Tag Archives: poet

Out of Rhythym

All my memories in a box filled with tears and laughter
It’s magical and mournful
As I stand here empty and fearful of what comes after

It’s all gone, but I’m stuck here
In between yesterday and tomorrow
feeling sadness and fear

I can’t be here now with my body and soul
No matter how I try I’m trapped
A fragmented existence neither present or whole

Some say slow motion, or maybe surreal
This space isn’t now
And doesn’t seem real.

I speak in sentences I watch float away
With memories of tomorrow
fearing yesterday

I hear those voices
whispering in my mind
Sometimes they’re yours
And others are mine

So together we’re lost in time
No rhythm is safer
Than living a rhyme

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Morning Street

Asphalt sighs in the stillness, sweating an acrid mist not even the birds chirp for. Cats dart from darkened corners chasing prey or each other as dogs let out the one obligatory bark.
You can hear the rumble as the one lone truck in the distance reverberates through the fog. As it gets closer the staccato sound mixes with the hum of rubber and asphalt. The splash of tires shattering the rainbow of grime along puddles of water collecting in the troughs has a wet feeling.

Then the first horn of the day reminds us it’s morning as we drive into the sound of traffic and lose a day.

Angela

I’ll write till I die with a pen in my frozen fingers and never find the words to express how anguish pales in comparison for how I feel about missing your childhood.

It’s past sad into a realm where violence is emotion, not an action. I feel the lighting strike my soul at what we lost on my account. I’ve spent years thinking and erasing the futility of my pain, it’s selfish, but hopelessly true.

I have no right to your sadness or forgiveness. I fell aimlessly grasping at what could have been while I free fell through memories only I share. On the other side of the veil I screamed at smoke figures of impossibility.

I’ll always be stuck in that space with your memory. The images are no longer important, the feelings are what haunts me. Indiscriminately they strike like streaks of lighting across the ocean between us, and I wonder if you see, or even look anymore.

I know it’s just selfish pain looking for broken souls in the darkness of past storms. I know you’ve tasted the sunshine of life and I watch now from afar as you soar through darkness and light seeing sunshine and moonlight with the same joy; and then I wonder if your journey ever really included me. Maybe I was just part of the scenery along your path to a higher journey.

It’s here I understand the age old adage, “if you set something free…..”. You may never return, and if that path is too dark, I’ll continue to look for you in the light of day and night knowing I once held the most precious thing in the world, my child, and now she is free!

Modern Madness

Truth is real as reality is true
For those who enquire
Bidding ignorance adieu

To move along in the realm of subjection
Denying what is objective
Is a grammatical prison

So move past the post modern
Into a new reality that’s old
As the books you burn
Where truth is real and told

This ain’t no microdot mishap
With melting doors and walls
Oozing memories like sap.

It’s that one exception that gives you away
The one I have to ignore
To believe what you say

That’s the point of no return
For sanity and coherence
The truth of you
And a trail of ignorance

Echoes, Shadows, and Words

Words create shadows of meaning that echo through our soul
So what is unspoken suffocates
Our thoughts exacting their toll

Sentiments hang in the balance like branches in mid winter
Cracked and clattering gray like old bones that dry and splinter

Are words felt better than said, like a winters breeze
Or heard without a listeners ear with burdens to ease

Like screaming in the wind at dusty crossroads
The crow sits stolid on wires of irony with eyes that forebode

Can you really hear me in all my seasons and glory
Or do you listen with your beliefs creating your own story

I’m not you to create like summer sand castles in the sun
Spending hours dreading shadows and the tides that run

I’m constant like the mirage between you and the horizon
Melding into mountains and asphalt giving you pause to question

I see your intention like hail raining down on a crystal lake
Your words glisten with an edge that cuts for your sake.

But from here I walk alone through forests and time
No worries or words for a world with no rhythm or rhyme

I leave you behind just beyond the echo of my footsteps
Leaving clouds of dust where tears fell in earnest.

Family Myth

Family is an agreement that love is paramount, time is precious, and honesty transcends self.

Blood is not thicker than water, it’s made of water and flows freely together. Water is the essence of life that beats through our veins and fuels emotions to sweeter heights. Without water we have no pulse.

Absence does not make the heart grow fonder, commitment makes the heart beat towards the memory and hope of another, loyalty minus the exceptions.

Without water blood coagulates, it ceases to flow. A heart that beats dust leaves ashes to fall, and withered limbs reaching for a love without color.

So now I’ve learnt to create moments, behind memories and just beyond hope I feel with my heart as my hands lay silent, ever looking for that moment words pulse with color.

My heart beats in all directions like a starburst reaching out to darkness, or disappearing into the light. No matter though; I can always close my eyes or look at the sun in memory of us, because family beats in our heart and rests in our mind.

Gathering Ghosts

Some days I feel like a haloed reaper. I carry memories and tears like wings on a gargoyle. Frozen outstretched emotions of guilt that no longer feather air. Just a concrete memory that I wish I could paint back to life.

It’s time that ticks off the emotions. Weather, seasons, darkness all come like lightening. Unexpected flashes of childhood folly or adult dramas playing out as a reminder. I wonder at the places they’ve traveled in spirit; do they know?

I wonder if life in spirit is more colorful than life in body. Does pain dissipate like myst in the spirit, or does it choke you like smoke. Are you smiling down on my naïveté or cynical about my faults. Either way you speak to my understandings in a way I can’t describe and you can’t communicate.

These friends of mine aren’t “up there”. They’re everywhere I remember. Breakfast tables, playgrounds, even the train tracks we romped. I listen to us on the radio and silently hope you would approve, but in the end I am reminded you had your own ghosts.

So to carry these people and places around is an honor. I’m still here creating my ghost. Hoping I can leave the trace of an unknown smile, or a tear in a rear view mirror. I hope I can create a space where yesterday and today come together without the burden of tomorrow. A space where my loved ones can carry with them a moment in the sound of rubber in asphalt. Until then, I’ll carry Ya’all in the summer breeze and winter storm with the same warmth you’ve given me.