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Posts published in “Poems”

lights in the distance

March 22, 2014

Staring toward the sparkling worlds
Just beyond reach, slowly growing
Bored with this world, but I know
More exist, and can fade safely now.

The sweetness of being here is
Being buried, let churn in dance
Of dust and carrion there, the
Fuel of progress not hunted yet.

The slow play grinds closer toward a goal, but
after the bang is the resting echo, before the
second shot can be heard.

I want to write on a crowded page, a dark screen, somewhere no one will remember me.
I want to be with life and living, journeying from where I need to be by season and leaving behind all other reasons. We are nomadic, yes? We are meant to roam to find a nook or cranny from which our world can expand, yet be kept separate from the rest. Solitude? No. We want autonomy.

sure

March 22, 2014

Why not be brief in stance, lengthening appreciation for time not taken
To spill one’s mind, split as muffin in the morning, earth-side’s turn to sun?

She walks to me

March 22, 2014

She walks to me
And all I see
Are her eyes,
The deepest mahogany.

I got more than 99, but that ain’t braggin’

March 22, 2014

This skin I’m in
Holds me more
Together than
A mind so shallow.
I wait to wade for tide
And avoid the future flow,
‘Cuz I’m livin’ in the ebb,
My toes buried ‘neath the sand,
Like life is so much better where
I can’t see the wash comin’ in;
I got 99 problems, more?–
Should I even account for the past,
Or make this about where I am today?–
I got 99 problems, more?, but
I got them blinders on, tellin’ me
The future’s all that’s worth seein’, see
We livin’ like now gets us there alone,
But, nah, you gotta look ahead ‘n’ know
You, me, we all get there eventually.

we’re alone because of who we are

March 22, 2014

and this world,
this
orb/
misshaped,
holding on to us
as though needed we are,
though we know
it will continue without us,
this world follows cycle
but observed and meant only
as a means of being, this world
gives us view of life
most extraordinary, in
hopes others exist as same,
despite likelihood of
diversity, much like
we witness
without knowing
we are already not alone.

how absolutely silly
to wonder if we are alone
when the world holds
our friends, our fellows,
and we treat them as resources.
how absurd to think
one would want to
play with the child
slamming its friends and toys
against the floor,
while screaming for
another.

voluntas

March 22, 2014

voluntas

giving in is more than i
expected of myself, but
there’s a reason for ever-
ything.

i forgot the meaning,
left before seeing
the error made.

as many spaces
between thought
prior and thought
now, and i still
cannot absolve
myself of all
that’s been said;
as many words
written, between
then and now, i
cannot unknow
what i did not
know then.

giving in
is more than i
expected of myself,
but the small hand
moves slow enough
that i could catch up,
stumble ‘on,
keep going,
and all those other
mediocre phrases
coined to
make one ignore defeat.

giving in is more than i
expected of myself, but i
know more now than ever
the lights on corner shine
whether i’m muddied or fine.

giving in is more than i
expected of myself, but i
guess pride is sold high,
while i knew only my
self, and no visitors,
but those from space,
came to visit, and i knew
the tiger stripes on
rain-soaked window would be
the only memory, for i
could control that moment, i
could wipe them away, or
sit and love their
path, the one of
least resistance, where
the reward is pooling,
lasting longer than if
they had stayed to dry
without…

giving in, i guess i
saw myself in ruin,
having given more
than taken, though
not if family counts.

returned to find
the memories of
a mind, failing
to see what waits
behind an image, or
animations, tuned-in
and clear, while
shadow crackles
’round who i was
behind eyes used
sparingly to see
myself, to see
anyone not in
front of me;
i gave in to
forgetting,
falling for
the clarity
of no conscience,
no scenery
not in front of me.

tilted just so

March 22, 2014

tilted just so
the spin keeps
us standing

The City

March 22, 2014

He loved the establishment,
Though only enough to enter
Through a faded wooden door
Along the side of the bulding,
Between the corner and a
Neon sign lit, “FOOD,” where
The word, “Fine,” had been
Turned off.

Having [Once] Read Shakespeare

March 22, 2014

faulty towers store but what is gained,
’til foundations, once unknown, grow to be
razed by way of fields tilled for grains,
fruits, plucked, ‘stead fallen of’ th’ trees.
same is seen when muted children know
only laughter comes when silence falls
on hands so small, and burdened fingers bow
to stage a crash in cause of Juno’s call.
but a brook, babbling by, a constant grants reason
to this life, and moves us, progeny,
near’ to roots, waiting to show [wo]man seasons,
come and go, can still our leaves.
and how words and wisdoms, best absorbed
through means of life, become our souls.

98

gives and takes stones to as would
any mover of ‘scapes and lands;
and that is these, the sonnets,
plays and particularies of a craft
whose direction knows no compass,
as plates plagued by feet do not,
able more to crush than remain,
though giving be their blessings,
despite mighty winds be follies’ gain,
do words and wisdoms best absorbed through means of life become brains.

musings & scribbles