I had so many chances
to give us a chance
I past you in the hallways so many times
but I shuffled by casually
and pretended you were just another boy
when you most certainly were not
oh no, not to me.
We conversed with our eyes
and they told me enough to know
that you wanted me too
I knew, oh I knew
but on that last day
I made a most detrimental mistake
and instead I decided that my nerves
were worth more than my heart.
-cc
Pink lips, and the flowing of hair.
Flesh on flesh, and in the eyes: fire.
Breath pounding on the door of the tower of Pan.
Drums a kin to the heart, RACING RACING RACING.
Puzzle united.
Two into one.
An Expression.
A Climax.
And in her eyes I see G-D.
The light is racing from our room,
seeping through the cracks under the door.
The darkness grows,
casting us into shadow.
but all things including light die in the end
utterances in the small places of my dark mind
lend themselfs to such times
i would not suffer to pass
the hour without bringing forth all the angers
and mettlesome ways that confound you
the smokes rakes against my mind,
hiding me behind my eyes.
The truth came calling
along with the clock's toll,
but who among us could answer such an ominous cry?
When the hours between midnight
and 4 am are so unforgiving.
i am filled with tears
until i can bear no more
your words kiss my mind
and i cannot return this tenderness
for it would turn to love
i am waiting these hours
in the desolate towers of cold
for the rescue of dawn
but it gives little comfort
were that i could reach out to you
but i dare not
i dare not
Edit et al: Collaboration Poem written by alyssainwonderland (http://hellopoetry.com/-alyssainwonderland/) and I (Mark John Junor); alyssainwonderland contributions are in italics
Sally invited you
to the very top
Of the jungle gym
She gives an encouraging "come on"
And reaches out her arm
Her hand
Spread out and facing the sky
You grab hold.
The corners of her mouth
Grow to the sides of her face
And her cheeks push up against
the bottom of her eyes
In the most reassuring manner
You turn your head
Towards the sky
And squint
Just to see
the top of the structure
Not an easy task
For a kindergartener
But you faithfully follow your friend
Under the bright afternoon sun
Classmates have shrunk in size
As you peer out
from the top of the jungle gym.
Sally swings up her arm
Her palm
Facing you
You match her gesture
And give it a high five
The corners of her mouth
Grow to the sides of her face
And her cheeks push up against
the bottom of her eyes
In the most reassuring manner.
I am at the very top
Of the jungle gym
With my friend!
"Try out the monkey bars"
Suggests your new found friend
In the most reassuring manner
So you reach for the first bar
Both arms up
Both palms forward
As you attempt to make the jump
Sally waits behind you
Both arms out
Both hands forward
The corners of her mouth
Grow to the sides of her face
And her cheeks push up against
the bottom of her eyes
In the most reassuring manner
Shock as you free fall
Your classmates
Multiplying in size
As the ground moves closer
Pain shoots through
Your body
And your mind
as you land
You are confused
Feeling hurt and betrayed
how could a friend do such a thing?
But then you realize
Your friend never invited you
To the very top
Of the jungle gym
At all.
The corners of your mouth
Grow to the sides of your face
And your cheeks push up against
the bottom of your eyes
In the most satisfying manner
I am not sorry for drinking so many nights when you slept.
I am not sorry you wept when I begged you for sex.
I am not sorry I fluidly ruined that wedding, and
I am not sorry for forgetting your friends’ names and pretending.
I am not sorry that print, poems or prose is our vestige, and
I am not sorry for misinterpreting the tone of your text message.
I am not sorry I gave you my heart, my heart and my soul.
I am not sorry you are the truest love I will know.
I am not sorry we laughed, cried and survived like we did, and
I am not sorry for this fucked up life that I live.
I am…
sinking
awry
in the
green sea
of your eyes.
I am not sorry.
I apologize.
grandpas eyes
where the war
is still being faught
.........................................
I don't come here much anymore.
Too many memories.
They say every house has a tale to tell,
Every rusted door jam a mystery.
That window over there, looking pale
And yellowed with age
And dust and yesterdays wonder, I broke
Way, way back before Grandpa had his stroke
And Grandma left her rocker for the last time.
I'd thrown a baseball right through it.
Pa was drinking then, the hard liquor,
And he whipped me raw out back behind the shed
With the full buckle. He reminded me
Windows cost money we don't have.
And Eleanor...
She was six or seven then.
She was just learning how to ride a bike,
And she was proud as can be.
She would hang out by the hollyhocks,
Pretending they were scarecrows,
Naming each one,
And telling me she'd found a pirates treasure
Buried out there near the windmill that still needed
A coat or two of fresh paint.
She was that shine in Momma's eyes,
The one person in all the world Grandma would tell
Her stories to -
Stories that would bring Eleanor
Into worlds of imagination and wonder
She'd never known before.
And Eleanor would drink it in,
All the color and fire,
That lingered in every word.
And when she wandered that late October night
Into the fields,
We searched up and down with lanterns lit and flashlights, And the neighbors helped,
And we found her come morning in the silo.
I guess she'd climbed in to explore.
You can't breathe when it hits you. It's like it
Sucks the air right out of the little space you find ,
And the weight of the grain slowly drowns out your Thoughts and your struggles, your prayers
And your cries. And nothing's left to do
But feel that terror
Of nothingness pull you away.
So many memories...
And I was angry then. Angry at Pa,
At Gren,
At God.
I blamed them for everything and then some.
I learned to smoke , and I did it well.
I learned to swear, and I was good at it.
I didn't stay home much after that.
I left, hitched a ride to New Castle Valley,
And then to Porterville.
I didn't care for schooling,
So I found a job feeding pigs.
That lead to butchering. And I was good at it.
I could lose myself in it. In the thunder of the sin,
Found some satisfaction in how they bled.
I didn't go back til after Dad died.
He'd lost everything, did a bit of drinking,
Spent his time in the county jail,
Did more drinking
When he got out.
I'd learned Grandpa died of the pneumonia,
And Grandma had a few strokes.
Nobody ever told me what happened to Momma.
She just disappeared.
...and over time I grew less angry.
And I'd talk to God at night,
Sometimes I'd talk to Eleanor, cuz I knew
She was up there with God doing angel things,
Probably riding a bicycle real good by now.
Time marched on and I made due.
But I don't come here much anymore.
This place haunts me.
The silo that claimed Eleanor now a rusted heap
Of wood and metal that watches every step I take
...and I hate it,
I'd burn it to ashes if I could.
The porch where Grandma's rocker sat
Is weather beaten and tired.
And the stump where Grandpa would sit
Trimming his fingernails with that pocket knife
Lays on its side, victim to the winds of time
And those echoes that whisper things I thought
I'd forgotten.
And I lose it for a moment
And have to mop away a few tears.
Me, a fifty-six year old blubbering fool,
Still picking at the scars.
I can hear her voice,
Her laughter,
As she circled the gravel road on her bike,
Kicking at the small stones to get the bicycle moving
Just a little faster.
And I can almost see her sweet face
And her eyes so wide
They captured the Autumn sun like a rising star.
And there's Momma, hollering "Supper's ready."
And Pa, slamming down the hood on
The truck and wiping the hot sweat from his brow
As Grandma's little rocking chair squeaked its protests
Into the wind.
And there was Grandpa,
Grinning and pocketing that knife
And kicking mud off his
Work boots and heading on in.
No, I don't come here much anymore.
This place holds far too many ghosts for my tastes.
Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler
.........................................................
"You fall out of your mother's womb,
you crawl across open country under fire,
and drop into your grave."
-Quentin Crisp
........................................................
unbearable pain has lift the veil from my eyes.
Oh, God of gods I see thee now.
You care neither for worship nor tribute
nor songs of praise.
As the faithful lie in huddled rags,
So do butchers rest in slips of fine linen.
Yet, I know thee by your covenant kept;
"I am the lord thy God and thou shalt die".
For death, not deliverance is the truth of your grace
and not man's love, but his rotting flesh
that satiates you.
0mnipotent,
0mniscient,
0mnipresent,
celestial being.
unbearable pain has lift the veil from my eyes.
and I see your true form -
God is a maggot.
my laughing is a sign of panic
due to the indigestible actions;
the piercing made me vomit.
slowing down to an interlude;
the interest is waiting patiently
for you to make your way through.
destruction of self is a bar fight:
joining in those actions isn't on
my schedule this evening, nor
shall it be for as long as I can help
myself from myself, in the reflections
of fear that are so often transparent
when I find myself surrounded by
those who only wish to forget.
the forgetting is what forces me to focus.
crowds are a collective of nervousness
and a strangely large number of people
who refuse to be honest because they're
trying to hide the fact that they care about
what every set of eyes has to think, and the
self-centered inner voice
that thinks they actually care
about what they themselves are doing,
or look like.
the sad and beautiful truth is that people
are too worried
about themselves to think of anyone else.
There he goes skulking low.
Snake in tall grass.
There I see yellow tinged eyes
peeking hungrily from the weeds.
Ah ha.I saw him again out back behind silo number seven
Hey. There he goes again.
Slippery little sneak.
Up that hickory tree. See claw marks on the trunk
High and low you have to know that the Devil is in
the details
