Monthly Archives: July 2021

The Art of Time Travel

Let us just assume they are entangled,
all the particles within your body
mirrored by another as yet obscured,
for definition will find them strangled.
This form is your new future embodied.
Such speed and distance bends space in contours,
the two forms become unaligned in time.
This is when to become the one copied
if you have lived long enough to endure
and let suicide be your final crime
and cure.

Breanna

Her will to grow, intrepid
as I’m sure you’ve concluded
from all that she’s completed
and what that has included

to become this young woman
and follow her compunction;
climb each rung in succession
in a blur of ambition.

Her laugh is infectious,
a disarming politeness
and a sense of injustice
an alarming forthrightness.

Let the world accommodate
all that she can contemplate
without any caveat
Let her greatness emanate.

Harvest

True love is draws from deep within;
where quiet thoughts can now begin
and extracted from the mind
like ripe fruit pulled off the rind
to be shared with one who is starved
and set their mind to be carved;
the rough edges citrus-hewn
leave you shaped by love’s sharp tune.
Both parties give and they take
yet each for the other’s sake
and both become their better
sharing these adaptive fetters.
For love unshared will only spoil,
never to seed life’s fertile soil,
but when such fruit shares its prize
that bounty balloons in size
and those who are this way fed
find that good health lies ahead;
their convictions will harden
and they plant fertile gardens.

A Shotgun for Last Place in the One Horse Race

It’s hard sometimes to keep control
when the world comes to collect it’s toll,
but the world is such a massive thing
once its intent gets into full swing
because the world is more than it was
drifting from orbit to a new cause.
A harnessed thing with a barbed bridle,
the world gallops towards a false idol.
In time the world will get what it wants
and we will be the ones whom it haunts;
for once it has died a thousand deaths
the world will scream with its last breath,
“the world that birthed you can be no more
all life was sacrificed for this war,”
and the jockey will exclaim with joy
as it makes another world its toy.
But for now this world is tough to bare
as a parasite on a small square
filled to explosion with all its fruit
force fed in spite of the worlds dispute
so the jockey can address the world
with its long fiery cloak unfurled
and an old salt lick in its right hand,
the whip readied should the world demand,
“Woe to the world that has suffered such,
curse these people who asked for so much.”
Both parties will take from me their need,
though surely by now I am poor feed.

Evelyn

I’ll not sing this song again,
I only remember it lazily,
Something that both has and has not been
Floating further away, listlessly.

There was tension between us,
Hidden hearts in shadows reaching.
Though we were outwardly callous,
Some things go on without speaking;

Until at last they don’t.
Of course the song still exists,
If asked to sing it, I won’t,
Because despite all this, the feelings persist.

Love may atrophy at cruelty’s whim,
But it lasts forever, this phantom limb.

A Sense of Purpose

Crash
an impact
felt
heard
something else;
a sense of knowing,
like a phantom limb backwards.
The mind feels the time
though the time is not there
until it is.
Then…
Crash
and you’re in it
but you’re also not.
outside the body is
another sense.
a sense of self.
Your mind coddles the body
through all the trauma
shushes your cries to muted drama
lost beneath a sea of reality,
pain like bubbles surfacing
popping
merging invisible,
while the mind puts it all in a bag
and sets it aside.
This is not the time.
The tide rushes at you with violence,
and…
Crash
Things break and bend
in contortions unending
as if limbs and joints
all scattered in different directions
to escape the aggression
but found that they were bound
to a body that could only yield
by breaking
and then…
Crash
You are hit with the sense of ending.

An Opening Closed

A turmoil lay beyond this door,
I can feel it.
Like a quenched sun in a small cage;
a dim rage lit.

The threshold hungers for my feet
to have them cross
but the door for now remains closed,
their supposed loss.

Perhaps my presence is enough
existing here,
pressed against the grain with my weight;
like bait, I fear.

But it seems I must make the attack first,
turn the handle
become consumed by the beast held
a quelled candle.

For now the door must remain shut
while I stand fast
against the wood and sounds that seethe;
I breathe my last.

Ivory

One time I glistened,
when I was christened,
for all who listened;
brilliant sounds!

Music wept from me
trapped in chords – set free!
Become melody
Beyond all bounds.

Many impressions
writ like confessions
were my possessions;
my life expressed,

as their dreams, made noise
with deft fingers poised
to share hidden joys;
sadness repressed.

Unmoved, I changed hands.
Shift, like wind sept sands
brought into new lands;
now less fertile.

Still; the passion grows
when we come to blows
yet both of us know
love lost, just guile.

Time brings with it dust
from a lack of lust
but no loss in trust
I wait, dismayed.

My heart has no choice
only this soft voice
that would once rejoice
though now; unplayed.