Ravenna, Ohio    1989 -   
J.M. Romig is a storyteller who tells stories in many different ways - through writing poetry, plays, and other things like that. He is always writing something new and always finding new ways to write.

If you want to contact him visit his facebook page www.facebook.com/thecatalystpoet or follow him on tumblr ( destinationdetour.tumblr.com)
J.M. Romig is a storyteller who tells stories in many different ways - through writing poetry, plays, and other things like that. He is always writing something new and always finding new ways to write.

If you want to contact him visit his facebook page www.facebook.com/thecatalystpoet or follow him on tumblr ( destinationdetour.tumblr.com)
JM Romig
JM Romig
7 days ago

Two hours till Kentucky-
The world is on fast-forward around us
The side of my forehead is flat
against the passenger side window
Trees crowd behind guardrail for miles - 
protesting highway pollution.

Two hours till Kentucky -
On the eighth round about this CD.
about around the fifth listen, songs began to blend into one another, morphing into ambient noise
that filled the empty moments between conversation
and the struggle against waves of tempting sleep.

Two hours till Kentucky-
I pause the song to explain
the biographical significance
of a particular lyric.
You're too focused on
the nerve-wracking traffic to indulge me.

Two hours till Kenricky-
My seat reclined, I am watching the clouds
creeping briskly across the sky
through the panorama of the windshield -
a silent movie.

Two hours till Kentucky -
an eternity of moments
gone as soon as they happen.
Evaporating into the air

We'll be there
in no time.

JM Romig
JM Romig
Dec 31, 2014      Jan 1

Meet me, once again, at the breakwall
where we will spend time sitting
reminiscing about times we spent wishing
on a sinking star for more time to spend.

Let’s go fishing for our selves
in snapshots of past lives
and see if we can find,
in this murky water of nostalgia,
some kind of definition.

We will quest forth, finding more questions
than answers, and accepting them
with a peaceful resignation
we could never have in our raging youth.

I’d talk about how
we used to debate
with our words
carved into primitive weapons
for savage discussion -

To win arguments with each other
doing battle for days
not realizing that language
was not evolved for the purpose of combat
but rather, the opposite.

We’d watch the waves wash ashore
all the places and people we’d been
all the bits and pieces of past tragedies
will lay before us
like a thousand-year-old shipwreck.

We will laugh together
the way you do,
when you see the heavy black clouds
storming off toward a distant somewhere
and they seem smaller somehow
less frightening.

You’d say something about how
we were the most obsessed with our mortality
when we were furthest from ever facing it.

And we’ll sit there for a while
just thinking about that.

JM Romig 2014
#poetry   #the   #jm   #romig   #sqeuel   #breakwall  
JM Romig
JM Romig
Dec 23, 2014      Dec 25, 2014

He is a makeshift scarecrow
filled with crumpled up first drafts
of love notes
kicked through cobwebs that linger
in the long forgotten corners
of old classrooms.

She is an island of kindling -
bits and pieces
of broken bottles, crumpled-up newspaper
and other things tossed out
into the ocean
forced to swim, wet
and freezing, forever gathering,
to form a huddled mass of leftovers
longing to be set on fire.

They are a collage of poorly taken polaroids
of strangers
in waiting rooms
with fingers knotted in prayer
or tedium -
held together by masking tape and pushpins
on a well-loved corkboard

I am a tightly sealed mason jar
full of captive fireflies,
pillbugs, caterpillars and moss
and not enough air holes in my lid.

I fear these things will die inside of me.

and you,
you, too, are a mason jar
but you are full of brightly colored
off-brand jellybeans
with a thick black question mark
painted on your face.

#poetry   #poems   #found   #objects   #jm   #romig  
JM Romig
JM Romig
May 18, 2014

Church bells.
That's my first memory.
Waking up to the sound of church bells
with a rawness in my throat
and stiffness in my cheeks
that could only come
from crying myself to sleep the night before

The sun is leaking through the window binds,
painting the entire room this muted sepia
corraling much of the sunlight into a few distilled beams
that spotlight dust and dead skin
waltzing in the air

I haven't the faintest clue about what
or why I'd been crying -
just laying there
overwhelmed with great relief
like a mausoleum was lifted from my chest
and I was taking my first breath in months

I want to say it was a Sunday
I always want to say it with conviction
but that might just be the church bells
which I've heard
ring every day

#first   #poem   #poetry   #art   #memory   #sepia  
JM Romig
JM Romig
May 9, 2014

be still - do not blink
I can’t wait to remember
this moment with you

one hundred kids drown -
Community is canceled-
what a sad world!

face lit by the screen
empty head, so full of thought
digging for some truth

aimlessly driving
through a beautiful landscape
made ugly by roads

  Reposted by JM Romig  ·  May 8, 2014
Charles Bukowski

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.

JM Romig
JM Romig
May 7, 2014

This morning,
I swallowed the entirety of everything,
swallowed it in one swift gulp.
washed it down with a tall glass of Milky Way.
I was ready to greet the day,

But everything gave me gas
that (knotted up inside me) sang
so I let it out with a big bang --

and watched the particles disperse
to form themselves into a universe
with me at the center -
on my throne,
self-appointed king of this nonsense poem

 
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