Her heart is breaking
A child, the prayer unanswered
His heart breaks for her
Copyright © 2008 by Jake Olden Shy
Untitled
The oppressive sun
beating down
on a forgotten southwestern town
Empty streets echo
against forsaken framework
A ghost town
I’m standing
with squinting eyes bleeding
red and watering
Dust blowing and tumbleweed
rolls as wavering heat rises
from cracked and broken earth
A slowly approaching figure
familiar in form and gait
clad in shadow
as yet unknown
Slowly solidifying
stopping in staunch stance
a hand quickly slides death
from a holster
and erupting fire
initiates thick red explotions
within my chest
I’m propelled rearward
hard to unforgiving ground
Lying still
as life seeps from gastly holes
in my plagued torso
Quietly the cloaking shadow
separates from the figure
and dying I stare
into wide innocent eyes
My son
Copyright © 2004 by Jake Olden Shy
Untitled
I am a fake and a fraud
A waxing intellectual. Rattling
Off mindless prattle
Perplexing
The ignorant. Impressing
The naive
I am a charlatan and a hack
Scribbling amateurish prose
Upon sheets of dull
White paper. My words
Reflecting
What? Characterization
Of emotion? Measure of event?
My chest expands at adoration. Secretly
Guarding insecurity. Dwelling
Deep within my mind
I am no Sexton or Plath or Lowell
My lyric yearn for Longfellow
O to truly feel
As they. To see a world
Though eyes of passion
Break free of binding pragmatism
Venture out of concrete
The world of real
Into a world of feeling
Expression and experience
I don’t desire your praise
My experience can’t spawn
Greatness. I have no pain
Copyright © 2000 by Jake Olden Shy
The Stand
In Djakovica Yugoslavia
Death their hate ignites
Ascending on suburbia
The demon strike as kraits
Serbian police even the score
Move methodically place to place
A terrified man opens a door
Takes a bullet in the face
Gunfire shatters glass next door
Neighbors soon to die
The screaming pain one can’t ignore
The children wail and cry
Upon the next store police descend
The Xhosa family hide
A small Serb woman to defend
Her frightened friends inside
Pounding fists and crowbar creak
They break into the store
Not a sound the Xhosa’s speak
As Branka moves to the door
The Xhosa family stand aghast
The door now opened wide
The soldiers’ hatred in contrast
By this woman they’re defied
A fragile hand in crushing grasp
A muzzle to her head
Through clenched teeth, an angered rasp
Her life held by a thread
A soldier screams, “You don’t belong here!”
But she would not let them pass
As Branka held on to her fear
The soldiers left en masse
The door hangs on a single hinge
The slam they couldn’t miss
The feme exclaims, her voice a challenge
“Who will pay for this?!”
They simply didn’t know what to make
Of this gap-tooth guardian angel
Her resolution would not break
Their killing heart she strangled
Now, fighting done, a brand new day
The sound of receding combat
The question the Albanians pray
“How do we forgive all that?”
Copyright © 1999 by Jake Olden Shy
Note: This poem is the true story of a old, frail Serbian woman who stood alone against soldiers in their march toward Albanian genocide.
Escape
Mangled metal, twisted mesh
Strobe lights, blue and red
An eerie shadow, smoky mist
Former lives have fallen dead
The sky is black and starless
My eyes refuse to see
A blurred and broken image
A face appears before me
Stabbing pain shoots through my arm
I look, but it’s not there
My companion lying next to me
In her eyes a lifeless stare
The ground around me, red and moist
No feeling in my legs
“Please help them, God, please help them!”
A friendly stranger begs
The face before me starts to speak
His expression so absurd
A slowly shaking of his head
I don’t understand a word
As sounds begin to disappear
My friend accepts a shroud
Activity intensifies
The silence is so loud
A chill is filling up my chest
Spectators stand about
Darkness slowly clouds my eyes
At last, the lights go out
Fingers close my vacant eyes
A prayer is quietly said
Tomorrow mourners weep for me
Who should feel joy instead
My mind no longer ponders
A world of pain and strife
This death has surely given me
The gift of renewed life
Copyright © 1998 by Jake Olden Shy
Mother
Society’s plague
Life’s usurper
Jury tried
Convicted, murder
Shackles cinched
A lonely place
One last look
Finding grace
Forgiveness given, looks within
Strength to calm his fear
Seeing beyond inherent evil
A mother sheds a tear
Copyright© 1998 by Jake Olden Shy
