brought a brick back from the alley we lived in,
tried to see the fireplace as something
other than a mantle/we couldn’t afford
the gas? you sure?, we’re drinking soda
24/7, no, seriously, waking up at
1am for a coke/not the white stuff,
nothin’ hard, just a little pick-me-up,
high fructose adrenaline pumpin’ in
me while i tried to be a better son;
not going to fight anymore, nah,
not worth the agony my mother had
because of me, but… i’m not a punk,
not a chump, i just won’t fight back,
but i’ll outlast you because you’re
both of those; don’t see reluctance
of another as an advantage over
who you just can’t control,
even though you tried and i refused
to supply that vestigial need to be
dominant or dominated.
Category: Poems
-
vestigial
-
I write to remember
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.
-
In The Spirit Of
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.
-
Just Keep Going
The birds, following
Stream to be far away
From what they’ve known,
Trusting few who still
Know the destination,
Give flight to the Way,
And just keep going,
Hopping into breeze
As all slowed pedestrians,
Angry o’er the chanced,
Fall behind to be still where they are.
-
angles
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.
-
Hippo-critical
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].
-
the Moon
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.
-
Take A Walk
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.