Javon Goard

Photo by whoislimos on Unsplash

Calm.

A four-letter word that easily rolls off the tongue for most

And yet, so unattainable for many.

Funny how such a feeling is like a recipe which

Requires the finest of ingredients; patience, space,

Focus.

Without these core ingredients surely the final

Dish would lack flavor, potency, and euphoria.

As legs shake continuously under the desk made

Out of recycled hopes and dreams

It is no wonder why many children and adults

Leave these desks with splinters on their palms.

As they work on their hopes and dreams,

The hopes and dreams of their family, friends,

Colleagues and coworkers who were unable or

Unwillingly to achieve what is owed to them

Pokes at them.

So to be calm in such an environment is

Damn near ludicrous.

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Photo by Rachit Khurana on Unsplash

Do you ever wonder what it’s like to hear the sound of the whispering
Voice from the heaven above?

To be surrounded in a light of overwhelming warmth not even the
Sun could come close to mimicking?

Shhh…do you hear it?

Do you feel it?

So many of us long to go through such experiences and yet…

Some who do, cannot maintain it.

Some who want, struggle to receive it.

For the angel comes only when one’s mind
And heart are one, and encapsulated within
The peace which is thyself.

Though I have not seen my angel in their
Human form, I have a feather.

This feather a mere symbol, a reminder,
A gift, ensuring me that my love in an
Embodied form is near.

But my love in its rawest form, it’s truest form,
Can only come from one place.

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Photo by NASA on Unsplash

I recognize the sound of the bell tower once its strikes noon.

Every. Single. Day.

I, too know the feeling of relief that you made it thus far.

Praise. The. Gods.

Like the candle snuffed out after kissing the little ones goodnight,

My light feels muddied.

Never. Forget. The. Light.

To be of noble repute amongst your fellow people is a battle

Requiring great skill and will.

But behind every locked door lies a reason for us to continue

Walking as mini universes.

Each universe goes by a different name, but all our bound to

The rules that govern even the brightest of stars.

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Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash

The sky is battered and bruised.
The leaves shake with anxiety.
Branches snap off trees like
A pencil in the hand of a wild first grader.

Not a bird in sight.

Did they know?

Do birds sense danger all around them?

I guess birds do not owe humans
Any favors.

Thunder claps its hands and stomps its feet.
Lightening makes itself be known with
Its white streaks that can blind a star.

The trees tussle and rustle with each other.

I do not understand why?

Why do they fight even though they all
Face the same danger?

Who am I too judge?

The wind is the guiding hand
Of what humanity calls direction.

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Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash

Small Talk

are

the echoes that pulse
from an orifice being your mouth
to form what are called — words.

Some
do
not
enjoy
simply
being
surrounded
by
words.

Words with no
direction,
Words with no
intent,
Words with no
action.

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Photo by Bailey Torres on Unsplash

At 8:45 a.m. I see them
Standing on the sidewalk.

At 8:45 a.m. I saw them
Near the rainbow made of chalk.

Adorning a thick blue jacket,
He holds her warmly and gently.

Adorning a cozy purple jacket,
She embraces him calmly and tightly.

The brother and sister wait patiently,
Hand to hand, and feet to feet.

The crossing guard watches over them,
Ensuring safe passage across the street.

Two kids clasping unto each other
To provide shelter and safety.

They traverse the busy street,
With the utmost bravery.

8:46 a.m. I must advert my attention,
Away from the most precious scene of humanity.

That is what love looks like here,
In the heart of Baltimore City.

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Javon Goard

Javon Goard

I am a poet. I am a games researcher. I am a roller skater.