Tag Archives: writing

Fall

The city stretches for miles
from this height it looks like a destination
not a place,
               not a home
nothing out there is discernable
not in any real sense
               you can make out landmarks
               but not their feelings
               not the nuances of being there.

The wind senses my fear
               rises up in jest
                              pushing me toward the edge
my heart lies there too.
               a battle on two fronts
I exchange my hat for a taste of victory
with the blurred streets below
drawn in vaguely violent impressionism.

I reach out over the edge
               to warn it of the dangers down there,
but it ignores this
               falling,
caught in a mad dance with the wind.

I say nothing,
               but my head is cold.

Ra

There is no such thing as sound
in this cold tranquil place
where light is too busy to stop
and every movement is a drop
that could leave you in space
never again to be found

There is no such thing as sound
but you can feel your heart pound
with every mass ejection
that rushes your direction

In this cold tranquil place
the indiscretion of a star
can easily erase
any dreams you had thus far

Where light is too busy to stop
do not find yourself in its way
for there you can not stay
a storm to a nest in the treetops

And now I am space bound
listening for signs of grace
spinning like a damaged top
where light is too busy to stop.
In this cold tranquil place
there is no such thing as sound.

Talk to Corporate

Discover fear
the pain nearby
a dear friend found
on the ground scrapped;
around here they keep us rapt.

We must be scared
no one cared first
prepared for loss
but not cross then
they toss failure – embrace Zen.

Zen is nothing
anything failed
numbing their mind
concede kindly
or find the exit blindly.

Folly follows
and swallows hope
wallows in shame
but the game stays
proclaimed the winner this day.

Harness the pain
bring to reins fear
and gain their vote;
take this note down –
keynotes are heard in breakdowns.

Dialogue 2

“Bring enough change for the ride home
where we go you won’t wish to stay.
Though we leave this place for today
you and I were not built to roam,
it’s not part of our genome.
We go now because we must
but let us not tempt wanderlust.
Our roots will always remain here.
We too will always remain near
until all that we are is dust.”

“You act as if we have a choice.
What we seek is not in this place,
I can see it writ on your face,
I hear the quaver in your voice
why should you not instead rejoice?
The strength we need is within reach
be damned the ideals that you preach.
We move now to greater rewards
let us embark with enthused swords
the courage in you I beseech.”

“We move like branches in the storm
bent with intentions in the air
the winds of another’s despair;
this is what they see of our form
the subtle act we all perform
yet our hearts are deep in the ground,
sheltered from the sights and the sounds.
They would have you find strength elsewhere
but strength will always be right there
when peace deigns to come back around”

No More

There is no place to start anymore
   there is only an ending
      a period to close the time
               where the day falls
               against the wall
               dreaming of doors
               and the name of hope
                  dies in a whisper on its lips

This period is just a long sentence unfinished
   that kept running
               and running
      long after the path had grown over
   stuck in the weeds of an epilogue
      mourning the life of a prologue
               desperately searching for a new beginning.

When the book closes
   There is a cloud of dust
      that the sun lights on fire
               in silence
   the dust settles before nightfall

      The moon is away this evening.

Austin

I need no light to feel your shadow
surely in light it is well defined
but in darkness you are all around me;
I see you better than I see myself

Moments alone with you are savored;
only then can I truly disrobe
shed the skin that I wear throughout the day
and bring to bare the self kept at bay.

I want more for you than I can give
to provide a life fit to live
rather than a long list of tasks
we complete because we are living
to that end I offer my love
it’s ups and downs and subtle motions
the strange and twisting contortions
and the oft abstract expectations,
the unflinching courage to seek this life’s end
with you – my love, my inspiration, my best friend.

Me

I am
     soapstone
     unbroken
     form beneath form

I am not
     marble
     hard work and precision
     thousands of patient chisels

To be sculpted
     is an easy thing
           with only a little love
               and subtle effort

     but to be broken is much easier
          achieved with the slightest carelessness
               and an unyielding intent

Dunning Kruger Effect

An old fisherman casts his line
youthful testaments are biting this day
lost sentiments that keep the years at bay
and soften the pain in his spine,
“soon enough you will all be mine,”
to our detriment this I heard him say
a raspy voice like sediment at play
in the throat where it was conveyed.

He could not see – the hook was lost,
one of weathers mischievous tricks
scattered to the wind like an albatross
the lure now trapped behind a brick
far from the place it had been tossed
this cold weekend when the fog was so thick.

I approached the man from behind
having heard his empty threat to the sea
the absurd claim of dominion irked me,
“Bad luck, your hook is in a bind,”
I said with effort to be kind
though something else was stirred by my decree
as if harsh words instead fought themselves free
attacking the first they could find.

“Fish will bite brick as well as worm
if I’ve learned one thing in my life,”
as if I needed the lesson to learn.
“That must be the source of my strife
I’m sure all these fish I’ve caught can confirm,”
I conceded and returned to my wife.