Posts published in “Poems”

I
Look around,
Hoping
Your eyes
Find mine,
But the world
Tilts just so
You stare down,
My head rises,
And focus falls
Inward again.

Nothing
Below the shoulders
Moves, as I
Imagine a smile
And widened eyes
Looking back at me;
But, with my head
In the clouds, you
Have no chance of being
In my sight today.

Given a
Tick/twitch/awakening,
My mind winds neck,
A snapping-back to the present,
Where your gaze, though
Lowered, draws me
From across all that’s been
To everything ahead of me;
And you look up,
Drawn by my gravity,
The world spins just so
A hand, on an arm, from a shoulder,
Raises to flushed brow to
Wipe away a hair, the
Only barrier that was left
To keep words, buried, from
Rising and being given life
While lungs fill with you.

We fault others for
The follies we
Find ourselves
Doing often enough
To know better.

A poem is a view which an author ever-so-lightly drills behind the eyes[ having known life before & after, and preferring after].

I fold,
Not because I give in,
But, because there are many more hands to be held.

I can see
The Moon; the one I cannot touch
Hangs above me,
As a reminder
Of who I want to be,
And who I am today.

Walking in the warming Sun,
Having left the keyboard and
Cubicles, those open-air asylums,
For a bit; have my Transitions
Lenses, and feet on tracks to
Keep moving while my head spins.

Perfect view of a duck in rest,
Bill in breast and I’m jealous;
I keep trekking, hoping these
Steps taken before yield to me
Their nuances of life given to
Plain sight’s camouflaged peers.

And I miss so much,
Leaning into screen
Versus peering around.

We foolish billions.
While light-boned feather-heads fly,
We crawl, silently, leveling to rebuild
What was beyond our reach– still.

Grab those words
From the air–
Those words you
Know are there,
Though know not
How to take.

Just write– as
You breathe, just
Write.

I once wrote because
I had thoughts to jot;
Now, I write to leave
What needs be said.

When I was young,
I fell into the Current;
Flailing, throwing arms
As a young chimp does.
When I grew aware,
I saved thought for Now;
Living, losing sight
As a side-blind equine.
When I grew to stand,
I gave cause to Walk;
Restless, full-trotting
As a year-old lab in [a ]field.
When I stayed still,
I gained Root;
Knowing who I was and
Who I am,
As does any being
When tasked with
Continuing on.

Often,
When you’ve taken time to look,
Nature will dance for you
And only you,
As would a child,
Or a parent,
When you’ve taken time to look.

My office filing cabinet
Is indicative of a career.

The first of three drawers,
Topmost and slim,
Holds bandages; antacids;
Blank papers I know I
May, I’m sure, need later;
A 1/3rd used moleskine
Filled with orphaned pages;
Lens solution; unopened ink;
A box of 200 business cards
Minus 20; and a brushed
Keychain to commemorate
Those first five years. Oh,
And sunscreen used as lotion.

The next, deeper, larger,
Is weighted with business plans;
Merit increases; job offers;
A Panthers lamp, which cannot
Stay together; a wooden ship
From somewhere I haven’t been;
An hourglass from my loving wife,
Who wanted to ensure I never lost
QA points for time management;
And weeks-old nutri-grain bars.

The third, still deep, still large,
Keeps knickknacks, gained
Over time from bad investments;
A Bobcats playoffs towel;
And gifts from friends I heard,
More than saw, in Wilkesboro.

And now, for the fourth time
In four years, I am moving,
Knowing these items, their
Proximity, will be constant.