Push ourselves to the point of exhaustion
time lapses of people passing colors scattering past
the rhythm of getting to the edge and turning back
in brief moments our short comings will interact; remember
retreating thoughts as beds sail with a restless mass
dawn breaking through the windows
want to shut the eyes even tighter
why do we do this to ourselves
Life going up flights of stairs too many missed steps,
too many cares,
Life going down the same repetitive staircase, when
you get to
the top or bottom,
you in the face?
Go ahead tell it to the mountain of concrete,
Go ahead break out the map and compass,
don't get pompous,
find a way through the concrete jungle,
hey you might find the treasure or bungle,
you did it, better than expected, sing a duet with Frank, while the rest
tank the results,
touching the frigid corpse
of a loved one,
time to say good-bye
of more shame,
WHY can't the stairway to heaven be found
all there is to walk on, is down and down,
wanting to climb out of the basement for a change,
wanting to climb onto a roof top and sing a refrain,
needing to sing a Hallelujah, from the gut
still it never gets beyond but...
dancing is out,
singing is a bust,
leave enough ink to write with
words covered in rust,
that flakes and falls
like snow gone old,
so no story gets told.
Another day on the gravy train, the office is closed for Another Day,
in a bad way, so,
"So won't you stay, a little bit longer"
she turns to walk away,
"please please say that you will"
the shape and shadow grows smaller
as the pit in my stomach grows more hollow,
That moment, lasted only a moment,
now emptied out.
She couldn't stop throwing things out.
First, the this's & that's
her husband would not even notice:
old bras & panties,
buttons & bobby pins,
cans of okra and baked beans.
Her lens homed in
on stray packs of condoms, mooshed tubes of toothpaste,
china cups, slightly chipped on their rims,
a scrabble board missing its vowels.
Couples gone single:
one candlestick, one earring, a three-fingered glove,
a single darned sock,
one rubbery shoe.
She made one complete pass
from attic to basement,
then started all over again.
The designer tags her mother had chosen,
too loose when she looked
in her elegant floor-length mirror.
Parts of her functional world were next:
things for holding & measuring:
bathroom scales, adding machine,
the silver decanter & some of the silver.
Then even that floor-length mirror.
Noise was easy:
the telephone & stereo & especially the TV
set curbside one rainy day for Good Will.
On a third or fourth pass
a delicious silence was hers.
When she turned to the essentials
she knew she was on
an irreversible roll:
tampons & washcloths,
beds & plates,
the credit cards they lived on,
the pens & computer
that made up her mind,
the half-eaten bottles of Prozac.
Coins, first foreign mementos,
Europe, pre-euro, tossed in a bowl,
then jar upon jar
of pennies & dimes.
Things others had saved
were next on her list:
her grandmother's shower cap, for instance.
Things that reminded her
of what she couldn't hold onto.
photos & love letters,
beginnings of poems,
stale & spent.
Even her bookshelves
went Spartan & bare. She kept Joyce,
she kept Gluck, she kept Marquez & St. John,
until the fewest words possible were left.
When she was at a loss for much else,
she tossed Bitten the cat
because of her penchant for eating too much
& not being able to stop.
She cut her long, straight, luminous hair,
chewed her nails down to the quick, went on a fast,
lost pounds she couldn't spare, even her
pubic hair had to go.
Her husband, just getting in from work,
a look of relief on his face as he noticed his wife
wasting away, thinking they could finally start over.
"At last," he said,
his coat & hat still balanced on her arm,
a single mote-filled ray of light,
slipping across the empty room, slicing them in two.
"You're next," she said,
handing them back.
Tuesday afternoon construction projects,
i am framing an argument,
holding my hammer white
If I had a hammer,
I'd hammer in the morning...
i would hammer the love between us all,
helping clarify between
getting what you want
and having what you get.
i would hammer it's face
till i was breathless,
standing at the left of what is right,
writing about what is left.
Can most of us tell the difference anymore?
Don't answer that...
you can't. You don't know how.
Don't speak to me about love,
or how if you don't have it
you will surely die from
neglect or razor slashes from
your own hand.
You would end the same if
you had what you thought
it was, because it isn't
that at all.
Pausing for a reaction
A hateful acknowledgement of my actions
Jangling your nerves
For each and every infraction
I push the buttons
To a dangerous ledge
Forcing you closer and closer
To the cliff's edge
Happily for filling to my death a pledge
I push the buttons
Comes a loving embrace
Then retrieve from my memory
Thoughts better erased
The time in my life
Sequence of events
They gave way to my now favorite pastime
I push the buttons
A puppet helpless you will dance
Never again allowed the chance
To have a life without the shadow of a cloud
Prodding and poking
I shall never cease
The humming of my plastic keys
Who cannot believe
What lies on the other side
There will be no peace
My appetite for revenge will never be filled
So I push the buttons
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S517(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
When all of my words are said
and there's nothing left to say
from the long nights of decisions
neither of us were ready to face
or the early mornings i sat and thought
and tried to contemplate
whether or not I should end it
If the sunset had something else to say.
Should I just wait for the stars to convince me we're right
if i know the sun will convince me otherwise?
You held my hand
and gave me space
told me you'd wait if waiting
is something I'd fake
And I won't lie
I'll probably miss you every night
But by the time the sun comes up
and burns my eyes
I'll remember why I decided we aren't right.
Either way, I'll push what i want aside
because its not fair to you
that I can't make up my mind.
So I'll end it now
while I still can
tell you that I feel nothing
not even when you're squeezing my hand
And when the sun goes down
and all that I'm left with are the stars
I'll hold myself back from calling you
Because I've seen how this all ends
And I'm not ready to watch it begin