Category Archives: poetry

Imposter

What.

Each meaningless line,
inherently out of context, out of time,
just marks on a page,
only named when needed;
given a value defined by desperate minds,
but worthless absent an observer.

Sometimes,
I can’t see past the scratches,
words I know,
that know me,
look strange and uncalled for;
a line of ships off a virgin shore,
hoisting unfamiliar flags,
smoke billowing from their cannons.

I defend myself with anger,
taking from it that worthlessness,
as if I owned it all along,
falling on that sword.
Surely, the word will make sense in time,
I’ll recognize it;
it, me.

Like crossed eyes finding their place,
I’ll remember its name,
where it came from,
what it is.

Surely,

what.

Hotel Room

An itinerary:
The room empty but echoes
of a voice miles away;
playful with so much space.

A single timid light,
huddled in the shadows,
anxious and dim company,
leaving the room its secrets.

A laugh shared,
some flint and steel,
to ignite the cold fire,
that distance put to embers.

A foreign bed,
eager to be what it is,
but, so often,
too much of what it is not.

There is no knock.

In silence a figure enters,
with confident strides,
and a club in hand,
they cross the sea of darkness,
from the door to the bed.

They beat the man to death,
in but three strikes,
erasing all the moments past,
and all those to come.

There was no fight,
absurdity is its own concussion,
only some bewildered protests,
labored breathing.

On the other end of the phone,
who knows how far away,
a voice asks questions:

“What’s going on,”
“are you alright,”
“can you hear me?”
The things you ask,
when you already know the answer.

For a long time,
they keep asking.
Absurdity is its own concussion.

The Great Escape

Long tendrils languishing in fire
the coarse wind set against us, excites;
in concert, we begin to gossip and conspire.

Would it be best we act at night,
when eyes refuse to see such subtleties,
beneath the somber tones of the moon’s pale light?

Or would the day be enough to appease?
The brighter things keeping errant minds entertained,
just as flowers incite the lust of bees.

Perhaps the twilight hides our greatest gain,
the way it moves, like slurred speech,
what we do then, might seem less insane.

Or, is it that in this, no peace can be beseeched?
whenever, however, we choose to retire-
it is a bitter end we reach.

The Race

To frame a scene you need time,
the theft of which is a crime
for hours are not ours to give;
we live in this paradigm.

We capture all that we can,
like amateur shaky cam,
hoping to fix it in post-
at least for most that’s the plan.

We are not photographers,
nor are we biographers,
we don’t have that kind of view;
closer to cryptographers.

Drowning in information,
searching for causation,
to create more chaos,
or a cross of damnation.

It isn’t until we’re done,
that we can learn the lesson;
leisure is the right response,
but everyone wants to run.

Mother

Was it the Spring;
verdant grass and bicycles,
retreating snow drifts
running?

Was it the Summer;
sun kissed skin peeling like wallpaper,
snow cones and ice cream,
the school year a rising heatwave far
away?

Was it the Autumn;
piles of leaves from dead trees,
restless evenings in costume,
warm drinks and warmer friends,
arriving, though we know not where
from?

Was it the Winter;
snow forts and ice skates,
long sober hills on steel sleds,
Styrofoam clouds of frozen breath,
a mumbling fire near a warm bed?
Was it any one thing or was it
everything?

Just a Chair

Bobby climbed the stairs to look for a chair,
to discover the places where gifts hide,
tall realms where secrets quietly reside.
Mother would caution, “Look not there, beware.”

Bobby’s father, his mother had declared,
carried the chair to the attics embrace,
the darkest nook of the old house’s space.
Sister would oft’ warn, “Look not there, beware.

the bugs that settle there will breed nightmares,”
but Bobby, bold and defiant as can be
brushed off spiders, ants, and worms with no plea.
Though everyone warned, “Look not there, beware,”

Bobby’s daring heart refused to be impaired.
He opened the door with a hint of pride,
only half noticing what was inside,
part of him begging, “Look not there, beware.”

Not glancing up he claimed the lonesome chair,
grasping it by its sprawled and feeble legs,
and tugging it past the ones over head,
while still muttering, “Look not there, beware.”

The commotion startled his mother fair,
she rushed up the stairs towards the vexing sound,
and was devastated by what she found.
No one had warned her, “Look not there, beware.”

She screamed out in fear, grief and despair,
and grabbed Bobby’s face, veiling his young eyes.
stumbling through sobs and anguished cries,
pleading with Bobby, “Look not there, beware.”

Since that dreadful day Bobby only stares,
at his food, his hands, the water’s surface,
even at his father’s funeral service,
he just hushed softly, “Look not there, beware.”

Temperance

Nostrils carved of ice,
the breath slicing through tender lungs,
attacking the warm muscle.

My calves caught
in the maw of my jeans,
like a dogs rubber toy,
no wrenching
or twisting
able to free it;
two layers deep,
in a sandwich of warmth –
hastily readied for the journey,
a school far away at its end.

So I ran.
Slammed the door behind me,
landing on the snow,
not in.

Everything an autumn leaf isn’t,
but landing as they all the same.
I ran, holding my weight like a skirt,
caught in a room of carnivorous formality,
and the snow permitted me upon it.
Having had two days of blistering cold,
beneath bright clear skies.
It was kind and unforgiving.

That threat – I knew.
I ran, and thankfully
never broke through,
I was untouchable.

Barbarians

Monsters pursue us across the Rhine,
like long dead nightmares resurrected,
our own corpses brought to life out of their time,
into ours with a fevered lust for revenge,
to live again.

They tower above the loftiest heads,
as thick as trees with ambitions for the horizon,
not seeing the walls or crowns
built to quench their desire, only what is past them,
beyond you.

When we were those monsters too,
you descended on us as crusaders,
knowing the needs we did not.

You conquered us, subjugated us,
and educated us,
so that we may yet be free,
under your regime
to pursue those needs you made for us.

Now, as they descend upon you, us, united,
our enemy, fast as white capped rivers rage;
we beg for intervention,
grant us now the peace you once denied,
let some part of us survive.