A little black book to put my poems in

A collection of original poems by Jory. If you enjoy my poetry and would like to see more, donations to Jory's Fine Art Fund at the bottom of this page would be greatly appreciated.

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Another one of these...ugh.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Just For You...

In all the drama and day to day nonsense that seems to consume my time, I want you to know that there is nothing in this life that means more to me than you. Today is the day that should have been. The day that we should be beginning your adventure. I'm sorry if it seems like I am preoccupied with the life that is, with the world that keeps on turning. I wake up each morning with your name in my mind, and wonder how I can keep on going. The motions are automatic and even though I don't consciously try, I just go on living, thinking the whole time that any second I am just going to fade away and become the ghost that I feel like. I am not supposed to be here without you. Today is for you and it always will be, just for you, everything else will be on hold, I hope that you can find a way to be proud of me and forgive me for not being able to protect you like a father is supposed to, I am sorry and I don't think I will ever be able to forgive myself. Know that I love you, believe that I miss you, and trust that everyday you are the first and last thing on my mind. You will always be my baby boy, no amount of time will ever change that, today will always be the day that should have been, the day that I will cry and reflect on all of the wonderful things that are supposed to be. I will worry about tomorrow when it comes, there is no room for anything but you today.

I love you Jack always and forever.
Love,
Your Dad

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

The Night

The lizards congregate at the top of the light post,
Just beneath the glass globe that attracts their feast.
Their tongues flick incessantly searching for sustenance
While the chirping emanates from their delicate throats.
I did not know that lizards even made noise aside from
The scattering of rocks or the scratching of scurrying claws.
The bouncing of bugs off of the sphere of their death
Is the only other sound on this quiet, solitary evening.
The cats hunt for the creatures who have lost their way.
Silently creeping, hugging the buildings plaster edges,
Only venturing beyond the safety of the wall for a moment,
Delicately leaping on their prey and then quickly running
Into the pitch black shadows with their coveted prize.
I watch this movie of life and death, waiting patiently
For her to call and come home and keep me company
While we watch the world go by for another night.

May 23, 2006

Friday, April 14, 2006

A Warning

Shruba, Shruba, Shruba,
He’s a super thuga,
Don’t call him your own brotha,
He’d smack his own mutha
With his nuk-u-lar cluba.
He’s really just a fucka.

April 14, 2006

Friday, December 02, 2005

Slipping into familiar habits

Slipping into familiar habits
Again, but isn’t that life,
A series of rituals performed
Out of historic routine,
Even the new experiences
Follow the patterns of the past,
Inescapable paths leading
Through the chaotic forest.

No use
Trying to fight it,
No point,
Raising up your fist,
No chance,
That we’re above it,
No hope,
Of any escape.

Rebel all we want because
We cannot accept the truth
Defined by our past
Even as we live our present
While writing our future
Time travel is possible
We are traveling through it
All the time.

Bring our stories,
To the table,
Make our legends,
Part of the history,
Sing our songs,
In the soundtrack,
Tell our tale,
While we can.

December 02, 2005

Friday, May 27, 2005

The wind from the fan caresses my face

The wind from the fan caresses my face,
As I lie with my eyes closed in darkness,
Alone with the pounding pain at the back of my head,
And the whirring sound of the spinning fan.
Our silence is interrupted
By the sound of a small black dog
Eating her food very ladylike,
Pawing it one piece at a time
From her dish and once removed,
Chewing it very precisely until it is gone.
Now aware of the world outside of myself,
I open my eyes and turn on the television.
The information age is alive and well
In my living room.
During this time of war
When a person can be lost
In what is patriotic or just,
The incessant buzz of partisan news
Feeds the passions of consumers,
Waiting, wanting, needing,
Action.
The television must be turned off
It is time to be alone
With the pounding in the back of my head,
The whirring sound of a spinning fan,
And the love of a small black dog.

May 27, 2005