Easily ignored and forgotten Tiny moments Of not honking your horn not yelling not cursing restrained Being at peace Letting others that swim – go around
Not because your weak or lame or passive because life is better
when you look deep into each other acknowledging were in this together
Its Wednesday and I spent so long today getting utf-8 encoding to work properly from xls –> csv that im going to sleep now
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The room slowly lost its heat A rock cooling down after sunset Music gone, the vacuum of air hums Party cups, fallen friends
The party was over
—
Have to keep the poem small today, just been a crazy week.
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An icicle forming above at the caves entrance slowly as water from some unseen lake had overrun and slithered the water droplets followed one after another falling just past each brother, each sister each clung and held as they fell over the mouth of the cave, holding frozen to top staring downward holding more came tumbling each over the others head until at last no more siblings came and all was still, winter reigned
days in and out each droplet remembered the blue sky, the warm succulent air, those tumbling white clouds each remembered the long falling the joy of finding each other finding a home in the lake full of life fish splashing, flowers lazily doing backstroke grass reeds waving in sober wind then one remembered the spill the cold race down the hill praying not to stop but now its prayer was different
the frozen droplet missed the sky days recycled nights and back again yet each brother and sister held firm as the last until finally one morning
the clouds that hid the sun repented each droplet looked out and remembered the orange the warm glow, the radiant sunlight each felt their bodies warm felt their tired hold release
splick splick splat
each sibling let go laying before the cave the sun rose
each dissipated floating back to the sky together
I hold back a lot of what my mind see's just because I never know what sounds like art and what sounds ill. Even in saying that I don't know what art is. What poetry really is. The words above mean something to me. They help me. But it just feels self serving.
If money is used to quantify skill – I have never made much from writing. It isn't what pays for a subscription to this blog.
Writing feels like an outlet and in that I guess it must be it's own reward
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I woke up in a dream today sitting on an island looking out on a black beach beneath a starlight night
I felt the breeze first then got up and walked towards the break the water nipped at my toes and swirled around my feet
emerald spirals bloomed and white iris's blossomed as I walked away from the shoreline
Behind me, I could feel heat So I let myself turn A single firelight in the distance Growing very quickly
I dove into the darkness As phoenix fire bloomed above
When I lived by the coast, at least once a week id dream a bomb would explode just near the pier. It was never to the extent that you'd see in Terminator 2, but pretty close. Since we've moved more inland, its been nice. Those dreams went away. Now they are replaced by forgetting my mask in a large event or chasing a small child through comic con.
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There is a blizzard in my kitchen I don't know how it started
yellow wallpaper whitewashed powder
tiled floor, an ice rink
my sink ejecting snow in torrents
The wind whips nastily as i march to make my way into the pantry
Someone put penguins in the pantry They don't look surprised In fact they look irritated that the franks red hot is placed so high
Crawling – my eyes stinging from frost I make my way to the fridge Almost a wrong turn, almost lost Frozen shut, I'm pulling
Inside I see the storm Inside a jar of mayo tender artic heart beating
I reach out, a snowball grazes me breaking the jar just in time to see a snowman running eyes of coal ablaze right before impact water
Everywhere
I'm kinda thirsty
Hot day requires a cool poem. Or at least that's what I was going for :)
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The color red tastes like watermelon during a ninety degree summer day each bite; wonderfully quenching heat falling upwards from an overcooked sidewalk
red, is the warmth on your cheek when you were too embarrassed to speak, so instead, you took my hand
red is passion that tastes like a fresh apple sugary tears falling from your lips
Thought I would do a poem prompt that asked you to describe your favorite colors taste. I hadn't ever thought of that. Like how green can taste like a honeysuckle or a lime at the same time. I wonder if that composites over time. When you think of what green tastes, is it all the green melons you've ever eaten. Or more all the mint ice cream.
That was a really fun prompt
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The skateboard wheel met a tiny rock In graduation garb I fell skinned elbow – my drink in hand cursing I got back on the board pushing off flying - the morning before I graduated high school
When I was 18, I really thought it couldn't get any better. I had three very close friends, lots of exciting drugs and independence right around the corner. Little did I know that that independence wasnt what I thought it would be. Only a week after I graduated I would be dropped off in the desert. At a transitional housing apartment. With a huge klonopin hangover.
That place gave me time to “sober” up. Alone, in a studio apartment with a black and white television. A greened leather couch. I remember doing nothing. Writing a little bit in a journal realizing for the first time in my life. I was 'free'. I tried to take everything in.
The cars that went by. I hadnt realized the smoke inhalation would be so bad from an active street.
The sounds of my upstairs neighbor getting plowed because she took in guys from the aforementioned active street.
The older man who would sit outside my apartment, waiting for me to come out so he could bum a smoke.
It was the transition I loved and miss.
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I fell from my body today while laying on a bed
I fell through the mattress quickly finding myself gliding into the floor
I felt the house as one all the people inside gentle heartbeats
I am my home, the sunlight beating me the shadows healing me the currents of electricity flowing water all fill me
Someone has come knocking I instinctively protest Hoping they'll go away
However I feel myself unlock forced to open up
I opened my eyes then As my children come to tell me the neighbors want to play
Another week that's rolling by. I'm hoping to get out of the house a little more this week. If just to enjoy the lack of smoke.
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A body hanging Swirls blossom with each drop Blood falls, the pool grows The ground hungrily suckling
She was gone The lady of silver... She told me what it was I had to do For now, I took her strength I stood for the first time in years
Staring up at the clear starlight sky I roared in triumph
seven days, seven bodies for the silver lady I had to hurry
Each night I see the crimson strings Hover lively in air begging me too follow how I wish I could just once walk beside them see where they spool somewhere at the end
It really is weird seeing snow falling after fires burned so strongly this weekend. We had so much ash and now this. A picture perfect November day in September. I'm happy for it.
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Laughing is like rolling down a hill So much easier to do in youth When time and teeth haven't sunk in
Even moments of excitement With each repetitious year draining them of color
Those clear days Replaced by news Endless sicking distorted stories
I want it back Not just my age
I want back the comfort of walking through an empty parking lot
Or staring at empty fields Now just more apartments
Maybe turning on a television To see someone finally cured cancer
Im very cold right now. Weather here dropped and its amazing.
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