Thursday, September 17, 2015

Home

There is no quiet, there is no quiet,
Always something on. A game,
My father's monologue about
The way work is going,
Mob ties, NFL fantasy drafts.
There is the patio,
Where in the distance I hear the hum
Of highway travel, and the trees,
Riddled with chirping things I cannot see.

The air is thicker here, with a heavy
Blanket covering me. I retreat outdoors.
I do not watch sports, and I'm lost in
Most of the common speak.
I am a loner, here at home. They don't
Mind, at least I don't think.
Still there's all this noise. Always.

Like in spring and fall, when I open
My windows to let the air in-
Endless cars go by. Trucks, fast bikes,
Sirens. There's always so much noise...
Still, it's funny. Given good silence,
Though a rare thing,
And all I want is to hear something
Out there again. To know I'm not alone.

Monday, September 14, 2015

Part 2

It was that there I found a little peace.
I remember a decision; one so great
That it would shake the very foundation
Of which I'm made. I sat first on the
Crest of a small hill. In my childhood,
I would sled upon it and feel that cool
Beauty scar my face for hours, even after
I would come home, tired and occupied.

I sat and remembered, so vividly, the time
I took in my hand a green leaf, to
Signify the moment I chose you.
I was scared, perhaps frightened by
The idea of your wake, but I tell you,
I didn't want to miss out for a moment
In what it could do.
And now all those years, and all
The adventures I had in that place...
Well, they just don't stack up to
Your arms over your knees preaching
And asking for my hand for once.

You could say I took it for granted.
For that, I'm sorry.
But the green grass beckons my step,
And I descend to a place where
So many things occurred in passing.
Where I first leapt at life, in a most
Awkward way. My favorite things
Were tall trees and stars. I was
Simple then. Didn't grieve, didn't ask
For a price to give. I just became.

I stopped at a picnic table and lit a
Cigarette. I watched the sauntering
Smoke rise, relative and real from my
Hand, mimicking the notions of my
Thoughts and actions. I smelled the
Burn from my adolescence linger,
And I realized that it's all bullshit.
Life is what you make it, only don't
Lie to yourself too much and you'll
Probably stay upright and welcome.

I know that day approaches. I can see
Little light peering through thick
Curtains. And soon I will awake,
Coffee in hand, back porch for the black
Cup with a smoke. I forget my hard work
In the head that swears I'm
Doing it wrong. I should have abandoned
It long ago, but I'm stubborn, quite
Possibly insane, and yet I remain;
To kill time, I'm afraid.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

Part 1

"You've got a good head on your shoulders,
You just need to work on the heart thing." An
Old man said to me, as I talked briefly with him
On a cool autumn evening,
Sun brisk and fading thick behind quiet trees nearly
Empty from the wind and general change.
I walked many long hours, searching for what everyone
Wants, an answer, an affirmation; sublimated freeing
From the present stance of little knowledge...
That kind of stuff takes time, so I kept pace with tumbling leaves gliding lazy across wet walking paths around a shallow lake.

That night I had a dream. I was at my old elementary school, watching a little boy shooting hoops at a short court. He wasn't very good, but he looked happy, fumbling with the ball and running about, nimble and lithe. I asked him if I could join, and he threw me the ball and said, "shoot one." We played three games of horse, and he won two, with his signature backwards shot from ten feet away. Afterwards we sat a while and talked. It was getting dark. The overhead light, white and humming loudly, beam above us, with a growing collection of bugs surrounding it's ominous glow.

I sat on a small set of steps next to the court, the boy on his basketball. I asked him if he should be getting home, and he said that he shouldn't leave me alone this late. It struck me as funny, but I simply nodded in appreciation. He asked me where I was going, and I said I didn't know. I told him about my back porch, and long nights that come with leaving home. I told him about cats, and that love is beautiful but it can break you. I spilled my entire life for the past twelve years to him, all the while he sat on his basketball, leaning back and forth, with his elbows on his knees, holding his face in his hands, seemingly not listening, not a care in the world to him.

After I finished my dialogue there was a brief silence, then the boy stood up, bounced his ball a few times, then held it, looked at me and smiled. He said, "you've got a good heart, you just need to get your head straight". Then he walked across the playground, fading finally between two fences that opened up to an alley leading away. I stood up, walked around the court a few times, then carried on in the opposite direction, to a little park in a small valley between big houses low lit.

Tuesday, September 08, 2015

Young and golden,
He got a prize of beauty,
And felt the gaze often
Upon him. Then I came by,
Caught those eyes,
And maybe took her away.

Young and lazy,
The love I had I'd had so long,
So long I forgot to water it proper.
Then a boy came by,
Caught her eye,
And then she went away.

Old and blue,
Busy too long with
All you do, don't think too hard.
Probably a reason it broke.
Maybe the soul is singing.
I hear echos and choral lull

Rake grooves in my heart
To be filled by momentum
Towards a greater light.
A good man thinks long.
A good man's charge is brief.
He will fall, fail, and ignite sometimes,
But now and then he shines.

Monday, September 07, 2015

Bright light brimming,
In the deep black places,
What are you doing?
You're supposed to ignore
The fool in the back,
Quiet and unsure. Not
Worth it. Not to be considered
For the time to take your
Eyes in full, with sharp gazes that
Kind of hurt my chest
And cause a slight shortness
Of breath.
You worry me...
For how you'll affect my life.
For how I'll affect yours.
Of course, I could be off.
Probably nothing anyhow.
One-sided flutter of hopeful wings.

Saturday, September 05, 2015

Television age.
Read something, I dare you.
Pick that brain for potential
To be right without an instant index.
I guarantee you'll do well;
We retain much more then we think.

You know, all the tools to open up,
To be recognized as real as you are
Still exist, but it's
Persona grata. You gotta give yourself
To someone else. Not just a glow;
Not just a happening elsewhere.
No wonder people are so fucking lost.

Ok, this is a collection of thoughts,
Taken as they fall from me.
Maybe the point is that we denigrate
The idea more and more to be real
And straightforward with one another.
Maybe that's just my fight.
Perhaps I'm a boat without harbor.

You see white sand;
I see another place I shouldn't dock.

Thursday, September 03, 2015

Bright star, distant mirror,
I hear the whirl of your wake stir
Deep and heady thought;
I feel you but I don't understand.
Can't stop, even when
The bright light grows dim,
And I wipe the sweat off my brow,
Thinking all too much
That there is something bigger...
Some vast expanse, some use
For this glance high above
My current circumstance.
I crave the fruits of this world,
But I'm too reticent, afraid of change
And to lose all of the
Acceptance that I've gained.