Tag: poetry

  • A Little Package from Home

    A Little Package from Home

    Photo by Benjamin Disinger vis Unsplash 

     

    The hole at the bottom,

    end of the road, a fiery kilm.

    Chip near the tail,

    pilgrimages in tattered UPS boxes.

    Every US State in a beige rundown van,

    trying to settle

    a three-stair bungalow, shag carpet,

    decades-old clutter

    to

    smooth, newly built, modern

    and a decorative art pale blue vase.

    Making bedsides look like something out of

    MOMA.

    Dust still travels,

    from place to place

    scrubbing it down,

    no way to wet wipe the past.

     

    It was a joke

    over your head,

    the made in america stamp at the bottom.

    Hidden from view,

    sitting on its origins,

    stars and stripes,

    missing something critical.

     

    Three key events

    in the making of the sculpture,

    explain the reason for its creation,

    why the joke goes over your head.

    What makes it critical:

     

    One: Creation.

    Muddy brown,

    seen on the cuffs

    ordinary green uniforms,

    and staining the soles

    of black issued boots.

    Rains create the muddy brown,

    rarity in California,

    like squirrels in Joshua tree.

    Devised from the cracked earth

    and biblical rain,

    black eyes, little bits of silver,

    like bullet casings,

    or dog tags.

     

    Two: Ownership

    hands clutching it,

    Covered by tan dust.

    Hard little sculpture

    sold in a gift shop,

    passed around, and around

    in a parking lot.

    Squirrels are Sociable,

    traveling from a home to a van,

    bed to bed,

    grease finger prints,

    pink marker smudges on the tail.

    ceramic squirrels chip when to amicable,

    when too many hands reach,

    when they were meant for one.

    Almost shattering at kitchen tables,

    from a lack of care.

     

    Three: Unearthed

    a little package,

    plastic peanuts and bubble wrap.

    Peel back the layers until we found

    the earthen object.

    Determined to make it north,

    a past of Joshuas and cracked earth,

    clutter and bungalows,

    dollar bills and

    prayer beads,

    a brokedown van in Tennessee.

    A little bit closer.

    to home.

  • Running from the Past

    Running from the Past

    Photo by Natalya Letunova via Unsplash

    I look to the horizon, your face, sweet and lovely, hangs with the willows. Dipping deep, deep into the bank. Ruddy marshes and colorful birds unfurl, reaching for where you rest… Darling, gone with the rolling clouds, the gentle southern breeze, leaving behind a legacy, a duty to settle down… 

     

    To the north you go… flying like the migrating birds of black and gray, opposing their paths as you turn your back to the equator. We the birds spurned, fly away from us now, from your past, your blood soaked roots. Away from Legacy… bodies in the backyard, confederate skeletons you hide in your closet. Who are you now, Montreal claimed you without knowing what you are… 

     

    Does the snow stick to your monogrammed mahogany bow, does it weigh down your teased hair, or does it drown your sensibilities…? Do you even remember the secret you learned from your Momma, how to make a county winning apple pie…? Does the word “Momma” stick to your mouth, foreign and forgotten? 

     

    Do you wake up… middle of the night, with another week having passed you by. Do you answer on the first ring, and make up a pastor-sounding name…? Do you wake up, suffocating, from the blood on your ancestors hands…? Can you see it now, while on your knees, hoping that the weight of ancestral sin doesn’t crush you… 

     

    You find forgiveness in the unmarked tombstones, can’t find delusion in the frilly bows… All that was left for you was a packed suitcase.

  • Doctor and the Painter’s Anatomy lesson

    Doctor and the Painter’s Anatomy lesson

    Photo by Ioana Cristiana vis Unsplash

    The arm is cut open 

    held out by two thin oil stripes. 

    O Doctor a scene familiar enough,

    so how did you Rijn stumble upon 

    a scene so well detailed. 

    Did you go year after year 

    yearning to satisfy the Doctor, 

    the viewer, 

    or yourself Rijn?

    Wishing to peak beyond the veil.

     

    Friends or foe 

    gather near the body, 

    white uneathry pearl oil 

    contrasting O Doctor. 

    A brush stroke creates an imitation 

    cald in a striking black,

    outfit centuries out of date. 

    But who do you wish to be Rijn?

    Doctor or painter,

    Master at the body 

    Or master of the brush,

    Living beyond today.

     

    Does the collar 

    stark white, 

    contrast to the dark hues

    closer to a moral life, 

    Enticing life, 

    One you could not have?

    A doctor painted, 

    morality upstanding in the dried white  

    Rijn, black as O Doctor brushstroke hat 

    hidden behind 

    your debts and wives.  

     

    What could you smell? 

    The linesseed oil, 

    or the rotting flesh? 

    As those peering closer, eyes mear smudges of oil 

    must reel at the decay. 

    But we, 

    behind the velvet rope 

    smell only linessed and chemicals from the polished tiles.

     

    Morals, 

    live in men that peer inside the dead, 

    to satisfy curiosity. 

    No morals, 

    Exist in those 

    who paint the cadaver 

    as a means to procure a legacy. 

    But Rijn, The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp 

    does not live in grand halls 

    of Doctors,

    rather behind

     velvet rope,

    snotty kids,

    and Foot traffic. 

  • Now That You’re Gone

    Now That You’re Gone

    I cannot smell -
    for all aromas have ceased
    without your smoke and cinnamon scent.
    
    I cannot taste -
    for the food turns to ashes on my tongue
    in solidarity with what we had.
    
    I cannot hear -
    for when I listen to the wind
    I am deafened by the absence of your voice.
    
    I cannot see -
    for when I wake my sight blurs
    with tears and visions of your eyes.
    
    I cannot feel -
    for everything inside me is dead
    without your touch to bring it to life.
    
    Like an oracle stripped of prophecy -
    I am lost and senseless without you.

  • Daddy

    Daddy

    Traveling salesman with a heart of gold
    after a decade his love grew cold
    He said -
    "I'm leaving on a jet plane"
    I wondered -
    "when will you be back again?"
    
    A birthday, for Christmas -
    it's cash and a call.
    For year after year -
    it was barely at all.
    A marriage, a job, a home, a wife -
    barely a thought for his former life.
    
    Well -
    I've been turning to bad men -
    mad men -
    scheme weavers, mind reelers, time stealers -
    trying to sell love like a drug dealer.
    
    But I've come to realize -
    I want you to know -
    even though you're seldom there -
    I know that in your way you still care.
    
    I want you to know -
    I'll love you forever wherever you go.

  • Lake Ontario

    Lake Ontario

    There were two, there were once three
    oceans which adjoined the shores of Lake Ontario.
    Our pasts:
    they drank its fresh water and swam together,
    they (they) they.
    
    Lake Ontario,
    two lived on its northern border.
    Where the winters once bit off innocent ankles, where
    we threw the sticks into suspension.
    
    Men will love you: Lake Erie or Lake Superior,
    Lake Michigan, Lake Someone.
    They will love you and you will love them.
    Men will love you, after we laughed.
    After we walked on floating trees, 
    broke up super-still water.
    
    [ Three oceans: you're a Physics professor,
    and you find time to read novels. Your kids have deftly
    learned to feed the cats. You once saw me on a 
    train and I was doing laundry and you thought I was
    sexy. ]
    
    Yours
    was the first face that I saw.
    Yours
    was a freezing open window
    
    Of course, 
    there will be Monday mornings and car trips in the backseat
    and endless Novembers in the Zoo, where little Martin
    tries not to bite at his fingers.
    
    Lake Ontario,
    she lived under your arms. And she lived around your twisting coasts. 
    She breathed the night air and pinkyswore; she loved you like I loved you. 
    She was crying into the endless nocturne, she sung down the windows and whistled. 
    She plays the game where you pretend to be a kid again when noone is watching,
    
    And she (she), she didn't cry with the lowest rains. She stands under a radio tower and yells. 
    She kisses you the night she should have and nothing else has ever happened. 

  • What is Love?

    What is Love?

    Is it a sin to fall too soon?
    when that person made you swoon
    Is it a sin to fall too hard?
    When those hormones catch you off guard?

    Is love a narcotic?
    To merely drive you a craze
    To slowly set your heart ablaze
    And showers you with cold-hard rain?

    Is lust a temptation?
    To make you chase the wind
    To make you break the sails
    Cuz all you wanted was to go all in

    From the three words spoken
    To the two birds in the open
    Out of their eyes and innocence
    The two hands ribbon in entanglements

    Timeless, in a stream
    Many months passed, a lifetime it seemed
    In beautiful dress and gloss
    The groom awaits by the cross
    Where they pledge their undying will
    But naive were they, still

    Paris and honeymoon
    As stellar as one could see
    They soon realize,
    they were never really meant to be…

    From fine wine and dinner
    How they wish they were cuffed in winter
    Alas spring shed its tears, as the masquerades fall
    The skeletal truth reveals, to which they both abhor
    Years passed, from the first kiss to the quarrels
    To debts, calls, family and struggles

    Till she finally gives her way
    and the other goes astray
    The two birds greet a lawyer
    who presents a pen and paper
    Those eyes that have seen love and heaven
    Bloodshot, now see hell and vengeance

    The two birds depart
    left with memories and broken hearts
    They seek for the wise and ponder above,
    To the oceans of stars, they wonder,

    “What is love?”

  • He Taunts

    He Taunts

    Each step is purposeful and calculated.
    The forest seems to remember me,
    almost as much as I remember her.

    But the mountain does not,
    his rocks quake underneath my feet as                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     higher.                                                                                                                                                                                                                    climb                                                                                                                                                                                                                              I

    He tries to throw me off.
    I am no stranger to his changing ways –
    almost predictable now.

    Although he has never liked me,
    I love him.
    Even on the days when I will never win.

    His teasing puts a purpose in my step,
    and invincibility in my heart.
    After I take a tumble, I recover.

    He can only knock me down if
    I let him, and I don’t –

  • Chess Pieces

    Chess Pieces

    Chess pieces in play                                                                                                                                                                                                      We moved slow,                                                                                                                                                                                                              Carefully predicting how it would go 

    Yet, each game granted you a prize.                                                                                                                                                                       You saw all of me before your eyes.

    Games passed by,                                                                                                                                                                                                      And you stopped playing fair.                                                                                                                                                                            Rules were broken,                                                                                                                                                                                                        But you didn’t care.

    The first player I loved was nice and kind.                                                                                                                                                              Yet you turned into Jekyll and Hyde.

    One way with me,                                                                                                                                                                                                      One way with friends.                                                                                                                                                                                                      How did I know what was real?                                                                                                                                                                              Or pretend?

    When the game came to an end,                                                                                                                                                                                And no-one had won,                                                                                                                                                                                                      We both realized,                                                                                                                                                                                                        Our love was done.

    We’re better off,                                                                                                                                                                                                       Living separate lives.                                                                                                                                                                                                      No more games,                                                                                                                                                                                                            No more prize.

  • Just Along for the Ride

    Just Along for the Ride

    Upon enduring the beats of harmony                                                                                                                                                                              I pause,                                                                                                                                                                                                               And commence hypothesizing                                                                                                                         On the probability of my actuality                                                                                                                                                                                  How                                                                                                                                                                                                                   I was moving with conquered industrialization                                                                                          Yet,                                                                                                                                                                                                                        My movement was placid                                                                                                                                                      Or how articulating vowels through pitches                                                                                                                                      Could make me feel nothing but                                                                                                                                                                                      Intoxicating content…                                                                                                                                    Euphoria fills my lungs                                                                                                                                                                                        And                                                                                                                                                                                        For a moment,                                                                                                                                                                                                      I struggle                                                                                                                                                                                  Too distracted with what I do possess                                                                                                                                                                  Nearly spoiling my existence                                                                                                                                                  Until I learn to appreciate                                                                                                                                                                                      This floating rock that has been ridiculed by those who require Luxuriating essence                                                         So many take advantage of the idea of probability and being We forget                                                                                                            How those sensations clasp muscles of                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Utmost                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Pleasure                                                                                                     But who cares?                                                                                                                                                                                   Conversation becomes dull                                                                                                                                                                                  Love: a burden                                                                                                                                                                                                     And satisfaction: out of reach                                                                                                                                       Yet we move forth                                                                                                                                                                                   Convinced that                                                                                                                                                                                         Our love affair                                                                                                                                                                                                                   With nowhere                                                                                                                                                             Will                                                                                                                                                                                                                           And can                                                                                                                                                                                                            Get us somewhere                                                                                                                                                                        Eventually

  • The Living Sky

    The Living Sky

    Hey, past lover.
    I think
    We were two sets of eyes watching same sets of clouds.
    Do you like the sound of that?
    Makes it sound pretty.
    Makes it sound real.

    Hey, past lover.
    I think
    I miss watching these skies with you.
    Did you see last night’s storm?
    Lightning fell like it wanted to be rain.
    Winds rose as if they wanted to crash into Heaven.

    Hey, past lover.
    I think
    We made the right choice in the end, even if it hurts.
    Do you know what I mean?
    Good ideas undone by too much understanding.
    Bad ideas made divine by too great of distance.

    Hey, past lover.
    I think
    Your smiles these days would be more cumulus rather than wispy cirrus.
    Do you think that you are happier now?
    Because I really hope that you are.
    Because I really think that I am.

  • Monkey On My Back

    Monkey On My Back

    I am not sure when, why or how

    But it all feels real now

    This girl is so indescribably mysterious

    And to describe it through fallacy, she’s got me delirious

     

    I will take this chance to remind you that

    There is a cliche

    Of saying that you really can get lost in someone’s eyes

    Or lost in someone’s laughs,

    as you’re kissing on their thighs

     

    And you don’t believe in perfection

    But you’ll adore this affection

    That goes with proving you’re my very own perfect

    And I don’t have any clue how,

    But I will eventually teach you to learn it

     

    And despite you never seeing through my eyes

    I’ll stay lost in yours

    So as you point me to your thighs

    I’ll make you squeal

    Just to remind myself every day

    That holy fuck this is how love feels

     

    And this all goes with the study

    Of your flawless perfect body

    I’m sure they will all just call me crazy

    And they’ll all think I’m a joke

    But you can’t help but smile at all the cigarettes

    that we don’t even smoke

     

    With all the stories we’ve shared

    And all the lessons I’ve took

    I like to think of you as a million pages on an unwritten book

    The hardest part is accepting I will never figure you out

    Even though I promise I could fill a one million page book

    And easily have you be all it talked about

     

    I knew I loved you when your eyes distracted me from the stars

    And you can see this girl is beauty be it on her face or written in her scars

    She’s got me wrapped up like yarn and I’m tied to her fingers

    As it has been a couple days but the smell of sex still lingers

     

    It’s weird to miss our future

    Because I loved to watch it start

    And some won’t see the picture

    But to me we’re making art

     

    And since you’ve been gone

    I have learned to smile when I look back

    Because even though you aren’t there

    There’s still this monkey on my back

  • Infidelity

    Infidelity

     

    I am not
    falling.
    I am not still.
    I am fabricated by false realities
    Your lies settle
    beneath the surface,
    under my skin.
    My heart is peeled,
    sliced into thin slabs of betrayal
    or do you eat it whole?
    Grab onto it with greedy clenched fists
    and take a bite only to spit it out,
    then reach for another.

    How bitter.

    And the cavity resides between my lungs
    sometimes,
    it grows so dark it swallows me
    from the inside
    out.
    no air.

    Other times the emptiness makes me lighter
    and I can float
    away
    from what weighs me down.
    I am air.
    Unpredictable,
    a gentle rosiness kissing
    your cheek or a sharp gust
    that gets caught in your throat.
    When you fall,
    I would wrap around you,
    holding you up from the ground
    and now
    you can no longer grasp ahold of me,
    I slip away.
    Unseen,
    but you will always feel me.

    You will choke because you need me.

    no air no air
    no air.

    I will always be there.

  • Desire

    Desire

    So that’s what it feels like to completely stop
    .
    .
    .
    And think for just a moment: What if they were mine?
    It wasn’t always like this
    They’re just a friend
    My mind won’t stop these thoughts
    I wish it did

    “No you don’t”

  • Swimming Lessons

     

    I do not know how to put
    the happy back in my head
    how to stop the aching
    of my bones
    how to fill the hole
    between my lungs.
    I am a ship
    capsized by a sea
    of loneliness
    and as it takes my breath
    I feel my motivation
    for survival leaving me.
    How will I make it shore?
    I do not think I want to.

    The sun is shining,
    the sky clear and blue
    but I succumb to the waves
    I am too weak to move.
    Perhaps apathy
    is all that is familiar to me,
    for I do not tremble.
    I cannot shake in fear
    as I fear not drowning.
    I am instead inviting Sadness
    to stay,
    to hold me in a way
    I have not learned to hold
    myself, stability,
    familiarity in self-destruction.
    These waves are angry,
    relentless
    and they ebb and flow
    being pulled by my own,
    damned
    stubborn heart

    Why else would I give in so easily?

    I have tried countless times
    to defeat my worst enemy
    I have tried to conquer
    this tenacious part of me
    and I cannot win, Darling,
    precedents show I should sink
    instead of swim.

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