Poetry Showcase from Pasithea Chan

grayscaled photography of person's hand spreading sand

Photo from Kunji Parekh (unsplash)

Hey, I can manage!

I tried keeping up walking with him
but the bigger steps I made
the faster he went!

I tumbled and fell
I even scratched my knees.
He didn’t stop or even blink!

So I picked myself up
patted my pants from the dust
held my head high and walked.

Okay so you don’t care I get it.
Two can play a game!
Am doing it my way.

You used to make me wait
for you to turn hearts around
to grow a conscience in some
and to make things better.

You were able to take things from me
because I let you but not anymore.
I am not your toy, let’s get that straight!

I will take from you what I need.
I too won’t blink or look back.
Thank you for showing me that.

Today we walk side by side
on a road enough for more than two!
Our shoulders almost touch.

He gave me a smirk
I tapped him on his back
and said, hey Time guess what?

I don’t care anymore
about keeping up with you.
I can manage.
 
Author's Notes:

Author’s Notes: This piece is an imaginary scenario between the author and time... who keeps on running and the author keeps on chasing him...but she reaches a point when she realizes it's pointless and decides to do things her way her pace...because the world doesn't stop for sadness or happiness... because hearts don't change over time... because things don't get better in time... because it is what is.... if it's meant to be it'll be.


Trouble Me Not

Trouble me not with your worries
for your shallowness speaks to my darkness 
a credence that shrieks: evil is faithless.
 
Trouble me not with your fears
for a bloody moon of leers
lights my night like candlesticks.
 

Trouble me not with your hurts
for I couldn’t care less for what happens
next, to you or what part of you breaks.
 
Trouble me not with your beliefs
for you are a body of lies that belongs
to hell with all souls this reckless.
 
Trouble me not with your quarrels 
for your bullshit trembles under values
so shallow entangling you in misfortunes.
 

Trouble me not for you shall feed hell’s
appetite for troubled dark souls like yours
wait for it, hell’s gonna wring your neck with woes.
 

Trouble me not for as your screams
leave your lungs reaching the heavens
I shall relish blowing away your ashes.
 
Author's Notes: Inspired by: " From the Mouths of Trouble" by fellow poet RolinSton.

Gripe's Pentacle

Life is a circle that begins with creation
but ends when destruction becomes a mission.
Life’s circle is centered in attention
with irony and chance for a diameter.
 
Every life has a purposeful circumference
enclosing motives and goals with reason and balance.
But every life covers an area of interests
that can be tangent or parallel to others.
 
Destruction breaks life’s circle with confusion.
It strikes  down one’s balance
by hitting one’s center with attention.
Once balance is gone destruction 
leaks motives and goals with aggression. 
Then the chain of hurt and blame brings isolation
sliding in personal gain’s hook to hang gripe’s pentacle.
 
Gripe is a trivial complaint that disrupts reflection.
It has greed on one corner to burn compassion,
radicalism on the right corner to end discussion,
ignorance on the left corner to begin occlusion,
pride on its south east corner to prevent redemption
and envy on its south west corner to deny gratification.
 
Wearing destruction’s pentacle of gripe is a decision
made by many thinking their life begins with others’ destruction.
Life is a circle deformed by destruction’s
gripe pentacle showing blame's face
with its bloody mouth and envious eyes.
 
Author's Notes: Although gripe was defined in this poem but it is also worth noting that in this poem it is an acronym of destruction's pentacle: Greed, Radicalism,  Ignorance,  Pride, and Envy.

Mind Your Mind

Mind your mind and you shall find
happiness, a kinder form of life
that blows good fortunes like a wind
born out of clarity during moments of strife.
 
Lose your mind and you shall find
bitterness, a harder form of life
that leaves you lost and blind
amidst chaos from rage’s hive
 
Train your mind and you shall find
excellence, a better way to lead a life
of bounties known to humankind
in stories where dreams dive!
 
Mind your mind even when opined
and you shall never go blind
nor know what it is like to hide
a heart that’s been declined
or a thought that’s been confined.
 
Mind your mind as though a rind
that protects you from a jack-knife.
A mind that is refined 
is all that you need in life.

Clouds and Castles

Welfare is a soul’s castle
built up in dreams’ clouds
only to be washed away
by life’s crashing waves.
 
Dreams are opaque clouds
combed by reality’s fingers
only to clash with thunders
that rain contradictions.
 
As the hail piles forming walls
one thinks he is hale behind doors.
Then truth’s sun shines
tearing our walls with woes.
 
Judgments make clouds 
condense pouring rains
of regrets in chains
that drag us with life’s waves.
 
Chances are the ebb and tides
that build or destroy our castles.
Time destroys us with our castles
tearing us down like our walls.
 
We tumble down with failures
humble down with lessons
mellow down with losses
and calm down with haplessness. 
 
We build walls of contradictions
to erect our castles of welfare.
We cement them with arbitrary acts
and tile them with sweet nothings.
 
Because we commercialized ourselves;
we don’t mind the wear and tear.
So we tear down and rebuild
today for tomorrow like a yesterday.
 
We forgot that those who live behind walls
tend to miss sunshines and meadows.
They keep building defenses
for wars that never come
until they die without living.
 

We pride ourselves
with castles in the air or seas
but forget that we are prisoners
of our devise dancing to our demise.
Souls were never made to live in walls.
Our bodies are enough walls.

Mama Told Me

Mama told me don’t tell all 
cause many are waiting for me
to fall just so they can gloat.
Turns out she was right after all.
 
But I told them how I stood tall
and they were there for me
at least that’s what I thought
until time sorted them all, money made its call.
 
Mama told me don’t tell all
cause no one would understand me
when I have nothing to give at
all and that’s how I lost them all.
 
I had to see them watch me fall
and hear them talk about me
calling me unreliable and that
hurt, because I never expected this at all.
 
Mama told me don’t tell all
but I did and it’s on me.
I regret telling but I can’t
change things so I accept it all.
 
Nobody visits and I don’t call.
I am all alone with what’s left of me
Who would’ve thought-
money keeps family around after all!
 
Mama told me don’t tell all
cause nobody cares for me
or how much I fought
because honesty doesn’t matter at all.
 
Depression and disappointment are all
I have to keep me company.
Desertion and neglect clog my throat
with hurt from being made to feel so small.
 
Mama told don’t tell all
because she knew they could hurt me
faking love that left me distraught
with a hurt so deep like a bottomless hole.
 
 
Author's Notes: The narrative in this poem is from my life and it was inspired by the following quote: "Sometimes the people closest to you betray you, and your home isn't a place you can be happy in anymore. It's hard but it's true". P.C. Cast

Blurred Clarity

If I told you, you need to sail the sea
to find thee and be able to see;
Would you say yes or disagree?
If I told you tragedy begets the clarity
to see what’s meant to be
would you call me crazy?
 
If I showed you hurt’s family
to protect you and me 
would you still see me?
Whoever said live with honesty
to find peace and harmony
forgot to highlight its tragedy.
 
All you get to say is if only
they’d spare me the misery
and let me face reality;
A reality starving for clarity
fed by choices made sincerely
starring those once trustworthy.
 
See trust chaps skies with maybe
and drenches life’s seas with irony
to dawn clarity that leaves both blurry.
You may think you sail aptly
but choices are tipsy boats swiftly
sailing amidst blurred clarity.
 
A clarity blurred by the company
you keep casting you in a tragicomedy
written by understanding’s bigotry!
To let the sea, meet the sky
to drop those flying high
to drown next to those passing by

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Pasithea Chan

 



 





By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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