Under Cover — a poem

With half our face obscured
we cease ourselves to be
with others.

                       Diminished
are we — made less by lost
transparency.

                       No smiles come
through paper or cloth. Saving
our lives we lose our souls.

                                             Cast
aside by a veiled, threatened
ill, our ability to interrelate
rots

        under cover.

Ravenous by Charles Lyman

Thank you to Terveen Gill and masticadoresindia.wordpress.com for publishing this poem!

MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

Image Source: Snappa

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before….”
— Edgar Allan Poe

Nietzsche didn’t get

virtual reality, the benefit

of mirrored aviators when fighting

the demons of oneself.

Becoming

monsterly while combating evil shows

a decided lack of lyrical aesthetic. Dance

in toe shoes around the edge of the whole.

I spend

hours opposing monsters that lurk

within me. The worst that happens

is that I build up a terrible appetite.

Appease the beast or at least get

out of his way in the kitchen.

-CHARLES LYMAN

Charles Lyman studied Fiction and Poetry (and a lot of other cool stuff) at the University of Minnesota. He teaches English in Orlando, Florida where he resides with his favorite poet and their disdainful dog.To read more of his poetic and creative writings visit –

Life…

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Speed Chess, Central Park — a poem

“When the men on the chessboard

Get up and tell you where to go….”

— Grace Slick

 

“…it’s time in time with your time and it’s news is captured….”

— Jon Anderson/Chris Squire



The rules have changed since the time
of chess club after school; a game
of speed in the park.

                                                click

Staunton laid aside, no more draws,
by FIDE — NewChess has become
Calvin Ball.

                                                click

It’s my pieces you’re swiping
when I’m not looking — erasing
squares.

                                                click

Threw the looking glass ‘cause of untruths;
it’s lying now, in pieces
on the floor.

                                                click

“Red Queen’s off with her head”
in the clouds, perhaps —
or elsewhere.

                                                click

Not much for current events gone stale,
mate! Let me play the classic rules.
If we tie, we tie.

 

* * *

The Sunday Muse #181