C.S.Scotkin

QUESTIONS AND ANCESTORS

by C.S.Scotkin

If I were gifted with one wish

I know now what I'd ask.

Long talks with my ancestors gone

Awakened for this task.

I'd hope to find the clues that rise

like sap, my family tree

has always had a few snapped twigs,

which one has led to me?

Would they appreciate this call

from rest eternal earned,

forgive my curiosity,

did once their own hearts yearn?

I wonder if they'd want to share

those memories they saved,

or would they rather not disclose

the secrets of their graves?

"Be careful what you wish for..."

Cliched I knew, but true.

Perhaps I have no need to know

the worlds they struggled through.

Let me be grateful for their lives,

forever let them rest.

I hope that someone in my past

bequeathed to me their best.

ACHOO

by C.S.Scotkin

You really aren't alive, you viral speck,

Yet when you raid my cells you cut them down,

You cause my barking cough and then cruel aches

the earthquakes of my chills are fely in town.

Protector cells, please hasten to my aid,

I've taken all the vitamins I can,

For soup and tea my appetite does fade

as does this medication in my hand.

Creator of the Universe, Oh why?

What earthly good do viruses fulfill?

I'm tired of tissues, lozenges I buy,

I shouldn't whine, it's time to take a pill.

I'll rest and dream of Summer's balmy breeze

If I don't wake myself up with a sneeze.

A VERY SMALL WISH

by C.S. Scotkin

I'd like to pull the night across my head,

a soft velvet comforter

embroidered with silver

French- knotted stars.

Warm and safe

where no brash Sun can burn my face.

Soft twinkling will not blind me...

“MATCHMAKER, MATCHMAKER…”

by C. S. Scotkin

Internet matchmakers

are a Pandora’s box

save for one small matter.

Hope jumps out first,

and startles,

explodes in optimistic glory

before icy eyes deep frozen

in past failures of the heart.

Only then crawl out those sweetly acid lies,

inane lines written, describing nothing,

altered photos, predatory purrs,

seductive, tempting, all alike.

Hope continues, a happy dance,

whispers, like an impious brat,

“Look at him, look at her.

You could write them, call them, meet them,

maybe love them, maybe live

happily ever after…

Send your $13.95 in,

have anonymous access to the human deli;

something for every palate,

advertise yourself, the Blue Plate Special.”

But hope is right about one small thing.

Sometimes, it works.

IN THE DARK

by C.S. Scotkin

Fickle winds

blew doubts, then

cycloned fears.

Your daily coolness

clashed with

night time’s heat.

Cumulus emotions

rose, but then

exploded.

Thunderous words

and cracked hail’s

beating curse.

That storm

is over now,

still there’s numbing shock

clearing all this

heart debris,

walking in the dark.

SEASON OF THE LUNATIC

by C.S. Scotkin

The Moon is full…

I need to scream

and not to dream

of losses great

or wicked fate…

The Season of the Lunatic is here.

there is nothing more for me to fear,

and nothing more to lose…

In the oaks there cries an owl.

Head thrown back, why can’t I howl?

Be transformed for this one night,

perhaps then, I will be alright.

The Season of the Lunatic is here.

HAPPINESS

by C.S. Scotkin

How shall I speak of happiness to you

When in a glass, reflected to my eyes

This face I see has something, seeming new

With no detected wants, with no disguise.

I cannot waste my gifted time with fears,

Desires that never once will fill my heart

With joyful songs to sing for all the years

Allotted me before I must depart.

And yet the self like some small selfish girl

I whined to those who’d listen, “it’s not fair”

I never knew that I possessed a pearl

But now I know some beauty I can share.

Content with life and lot is cause for bliss,

I’ve traveled far to find this happiness .

NEXT TIME

By C.S. Scotkin

Don’t look at me,

your soul laid open

like an ancient tome

coated with regrets

like dust .

Don’t reach for my hand.

Pretend memories are false.

See me as a stranger.

Then we can smile

next time we meet.

A SMALL TREATISE ON HUMOR

by C.S. Scotkin

Humor is the strangest thing,

That noteless music angels sing,

run the Devil through the door,

God Almighty’s two by four!

Sorrow, angst are found in bloom,

In poetry garden’s deepest gloom.

but humor hides, seed pods in soil

await a different gardener’s toil.

When first Eden’s Fruit was bit,

I think the Parents eyes were lit

I suspect they also learned,

laughed at that new life they earned.

Slap-stick comedy of Creation

ought to fill with revelation

sentient children, getting the joke

are freed from burdens of the yoke.

Acid taste of cold satire

Portrait of this wallow’s mire

Dry, ironic on the palate

So unlike the Stooges mallet.

Humor, mankind’s greatest gift,

our ability, spirits lift,

hand in hand with courage and grace

look upon Death’s mask and face

And laugh!

CONUNDRUM

by C.S. Scotkin

I search for words, such perfect ways to say

My love, the truest feelings I embrace

But have not found them, nor have I met you

And so my lantern burns late hours in vain.

I’ve seen all but your face when dreams roll in

To tease my soul as cool waves tease my toes,

Then disappear before I can react.

There is no image for my heart to hold.

I have to trust that if our paths converge

My search as well as yours be done at last,

This endless search for words of love will end

As our words blend together through the night.

The answer that I seek in silent times,

Which must come first, a sonnet or a love?

4:30 AM AND YOU CAN’T MAKE IT UP!

by C.S. Scotkin

“Be careful of that foot of yours”

I heard a small voice say

As I was stepping to the porch

About to greet the day.

I glanced around to find the sound

Then once again I heard

“Look down you oaf”, and then I found

Myself within a herd

Of toads.

Excuse me, sir, I said to him

The spokesman of the mob.

I’ll take my seat, I’ll watch my feet

And then we can hob-nob.

Those eyes that bulged toward me showed scorn,

Ms. Toad to you, she said

“You mammals are the strangest lot,

Weird thoughts within your head.

Now please keep quiet and be still

It’s time to break our fast

These plump and juicy beetle bugs

Can really run quite fast.”

I sat there like a piece of stone

Her tongue shot out her mouth,

Blue beetle who’d just joined us

Had suddenly gone south.

All gone.

In rapture Ms. Toad licked her lips,

Her scowl replaced with a smile

“I love fast food in the morning

Now I’ll go sleep for awhile.”

DAWN

by C.S. Scotkin

The Witness sits, reports the end of dark.

She quiet stares, her senses fill and wake

As gangly young persimmons learn to dance

In cool transmuted vaguely wintered breeze.

A crescent Moon smiles wide at Perseus

Who throws a shooting star to welcome her.

Horizons in the East become shell pink,

A silhouetted possum ambles by.

Hears morning singers, sweetly dissonant,

Keep time to ancient pulses from the Earth

Then quiet down, they hold their breaths to look

At Brightness spilling through the fronds of palms.

Small pond has gone to gold while herons fish

And carillons of men begin to play.

A MORNING MEDITATION ON WHETHER OR NOT TO PURCHASE A NEW CUP

by C.S Scotkin

Cracked blue mug of lowly clay

Damaged like a tempted soul

You still hold your heat,

Familiar as an old lover.

I will not trade your

Chipped rim or faded glaze

For porcelain with no experience

In the ways of hot bitter coffee.

TRAP

by C.S. Scotkin

I willing trapped myself in silken night

A moth that blithely flew into a web

When blinded by the Moon’s full face ahead

And never saw the snare hid in the light,

Who should have flown at some much greater height,

Spied diff’rent paths down which I could have fled

Before your words, those fine and false spun threads

Entangled me, forbade me further flight.

Those captured have the time to hang in thought

And scheme escape from folly’s strangling hold

This tarnished web was never made from gold

What is the price for freedom dearly bought?

I chanced the loss of wings with movement bold

Regained my life, this tale now is told.

THE MATING GAME OF THE ANGLER FISH

by C.S. Scotkin

I wander languid through the deep abyss

Always searching for my supper or a kiss.

No sunlight in these depths can ere exist

How shall I find a mate I can’t resist.

I swim so slowly as I search the sea

To find the perfect mate made just for me

All angler fish created have one plea

I have to reproduce, oh! Can’t you see!

I discharge perfume through my briny home

On this procedure I could write a tome,

I swish the lighted lure upon my dome

While trying to compose my first love pome.

What’s this, a little nibble on my side?

I think this means I’m going to be a bride.

He’s latched right on , his head he’s going to hide

And we shall never part, he is my pride!

Ecstatic now I have a mate so fair

His good strong sperm will always be right there,

On call for waiting eggs, and would you dare

To try this all you ladies that breathe air?

FOR THE MOMENT, NO MORE SONNETS

by C. S. Scotkin

Silly, letting Willy

catch me in his web.

Iambically boring

I hear myself snoring

from ennui

until I quite dread

the thought.

Other forms itching,

gnattily biting

my brain.

Insane?

Not yet.

A BRIEF QUESTION FOR THE UNIVERSE’S CHIEF OF PROTOCOL

By C.S. Scotkin

When pain comes and visits

like a chain saw in a primeval wood

or like a flame thrower

in a garden filled with straw flowers,

is one obliged to be

a geisha with serenity

painted perfectly on her face,

ignore such dreadful manners

or should one ask the perpetrator

to leave…

INSPIRED BY SHAKESPEARE, “ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE…..’

by C.S. Scotkin

There are no dress rehearsals for this play

It’s show time from the moment we draw air

In lungs that cry to take the center stage.

We take our cues, then ad lib if we dare

To change somehow the plot of this grand show

Create a role that fits us, like a skin

Not costumed cumbersome, we never know

The act or time when we are stepping in

To change the tone from tragedy to bliss

With words that change the scen’ry of our soul

No higher calling for us actors, this

To leave our stage with meaning, pure and whole.

There are but two directors for our part,

A mind that’s open and a hopeful heart.

THE PATH

by C.S. Scotkin

There was a time we knew the magic path

Which led us all to true reality

And took us deep within without a map

What wonders, O such visions we could see!

We danced with giants, sang the songs of elves

Conversed with fish and rode a centaur’s back

When did our childhood get pushed back on shelves

All hid behind the lies that children lack?

What leached the sweetness from those early years

Before we learned of pain and cruelest guile

Before we learned the grown-up song of fears

That left us only superficial smiles?

We’ll find again that golden path one day

And you and I, this time, will get to stay.

SOME MORE QUESTIONS

by C.S. Scotkin

Dreams of challenges, choices and change

Invaded my brain, in deepest sleep

There was no rest

Examine these drops,

Are they rain or tears

or falls from grace?

Does it matter?

Is it our fault?

Is it our glory?

Can we learn to dance

While avoiding toes?