September 7th, 2008
Your question was lost on me today, so I left you hanging.
I saw a picture of you for the first time in years, and I am pleased at your decline.
The time away has been so good, and I’m glad that I have the higher ground.
You don’t have a place in here anymore; more days than naught travel by without my mind mentioning your memory, I am pleased at my forgetfulness.
You turn to dust.
Filed under: memories, poetry | Tags: bad poetry, crappy poetry, stream of conscience
September 6th, 2008
You wish you had this… this life, and this love, but you are too young, too blind to see how fragile and how perfect it is. I walked through the halls of that broken down, closed up building and I didn’t find your ghost, the one you left behind, the one you refused to take with you. Back north you traveled and you were gone forever. Or so I thought. And you crept back to say hello, but not upright, never standing straight and I left without waving goodbye, just left in a confusing silence. Was that my triumph?
You went to the place you knew, where you were raised, the pain and the acceptance. I stood my ground and waited for the next ride, the next step down. These radio waves carry nothing now, dead air, white noise. And it started that night I left you waiting. I know that wasn’t right, it never could have been after what we did, what we did to each other, how I felt all those years. I took that bus from the junction and didn’t take in, really take in what I found. It was never there, it was always in the field we ran through blindly, with only our faith… where was that place, I can’t remember anymore. Did I triumph there?
I wonder about the life you lead now? I don’t question your decisions, or the love you feel, but I wonder where your inspiration has gone. Do you still feel the same way you did, I mean when the house is silent and the snow is falling and all are fast asleep? Are you left with the gentle demons of your past, do they let you go or do they haunt you in the night? What feels real to you, what if life is just passing you by, do you even stop to question one from the other? And it’s okay if you never do, that may just be your triumph.
August 26th, 2008
A bad teen movie
Bookmarks
Friendships gone awry
Loosened shoe laces
Bright green and black
The swift wind tumbling through the yard
Look up
See the sky filled with fear and coming of the storm
He walks the path outside our door, I see it again and again, the dreamlike memory never leaves me
Always leaving
I am 14 now
August 25th, 2008
Wash it down with something bitter
something foreign
I’m not done with you
not left out or forgotten
Where are the words you should be saying to me?
You are silent, silently waiting for me to break.
You don’t even remember that first time you said those words to me…
Caution and warning signs.
I will fall again tonight, wondering where you are.
Sleeping with your shadow, your arms around me, wondering who you are.
And do the lines continue, dusted out of reflections and narrow escapes?
You shouldn’t step out on that edge, but it may be the only step you can take.
August 21st, 2008
It glows against his face
The light from the sun dying behind the horizon of far off places
There are mysteries here, unfamiliar corners in the buildings, structure of his heart, crossing paths and dead ends
Take the car, take the road, take the thousands of miles away from here and find the answers
You run but you aren’t running fast enough, never could, not in your dreams anyhow
Wonder if you can in this life, or any life, in his life
Seeking what he holds and think that maybe it is what you left behind all of those years ago
Was that the secret passage, the paved road, the right way, the one way
Or was it lost, is it forgotten, or was it never picked up, like endless ringing, or dead letters, or series of missed interpretations
Now it’s dark
The sun will rise again, and his silhouette will disappear from your mind, his footprints covered over and the sun will glow warm again
(observations from 05.02.07)
August 18th, 2008
Oxygen tank, limping body
Dragging your weight with me
Please speak loudly, time took away the sound
Scream at me with your eyes
1917
Your mouth is moving but there are no words, he speaks to himself and leaves her out of it
“We’re not really into each other anymore”
Reading the pages of a second hand yellowed forgotten romance
Jeweled technology, sickeningly sweetened fingers grabbing wheel chair spokes, brace yourself, you’re dying
Crowd widens
Door swings open and shut, no one remembers Virginia Miles
August 17th, 2008
You were the quiet desperation
Pieces like skeleton keys and blank cassette tapes, useless
I need the pills that drown out the sound of your voice, harmless
I am screaming anticipation
Little dents in the structure will crumble the foundation, split up the middle
From being beat and beat and beat, in rhythm and out of sync
She is the empty salvation
Faceless, nameless because time strips away the labels, forgetful
He is the nightmare inside your silence, relentless
Filed under: poetry | Tags: bad poetry, crappy poetry, stream of conscience
August 16th, 2008
Somewhere between not knowing and not caring, that is when I met you. I wasn’t running anymore, you were standing still and letting the world pass you by, letting it all slip away. I’m not talking about the things you knew, or were, I’m talking about the people who touch you and you don’t care. You can’t care, because you aren’t really there. I can’t expect these words to hit you the way yours hit me, yours came crashing in and settled down so gently almost like they weren’t making any sound. And how can they, you’re so young, or at least you were then. I’m not talking about you, and you think I am… I haven’t been because you’re not even listening and you never have been, you’re not capable of hearing. I pass through your life like a cold, something you get over, but don’t even really notice is gone. You just realize it’s easier to breathe.
Filed under: love, memories, poetry | Tags: bad poetry, crappy poetry, love
August 14th, 2008
The dishes rest on their shelves untouched, the front door shut and bolted,
No sound.
Quiet, the hum of cars passing disappear, the birds are perched far in the distance,
No song.
Papers, letters, keys and tokens on the table with your things,
No souvenir.
The curtains drawn slightly, shoes and clothes left in a moment,
No season.
In this moment, there is nothing.
