A smile kisses my lips
as the darkness disappears
another endless night has faded
hours lost with lack of sleep
I tremble with anticipation
as my heart burns with inspiration
of so many others that have come before me
my skin humming with the beautiful notion
of their passion and devotion
my blood set ablaze
something is awakening within me
so far inside I had feared it was almost forgotten
but the dawn of each new day keeps trying to explain
all the many reasons I am here in the now
if you were to catch me right here, right now
there is nothing I would hide
I would bare all that lay inside
if you were to pay attention
this moment holds perfection
with its entirety of the unique
perched atop my hidden corner of my world
seeing nothing but knowing all
praying with the aching desire
to only keep getting higher and higher
to climb with worn hands
the rocky mountainside
to dance with bare feet
in the frisky river waters
with my days of sobbing on the bathroom floor
far enough behind me only to see a faint outline
tracing with my fingertips of aftershock
the bits of ridicule and criticism popping up
just as quickly fading to black
and instead of being riddled with tiny little holes
stealing the place
making a statement
taking a stand
I notice all that has made and kept me strong
for so very long kept in the background
my heartbeats pounds with the bass boom boom
all of a sudden the syncopation hits the room
the terror comes in waves so strong
shivers send endless currents up my spine
as if for one split second
not one atom around me is the same
almost dreamlike comes the realization
that I have always been
painting, writing, sculpting, singing, building
my very own reality........
I have this ache, Doctor. And so far, no amount of drugs or drink have been able to cure it. Where does it hurt, you ask? Why right here, Doctor. Right here in my chest. It started feeling odd when I saw HER for the first time. It was a Thursday; August eighteenth of two thousand eleven I believe. I remember her perfectly, for I had not, and have not, seen anybody more beautiful in my life. Her auburn hair was streaked with red and waterfalled perfectly over her delicate shoulders, that were on that day cloaked in a blue jacket. Her long graceful fingers bloomed from slender palms and were crowned with an elegant black nail polish with a cracked silver finish. To this day, I have never so much as imagined anybody more perfect than her. So what's my problem? Well Doctor, she hates me. I can see it glint in her dark eyes every time she looks at me. Why is this? Why I have not the slightest idea. All I have ever been was polite to her. All I have ever been was kind. When she shivers I give her my jacket, regardless of how cold I am at the time. When she is hungry, I use my last dime to feed her. I do everything in my power to make her happy, make her laugh when pain adds weight to her shoulders. But I guess it just wasn't enough in the end. What do you prescribe, did you say? An entire bottle of pain pills and a slash down each wrist? That sounds about right. Thank you, my dear Doctor.
Just a step too late.
Too far away
I don’t know how others do it
You always manage
The basement of my mind.
Cluttered with shit storms and broken promises,
Withered alongside reminiscent daydreams of passed past nightmares.
Into the internal dwellings of my deepest catacomb.
Unable to process what resides in my literal unconscious dungeon.
It's everything i've attempted to hide.
To let dwindle between cobwebs and dust bunnies.
My breath falls short.
Sifting through the residue of forgotten treasures and material shackles.
They bond me.
The unresolved burdens have taken residency within my hindered chakras.
My chest is heavy.
The weight distribution of disappointment is sharper than expected.
It eats away at me.
An elusive daily ritual.
Tucked away it remains far from common thought patterns.
Waves of emotion.
The tides roll in.
Upon their migration my muddled secrets and hidden betrayals are uncovered.
The look in your eyes when they fall upon my frailty.
My internal stack of unfiltered, unregistered, and unassured disheveled boxes.
Full of disheveled useless things.
Covered in a thick layer of problems i'm incapable of handling alone.
It sits unaltered and ever growing.
The remnants of what should have been happiness.
It all falls into misplaced sediments.
I'm a mess.
This murky chamber of unwanted mementos from failed attempts and lost friendships
This dreadful, endless room.
Oh, to live in a home without a storm shelter.
Without room to store unnecessary baggage and all the unclaimed items in my mind.
To find solace in meager living.
All this weight fitting into a backpack.
To minimize my insanity into a carry on.
To be light enough to feel the light.
To escape this cellar.
To release my self from my own idealogical prison.
To penetrate the bars of fear.
To dig myself out from all the things I never want to speak of.
To be free.
Ahhh, to be free.
To breathe fresh air over molded dust clouds and stale particles.
To touch without needing to rinse my soul clean.
To re-stack, rotate, and Tetris these piles of insecurities.
To break habits
that i've reinterpreted from childhood addictions and failed father figures.
To be better than what i've become.
To set fire to this sham of a lifestyle.
To be reborn in the ashes of this outgrown armor.
To let go.
To make you proud.
To find pride in myself.
To not be embarrassed by my place settings and mismatched knick knacks.
To allow souls into my temple without them stumbling into my isolated lunacy.
To welcome love.
To love even the darkest crevasses of my being...
I need to renew my license to live.
Overdue and out of line,
My past self has expired.
One step at a time, breathe.
One box at a time, breathe.
One thought at a time, inhale.
One lust at a time, exhale.
in a suburb by the woods
where the city is just a sneeze away,
but just too far to touch.
And the fireworks at the baseball games rattle my windows at night
and the 10:15 train rattles by
in a little town by the sea
I was there once, among the rice and water
and we both biked to school.
And the cranes that loaded the massive ships loomed over our lives
and the hush of a small town woke me
the word i
is the most interesting of all letters and words
because i contains all of your raw emotions and raw ideas
because i drives all of humanity to succeed and conquer
because i withholds the secret to inner thought and inner feeling
but the word us
is the most fascinating of all by far
because us contains all of our accomplishments and successes
because us drives all of our passion to love and intensity to love
because us withholds the secret to eternal happiness and eternal love
today you hurt me
and yesterday and tomorrow
i hurt you
that you never meant it
though you did
at the time
and the courage
to say such a poisonous
than any kind of love
you had for me
at the time
but i guess
i just have to forget
because my love for you
is too weak
and far too tired
to hold up restraints
and build walls
you’re the clots in my blood
the scars on my wrists
the tumour in my brain
and the salt on my cheeks
I write in praise of art,
specifically, the spectacle of
Ng’s bare arse. Yes,
this is simply because I have to say
Ng’s bare arse is magnificent.
It’s not a bouncing Botticelli but it’s
a slim, firm bottom, subtly rounded,
real split peach and cream stuff.
And Ng at the other end
is a real nice person, too!
She's my friend, see?
But back to Ng’s bare arse. I contemplate
this vision, along with the meaning of life,
quite often in broad daylight
with a slash of sunlight across her little buns.
This is more profound than the Tait, the Louvre,
the Met, the Frick, the Neue, the Helly, the Hermitage or even
the National Portrait Gallery all bunged in together.
Ng's bare arse is also better, by far,
than anything you can see at the Bolshoi or La Scala.
I’m amazed at how much I’m amazed by
this work of art. It’s awesome.
And I betcha the most famous galleries would
fall over themselves to display this finest little arse, that is,
if the world wasn't so hung up with hypocrisy and hysteria,
yeah, it'd be heaps more famous than the Mona Lisa.
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.
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,
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
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,
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."
Dusty red roads arching backs in the heat
Torn up nails and insect-gnawn feet
Burnt cheeks, aching stone-bruised bones
Deep belly laughter, "We're out of water..." groans.
Nabucco, Trenet, 'Ocean' by Butler
Bad instant coffee pumped to its eyeballs with sugar
4hrs spent digging the van from the sand
Gritted teeth muttering, "Fuck, this wasn't the plan."
Wine fuelled conversations you never thought you'd have
Petrol calculations - just do the maths
Bickering over bread and laughing over butter
Heart relaxes, head declutters.
Frantic Spotification of anything slide guitar
Surprised to the gut that you've made it this far
Light dims and dust pools
Stars shriek down, "Just live, fools."
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