Jan. 14th, 2016

ontheheath: (Default)
he had no problem sharing his pillows –

which had given comfort to heads with all kinds of hairs,

different types and textures

from the black to the yellow

he played the games with care like fixtures –

almost always lucky – all it ever took were mere hellos,

a little use of flair and after that it’d be all yeahs

followed by break-ups on the morrow

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
although written by the victors –

with careful selection, and if read with the right questions in mind,

history serves best those at the bottom of the chain

and can even elevate them to leaders

in the game

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
crayon colour stimulated memories –
the nanny’s breast under her pink vest,

the chartreuse green backyard tree leaves –
backdrops to my remembrances when I think of my first tender caress,

the chestnut primary school desks
under which I got my first kiss,

the green lawn on which as kids we’d play house
under blue skies we could never get enough of,

all the magic mints,
and screamin’ greens,
jazzberry jams,
and vivid tangerines

but as you know – recollections are always susceptible to creative
distortions – especially when attempting to make sense of childhood preoccupations – mine being the engulfing interest in the highest expression of universal harmony into form – one I grew from but never out of, and that is, beauty

which up to this day I still haven’t known any other greater than a woman’s

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
what was once layered with love

and sealed with blood

became fragile and weak

because circumstances had made for a new sequence

that chipped away at their greatness

until there was little left to uncover

except small relics

© Heath Muchena


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September 2016

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