Posts published in “Poems”

a hollow sound never felt so welcoming
as when on the other side, listening
for anything to make its way ’round
that corner, there, where i sit and
wait for life to tell me i need to
move. yesterday to some other day,
i followed through, gave you something
i didn’t know i had ’til the day you
came on and brought it out of me.

a hollow sound never felt so welcoming
as when on the other side, listening
for anything to make its way ’round
that corner, there, where i sit and
wait for you to come back to me, show
-ing me that life i led was worth liv
-ing if only to lead me to you, she who
covers me when feet get cold and laughs
at simple looks left to be found on faces
much better together than apart.

a hollow sound never felt so welcoming
as when on the other side, listening
for anything to make its way ’round
that corner, there, where we sit and
wait for ours to make their way to us,
giving more than we can take but making
every moment worth having if only to
know there are more ahead, ahead, ahead.

echoes bring a sense of more to come,
much more to experience. always let
your voice walk before you if it
knows the way better than your feet,
hands, or heart. just don’t be surprised
if you’re further behind before catching up.

Though you asked,
I have relented
And given you,
Dearest wife,
A bouquet but
A bit as lovely
As you are.

a couple things got me down lately,
making me think the world is forgetting me,
helping my ego shrink, my ballast sink;
i’m trying to be a better person as a result, but
my heart is heavy and my feet are dragging;
i’m rolling along a way i wish i could control, but
my head is down and my eyes are lagging
behind all there is to comprehend, all there is
to take in and appreciate; “you know the sun? yeah,
that one– it’s still shining, brightly, son”–
i just need to hear that once from lips other than
these fingertips, but all i do is smile and keep
moving on like centrifugal force is the only motion
i know.

a little bit more here:
hardly ever given up, just given in to all
the temptations i’m allowed like wondering if
i’m the only one who knows we’re all in
the same planet and it’s not infinite– far from it;
i can now talk to my buddy on the other side of the globe,
but we can barely walk by someone beside us and say hello–
it’s a fucked up world where i think i’m alone
and everyone else feels the same way, even though
we’re all right here– we’re all in the same planet
and it’s not infinite– far from it;
we can now write one thing and it’s immediately available to all.

I write to remember
All that came before
This moment, ours;
I write to exist some-
Where when I have
Gone, leaving only
What you care to
Read of me.

I hold back in fear
Of being seen as I
Am, not as I want
To be; but, maturity
Lowers those drawn
Bridges, giving chase
To recall all I’ve glossed,
So I may remember
What I’ve lost to time
And ignorance.

I write to read who I am,
As I’ve always felt disconnected
From this shell, the limitations
Of a mind given chase to
A world requiring life,
More so than observation.

I write to read who I am,
As I’ve made a habit of
Being truer to word than
Thought, though they
Should go hand-in-hand.

He follows sunlight’s lead,
Rising and falling with the
Hiding and showing of the
Moon, that which circles
’bout, as do his children,
Three, and wife, One.

He races through the weeds,
Laying in the grass when
Reaching a lawn worn thin
By tiny, grown feet; and he
Cares for this canvas, where
Their hearts never stopped
And eyes never ceased
Being open to possibilities.
His hands trace routes in
The green, looking for
Their smiles in his memories,
While all after him holds more
Than what he could have seen.
Stilled, he finds solace in the leaves.

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.