Poetry

Daisuke Takakura

 

By

Lisa Morris

 

 

In 50 Years…

 

 

Everything becomes homogenized;

first television came

and ruined ceremonial dress

of all the countries;

now a t-shirt and jeans are welcome

just about anywhere.

 

Then came the internet,

and we saw whose personality

was most popular.

 

Suddenly, everyone wants to be the same,

have the same sense of humor

the same values

the same ideas of which songs are lovely.

“Cool” is a mainstream idea

instead of a personal thought.

 

People’s fun idiosyncrasies

are vanishing,

victim to normalization

and fitting into a very defined society.

 

In the end, the world will be full of one person

repeated endlessly

in love with themselves

and bored to death.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of A Morning

 

 

I walk into the kitchen

in my white nightgown.

 

He says,

“Good morning my love,”

and wraps me in his arms.

 

His eggs

are already rolled into tortillas

on the cooling stove.

 

A very small cat follows

and mewing,

demands our attention.

 

I make the coffee,

knowing he will go without

if I do not.

 

When I come back to the bedroom

he is at stretches,

and the small mewing cat

runs back and forth as he bends

rubbing against his foot

and then his shoulder.

 

He wanders to his bath

and I drink my coffee

watching him wash,

beautifully

with the washcloth I crocheted.

 

We talk about the day

and he asks me which sportcoat,

gray, or brown.

I say gray.

 

He gathers his things

kissing me along the way

and again at the door.

 

He walks out

with my kiss on his lips

and good coffee

in hand.

 

I take up my pen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love and Significance Biologically

 

 

I guess we all pursue significance;

some way to be outstanding;

some way

we are different than the masses.

 

We gravitate toward praise;

“Stroke me” we murmur

under our breath.

“Reflect to me a self

I cannot see clearly.

Show me I am more

than this clay

I see everywhere.”

 

Something in us

longs for love

because that too

sets us apart from the masses.

 

Love stamps us

“Desired”

“Different”

and we become an ecstasy to someone’s heart;

a hormonal drug.

 

How it all works

no one knows.

 

Love means that if I am wounded,

someone will care for me

and I will survive.

 

Love means that if I cannot gather my own food

someone else will gather for me.

 

Love means a male will protect me

if I am attacked.

 

If I love him

and he loves her

I have a physical pain in my chest.

 

Biologically,

this drives me to ease it in some way;

maybe by looking at another him instead.

 

This drive leads to my protection and provision.

Survival.

 

If I pursue significance in some way

and do not find it

I am driven in another direction

until hopefully,

there is success,

and I am set apart.

 

This is survival,

the earning of a living;

the keeping of business relationships;

provision.

 

But underneath

we all want

to have to do nothing

and be nothing

and sing to ourselves without a thought

and be loved because

we are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lisa Morris

Lisa Morris is a freeverse and formalist poet, nature explorer, artist and traveler. Formerly an agent for authors, she is now author of two books, “Your Love is Inconvenient and Sublime” available on Kindle, and “The Sorcerer and Other Poems” available through Rainfall Books. Lisa is married to surrealist Cliff Snell III.