil,
And, in bidding me farewell, faded into the firmament,
Leaving me more than content,
In the arms of she who is, too, Heaven-sent;
Whose life is incandescent and love is eternal.

- Kevin B. Waring