(vi)

once high upon the sullen rocks

i chanced upon a paradox,

when the rivers fury in molten might

cut through the layers of solid granite.

and all that was trivial turned profound,

in earth-shattering motion laid to ground,

and the great crumbled to eternal dust….

 

 

the art of being breathless

the air is a limited time offer a limited time luxury i sit under a lamppost and let the light pour down on me as i tell you over and over again that it’s me that’s the lucky one and i promise i’ll get to you backstab my demons and all of the no-you-cannots my brain is the vilest bully i’ve ever known shown me the hideous things i am capable of i can accept this world for its fallen ashes fallen kingdoms fallen heroes fallen faces i can respect the efforts to tame to tarnish to retreat and i’ll sit under the sun one day no more artificial light and i’ll see you there sitting with snakeskin pride and the grass is just a haven not a home we have no home no holy land to unwind unweave humanize no place to hide our faults and our worn-down weak weary faces and i’ll wonder why nothing ever breaks you i’ll wonder how you’ve become so resilient and i know this world is full of have-me-nots love-me-nots leave-me-nots fear-me-nots forget-me-nots and i realize people can never really see themselves completely no 360 degree no bird’s eye no head on collision no keyhole peephole porthole view they can only see how they affect other people they can only see other people there standing under the streetlight never seeing behind below above around themselves full of reasons to let go reasons to pay no mind reasons to misinterpret reasons to close their eyes in the darkness close their mind to the light completely covered in blind spots

Prompt for Hour Seven

Title a poem as you would start a letter with Dear “insert name here”, then go on to write a poem to the person whose name you used. That person could be real or fully imagined. The contents of the poem could contain truth or fiction, but you must keep in mind the duel nature of this poem, it is a letter as well as a poem.

Natural

I remember the day we got married.

It didn’t snow like we had hoped so we could get our wedding rings for free, but it was cold regardless.

I got the question that so many grooms get before the altar.

“So are you nervous?” My brother asked.

Out of so many years playing a role, out of so many days putting on a show, this of all felt the most natural.

I joked as I usually do, but this time there were no jokes, this one moment in time was void of a punch line.

I was ready.

I was ready to jump for her without worrying if there was any safety bet beneath.

She was my safety net, my life line, and it mattered not if I were to fall a thousand feet, she would be there.

Smile at the ready, telling me without a whisper “It’s okay to fall.”

It wasn’t a big wedding, no extravagant entrance, no pomp and ceremony.

Just two people so in love that the only thing they cared about was the end result.

The moment when our first kiss as man and wife would be the last first kiss we’d ever take.

Of course you can’t have a wedding without something to commit to memory.

I dropped the ring.

Cursing the nail lady that did my wife’s nails, the photographer captured the whole thing in one shot.

I got it on the second try, but not without a red flushed face.

Nearly four years have gone by, each day its own new adventure and I can’t wait for the others.

Of all the plastic personalities and man made problems in this world, above all else, you and I will be one of the few purely natural.

 

poetry as a ghost town

verses and vacant emotions fade
right out of history onto the
blacktop of empty schoolyards
i heard you sing about living forever
as you carved your name in the concrete
i realize i am dead but i keep walking

2PM post

People come and go

all the time

some want coffee

some a doughnut

others it seems

come to enjoy the scene.

Never sure what they want

or if they want at all,

what they need

can’t be bought.

Someone to talk to

just a short chat

loneliness hurts

we can all help

with a smile.

 

Battles Poem 4

It never seems to be

What you think it will

You fight your battles

You charge up the hill

 

You pay your dues

You scream your cries

You dream for love

Your loved one dies

 

It never seems to be

What you plan out for

No matter how you try

They just slam that door

 

But one can never give up

One must continue on

Keep to that path

Try and stay strong

 

Maybe just maybe

Something good will come forth

You fought the battle

No time for remorse

 

Battles get won

Doors open wide

One day you will see

As you as step your way through

 

There was gold in the battles

Riches on the path

Love builds to love

The cries make you laugh

 

There’s a gift in your future

A reward in success

The journey’s what matters

Until you take your last breath…..

 

 

 

 

 

Imagery of Megaliths

The modern artist forces us to look upon the truths of our world: the inanity of a baked bean tin, or the futility of trash.

In recent history, the artist sought to portray forever-truths: love, death, desire, nature, the innocence of childhood…

I wonder: What did our ancestors want us to know? When peering at structures aligned with the stars; when perceiving how they had made malleable the harshness of stone, when it was all they were given to sculpt; when peering down an avenue of arches toward the rising sun, we are sensible of crude drums or chanting druids; blinding, bursting solar light- or the glowing emissions of celestial orbs. We might feel the heat of a funeral pyre, or perceive the warmth of a campfire; hear the voices of humans akin to ourselves. What did you want us to know? I wonder.

Poem Six

At home I’m pretty
At school I’m a ugly
With you I’m a shining star

At home I’m stressed
At school I’m a nervous wreck
With you I’m starting to relax

At home I’m on edge
At school I’m on watch
With I you I’m protected

At home I wish I was with you
At school I think about you
With you I hope you never leave