Between a shaking voice and frozen palms, I am begging you to shine a light all over this. Illuminate every place from the top of my skull to the soles of my feet that you have fallen out of love with. Just don't breathe deeply & leave me with a half-hearted kiss in the dark again. Steal the shining hope right out of my eye sockets because I'd rather melt wrecklessly into your truth than stand firmly in your lies.
Taste the days end with me
Sweet wine of soft fireflight
and tender touch beinth a summer moon
In your arms endure
This love can be ours
Under the iridescent moonlight
Embraced within one another
To live for an eternity
Languid and soft
We shall watch the grand painting of the ages unfold before us
As time itself submits that we are one
That we are passion and love
Love that shall never shed a liquid tear
Time ages us as one to live an eternity together
The porcelain dripping down the eons can't hold us back
Nor can the God who sheds those tears for us
Ferment the seeds of this madness pause along the walls
That contain the fragile thoughts
And read the written passages that are formed in the shadows of what we have created these passing moments are the dire and forlorn wasteland of the last days we spend here.
It's in the journey not just the exit
It's out the window through the rush
I'll take care of you always
You don't need to ask.
Through all of the distractions
The wind blowing through our hair
All it takes is our eyes
To see you everywhere
How magnificent is your city
The beauty of creation
This is what you wanted
For us all along
An overflow of creativity
For no one to be a like
But through love that comes from you
Together we're unified
As for human intentions
We may not be so sound
Still the glory goes to you
I can see it all around
Like a river you spirit flows
With peace, love and hope.
Through you all fear goes
And all it's chains have been broke
6:34 PM
This time it's Fate.
No longer can I pretend
for we have run out of track
and we must stop now
lest we careen over the ghastly drop before us
lest our hearts inevitably smash to smithereens.
There's a small vice on my heart
that you turned incrementally since the day we kissed
Always there was space to manoeuvre
wriggle
a gap to shift around in and say, 'That's better'
to comfortably fool myself that I was not caught.
But now, my dear....
Now the grip leaves me gasping
and that metal feels cold
and I cannot ignore it.
The trouble is
I kissed your elegant, beautiful face
and I guided your hand to that vice in my chest
and enveloped your fingers with mine
We turned those keys together.
I was so enamoured
and I wanted your love.
I told myself I could get out at any time.
Too late, my love
It was always too late
For we're kindred souls across lifestyles
and lifetimes
and my body knows yours like the taste of my tears.
I resign myself, then, to bleeding.
I resign thee to Fate and what she may decide
knowing only that never shall I be your jailor.
I refuse to allow
that wild tempest soul to be anything but free.
I am happy to be caught.
Though I writhe with this pain
and slumber eludes me in my misery.
For one thing I have realised
is the depth of my cowardice.
Although yours came out as tenored and trembling
you still had the bravery to speak the words emblazoned on your heart
the ones that threatened to fall from your lips
as my head lay perfectly in situ against your collarbone
and my heartbeat and breathing lined up with yours
in our quiet symbiosis at 3 a.m.
I danced around the words
flitted lightly, noncommittal
and said 'I think I'm falling in love with you',
which was a lie.
You are far braver than I
and to this day I've run
but you deserve far greater than that which I have meted out to you.
You deserve honesty.
You deserve the breadth and depth of what my heart aches to tell you
though I am frightened beyond words that the vice can go no tighter.
I love you.
Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
No big deal, your name, your email, bought n' sold daily,
Like a baseball card, your picture and vital stats are on the internet,
Your credit card in the fine print tells you they love you much,
But the data they collect, might get credited to such and such.
You're fair game if your sign up for anything.
Now I know I am getting on in years,
Tho spry rhymes with die, I flatly deny
Any notion that
My great beyond is just around the corner!
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
Got a color brochure
Suggesting that when my travels are over,
A nice place to rest my head might be
St. Michael's Cemetery.
St. Michael's Cemetery
7202 Astoria Blvd, East Elmhurst
(718) 278-3240
Friday hours 7:00 am–5:00 pm
In case you want to check it out too...
Tho I live not in the Borough of Queens County,
My zip code but a hop, skip and jump away,
The cemetery adjacent to the Grand Central Parkway
Which is actually quite thoughtful of
The mass marketer who dreamed up this scheme
(And got paid a plentiful amount of bounty).
My kids could wave as they drive by,
On the way to LaGuardia or JFK, (airports)
And say, guilt free, they visit me regularly!
Sadly, their plot foiled,
I will be buried in
New Jersey soil,
Near to my pop, who liked the
Wide open spaces of suburbia
And shopping on Route 4,
Where the selection is great
And there is no sales tax.
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name,
And I am now target marketed,
Niched, pretty soon the boys from AARP
Will come calling, reminding me of the gap
Tween Medicare and the poor house!
Ok ok, grow up you say, tho your hair is full,
And not even a hint of baldness shines forth,
Nonetheless, its color is zebra striped gray,
And when someone says they got my back,
I think, please, please take it and keep it....
Oh yeah,
Dear St. Mikes
You might ask for some of your money back,
Cause this sily scribe is a member of the tribe,
Some call "those dirty (hint: it rhymes with Mikes),"
It starts with K and ends in yikes!
But thanks for thinking of me anyway.
Cold and alone on a sunny day full of people.
Where is the comfort for the frozen hands, lost with no other to hold and caress?
Where is the affection to free the body enveloped in ice from its need to feel release and burn?
Where is the spark to rekindle the fiery passion, the searing heat of a kiss to reignite the dying flames within a heart?
Where is the love that screams to be more than just friends?
Where are you?
Hasta La Pasta!
She stands in the doorway
As is her wont,
Bidding adieu to the retreating figure
Who spent the night in
Adoration of the Magi,
Her charms, her hair,
Her serpentine figure most fair,
And scribbling on Hello Poetry
Till his eyes said, no mas!
The retreating figure that be me,
Late for work at 7:20.
Over the shoulder I exclaim,
Hasta Mañana!
Which is silly because
My return is faithfully guaranteed,
Every eve for as long as I live!
She laughs and replies,
Hasta la Pasta!
Stop in my tracks,
About face and in woeful Italian,
Do exclaim, in a deeply serious timbre,
Hasta la Pasta?
Basta!
(Italian for "that-does-it")
You can have my love, my soul,
But leave to me the labor of poetry.
Loving you with words is
my domain, the speciality of my terrain,
So no more hasta la pasta if you please,
And by the bye, I would love some
Tonight, say around eight,
At a restaurant where the moon is
The only light illuminating our faces.
7:45 AM
Why Men Like to Load the Dishwasher
We are the artists of shape and configuration,
puzzle masters solving riddles of physics,
worshipers at the altar of labor saving devices,
this is a love poem of sorts, a Bazinga salutation,
to men and their undying love
for sexy machines.
where it in my power
all cups would be handle-less,
the dishwasher time-space continuum
would be non-interrupted by black holes
where handles pointlessly protrude,
requiring endless rearrangement,
a soul destroying exercise.
bowls of any sort should have bottoms that retract.
indeed, the capacity increase, a visible fact,
is so enviro-friendly, eminently sensible,
that the loading for mechanical scrubbing
is deserved of a wing in the Smithsonian.
perhaps the budgeteers of Congress
should be tutored in this artistry,
how to make any limited resource,
better used.
the rub, as the bard would have writ,
Is that this roaring but invisible tempest tossed
our love for labor lost to a closed sanctum sanatorium,
Is entirely due, all glory to,
the secret society of fairies who reside inside,
freeing us to write more poetry.
in so many ways that I cannot reveal,
less the other gender members squeal,
men live to love to load the dishwasher,
for the ingenuity challenge, and of course,
the side benefit of the excusing coverup,
"I helped cleanup," a relationship saver,
proof positively that the dishwasher inventor,
was probably a brilliant woman.
" Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend." - Albert Camus
Beyond the Telegraph Toad
The telegraph road circled through the foothills,
arising towards the majestic mountain high
It’s been a long and twisting passage soon forgotten,
with the pavement abruptly dead ending,
just below the timberline
The dawning blue sky’s heavens look so much closer now
Just a step away from standing within reach
The birds uplifted on the telegraph wire rest atop me;
perched overhead on the final material traces
disregarded by a dubious world
My awakening soul is ascending
beyond the distant alpine horizon
At the threshold of a trackless pathway,
climbing up above the clouds
It’s exhilarating to look back and know
there is no turning back around
I’ve never been higher
and can never get back down
What unknown frontier lies in wait before me now?
Just on the other side of the impossible dream?
The last step forward to find the next step beyond the bounds
There is not that much that changes,
when we just repeat the same old song
The atmosphere’s thin air leaves me gasping for wings
Like dust and ashes free to soar with the tempest breeze
If only time would sever these loathsome ties that bind
The ones that enchain the weight of this load unto me
While understanding the pace to a long journey’s rhythm
The only barometer you have to trust is in your heart
Adaptation is at the core of freedom's survival
But it feels almost like running away
I have felt the fear of falling with nothing left to lose
I’ve climbed as far as flesh and bones can reach
I've come this far always feeling subtly afraid
It has been a great distance back from the beginning;
knowing I must take these last steps alone.
Understanding it was love that brought me here
Naturally tugs at the spirit in my soul encouraging me on
I'll keep searching for the shining light of guidance
Listening for a voice that softly beckons me home...
At 20, tragedy stuck my life when my best friend I had grown up with from just down the block, perished in a head on crash. We lived together in college at the time and we were all headed to the beach for the Memorial Day weekend. Another friend had just purchased a vintage used 2 seat sports car and at the last minute I could not go because 3 did not fit. (6’4” 200 at the time) I was disappointed and felt abandoned by my best friend as I watched them drive away, down the gravel road for the last time. Then came the knock at the door by the state police at 1 am inquiring about next of kin, a moment that changed my life forever.
When we snow skied together as teens, we always talked about climbing the mountain we were on.
It took another 12 years, some practice, training and a 6 month mountaineering class to find so much more than closure…
Your thoughts are sincerely appreciated...thank you for reading.
My mind has a million thoughts per second everyday
One of those seconds it dwells on you
Why you so cool, girl?
My heart defrosts when I see your pretty face, voluptuous
lips, black silky hair
And hear your soft, innocent voice
You get on nerves
I Wanna just leave you alone like everybody else I can't
stand
You never let things go
Knocking the walls I set up in this maze
You saw through all the smog and haze
Caught me on all my bullshit
Why do you consistently keep trying
Where someone else either wouldn't have given a damn or
would have given up?
I can count on you to always be there to bug the hell out
of me
Until you get to the bottom of the situation
Not because you want something or to make me feel bad
But because you cared to stare darkness in the face
We might have a lot of issues
We argue a lot
It don't change how we feel about each other
Regardless of what people think
Just wanted to say that I love you, my one and only
Fuck other people
We have spiritual attraction that is worth more than sex
I wanna be with you forever if I could
Shannon Pollard
© Fall, 2006
