7:34 AM and I still love you
Last June, I loved you
Five years later, I'll still love you
& that my dear, is my problem
Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.
We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.
J. Sandy
Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.
We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.
J. Sandy
I carry the weight of a million troubles
Watching my family tear apart
And everything we had, fell to rubble.
The selfish stubborn that flows about
My sister and mother are broken
I'm stuck in a middle and can't get out.
You stupid ignorant child
Don't you even care
Your relationship's defiled.
Oh but I must have forgot
Everythings about you
Even if our family will rot.
I dread the thought of seeing you
It turns my stomach
I know she dislikes it too.
That isn't how it should be
We should all be excited
Why can't everyone be happy.
I hate this way of life
Please grow up
I can't live with constant strife.
I'll see you very soon
So very soon indeed
The desperate month of June.
See you soon my dear sister
Are you prepared
Because I'm ready for a twister.
I. (The Gone).
They have gone.
Why does it bother me so?
A truth,
only a handful of gems
stay bright,
all others
faded
like pencil on paper
until a faint mark remains,
what was, what now is.
Names in conversation,
a drive down the alphabet
then and now,
clotted recollections
breaking apart
each time, stalled
in silent traffic.
A few, needles I suppose,
a shot in the arm
again, again,
I cannot believe
how many times
their voices
painted everything,
but long gone,
no abrasion or impact
to consider, to revise.
On occasion,
a stretch into fog,
icy melancholies
but not always
a echo,
moments to inform
me they can return
if they wish.
II. (The Bare Feet).
So, it is night.
Whorls of cream
came through the door,
sleepyhead next to me,
ragged, tired,
out of juice.
I can only say
‘I knew you would.’
This is not your home
but we’re not far away.
Lipstick less rosy,
sound of drums
still throbs in our ears
but it was worth it,
for confetti,
flecks of gold
whirling around
you, the crowd.
Peachy lights
spray across
your face,
piano black eyes,
warm bare feet.
It is not real
but we can touch,
we can speak.
On our knees,
we look at each other,
I hold you,
the minutes
stutter past
and for a moment
only silence,
silence is all
we need for our words
are used too much.
III. (The Next.)
It took
over a year
but we saw
each other again.
Since the end
of a grey June day,
two years
elsewhere,
forty miles the difference.
He quit,
the right choice
he tells me
as we reminisce,
that’s what it is
these days,
now he looks
for the next stage
and soon
it will be me
who must fully
step into adulthood,
like a foot plunged
into a bath,
too hot, too cold.
Did we expect this?
If we could see
next year
would we smile
or scowl?
Tell ourselves
it’s just the way
things go,
on, on, on.
Now, as I look
out my window,
the faintest tinge
of orange
descending,
I know, he knows
we don’t know
what comes next.
The fourth in a continuing series of poems, following on from 'The Current’, 'The Recent' and ‘The Present.’ (It would be greatly appreciated if you were to read those in your own time.) Each poem is separated into three parts describing various aspects of my life - things happening at ‘the moment.’ Part one concerns the notion of growing up and friends departing, part two deals with a recurring dream involving a singer recently in the media spotlight and part three focuses on a recent meet-up with an old friend of mine. The second part of this also falls into my on-going series of poems written with specific females in mind, either those I know of but do not count as a friend, those I see merely in passing, or those I have never met but are well-known. The last of these was ‘Red Day, Blue Night (Part 4).’
Oh boy, you boy, you know what?
There's a change coming, I feel it in my gut.
I'm leaving soon, going away
Driving home in June, but it's not to stay.
The two of us, have just begun
Our golden thread is being spun.
My feelings for you are pretty neet
They are something I never considered I'd meet.
This depth inside me, you've shown, I've grown.
With you beside me, that unknown stone
That we cast down together to test the waters
Sent ripples and dust clouds, we almost faltered.
But like a dyeing man in the back of an ambulance
We kept being revived and finally gained confidence.
Now here we can stand, both hand in hand,
Unfocused on plans,
but enjoying the other with love I thought (rather a lot)
Only existed in books or in plots.
The opposites attract, it gets the seats packed
But this good story seems to be fact!
Oh boy, you boy, you know what?
You probably dont see it, but I love your strut.
Your eyes are so kind,
Even when you retract inside of your mind.
(And what do you find? My guesses are only blind.)
Your will is astounding,
It inspires me, it's grounding.
Your smile... oh that smile...
I'll just think on that for a while.
Black and white, day and night, a hero's plight.
There seems to be no wrong or right.
Both up and down, we spin around,
Will we be standing when the towns tumble down?
I don't know how else to say this, (a kiss)
But we are similar in ways we can't miss.
I love it
and I love you
And if that love stays true till the summer is through
I'll be right back here swooning in your gaze,
Giving you my love while we travel through this maze.
Oh boy, you boy, you know what?
It was on the 19th of June, 2012
That me and you became friends
And our similar tastes ensured it.
It blossomed in our shared love for poetry,
Nurtured by songs of love & future-hopes,
Flourished in our understanding natures.
Hopeful I am that our sun will rise,
Hopeful I am that our son will rise,
Hopeful I am that a daughter will rise too.
©Atul Kaushal
They're Everywhere!, The Beautiful Badger Skins, All Of Your Things, To Conquer The Ant, Feces Feline, Pissed Off Traffic, The Coloring Books, I'll Catch You With Nets, A Truce To Trance, Pale Nosed Girls, Jars In June, Fake Fight Fridays, Just Like Madeline, Cats And Dogs, The Poor And The Smiling, So She Says, No Strawberries Please, Bicycle Chase, Chickens Don't Fly, Behind The Shed, Cars In The 90's, Carl's Disease, Anthropomorphic Crush, A Cheer From The Waves, Bubbles Bubbles Bubbles, The Floorboards, Suitcase Joust, Beneath The Forest, Myspace Meltdown, Call Me On Tuesday, Take Me Out To Pho, Grave Of The Cameras, Toothpicks And Cigs, Wax On Wax Off, Bad Days For Good People, Burnt Bacon.
my sister used to tell me
that april showers
brought may flowers
but it's nearly june
and there are no blossoms bursting through my ribcage
and the only thing that is
growing on me
is the harsh lumps of reality
fed in doses by sad old men.
and the only other thing
are your eyes
and the way your voice sounds
when I know you are lying
I would give anything
for the may flowers to be growing inside my head
instead of these poisonous thoughts
sorry
I’m the moon
Orbiting around your pull
I’m the humid june
Wrapped around you like wool
I’m the palm
Of God’s trembling hands
I’m a ticking bomb
The Saharan sands
I’m the forever
I said I could never could be
I’m your latest endeavor
As alive as the Dead Sea
