The evening was awake full of history
wind pressing against warm skin
that forgetting would be too long
we didn't have a sail
or a boat
or more importantly an anchor
to remove or ground us in this swelling sea
I looked over your head wishing for sunlight
so we could go back to yesterday and the day before
so that maybe we would have never yelled so loudly
on the train tracks
watching humanity tear itself apart
on each side of us
we got lost in that
we lost everything we said we never would
and now these buildings aren't our friends
and their structure is pushing us out like gates
I'll become a stranger to another town
walking without your shadow underneath empty street lights
talking to the moon about things only you heard
about why I thought the world is ending
and how I planned on
(your hand helped the most)
tonight we said goodbye in tangled fists and heartbeats
tonight I shed away the secrecy of humming words I told you while you were sleeping
far away dreaming of me
I grabbed you like it was the last time, the way I always meant to hold you
tonight I sang to you in years
locked behind eyes you so swore chambered the sun
(on couches and floors)
watching you circle around me
like the earth
steady in your footsteps
in cold spring winds
but Im already in Portland missing you
walking streets and counting trees I wish I could show you
because you're not here
where I think I need you
Im already reading your book about the sand
and imaging the way you smile in the desert
tickling scars you gave me on a bed
wasted wine and razor blades
(now twisted like metallic woven thread pink and past)
Lucky You ,I tongued my lips
that red rust
pain killing love
love killing pain
fuck the way you made my thighs sweat
your arms are tied around me now
and Im promising myself I won't forget
amongst the screaming silent trees
your heart is beating faster..
'your emotions are heavy,
I'll keep them inside my chest'
I'm tired of living my life taking orders from fate in a language I cannot comprehend let alone understand
It's too intricate and complicated to start to untangle all the excuses we're using to confuse things
I can find momentary happiness at the end of the bottle and some solace in the pills
I can lose myself to the pain anger and passion when I take possession of another soul that succumbs
To all of the darkness and silly rigidity of all of my sorry dreams and pathetic hopeful fancy
You thought it was love when I choke fucked you until you came like stars singing and fading
I just thought of someone else I love hate can't have to hold and humiliate
I guess it's about the same thing
"When bad things happen
box them up and stick them at the back of your mind."
What happens when the boxes are tearing,
The duct tape is beyond fraying,
There's no room for you
The space is filled to the brim.
Even though we're worlds apart
Even though I think you're too crazy
I still find myself smiling at you on the telly
Laughing your heart out over the silliest things
I never know what colour your hair nor nails will be
The tight slacks and nose-ring you love so much
I would certainly curl my lips and pull a frown
When I Contrast those with my shirt and tie
Your love for life just shines through
One look at you and the world's a nicer place
It's people like you who make others smile
That deserve to be happy contented and blessed
What I see is what you show the world
I don't know what goes on behind the lights
I don't know how you are when you're alone
I don't know if you ever carry a surly look
I sometimes think it would be nice to see you
Without the leggings, the painted nails, the crazy hair
But then I also think I don't want to
So I can always smile when I see you :)
And this love dies with my last pack.
For I cannot let,
The venomous things in life,
I will be poisoned no longer.
For this time...
Author. Nothing his radar
Escapes. All things he knows,
Even the wind that blows.
All gods ere him stoop, bowing
Together to the majesty in
Heaven's realm. Great his manifold
Wonders. Excellent every craft
And work of his hand. The world
Whole waltz upon his golden cart.
Man, the opus of his creation:
The only in his image cast.
Unequalled in form and fashion--
From his first to his last.
Nought exits that was uncreated;
Nonfictional be the Genesis' account.
Scores of theories scientists great invented--
All, Scripture and faith, does discount.
In awe stand: the Alpha hail; laud the Omega.
for my Aunt Shirley
Fervis F. Ferville
Of South Street, North West
Could count, count, count, count
With incredible zest!
He was a very good counter,
And he would not hesitate!
For he would get up real early,
And he would stay up real late
Counting everything that could
Be owned by a Mouse,
As long as it could fit
In a little Mouse House.
And with his Shadow as Witness,
He would begin every day
Counting each little grain
Of his Bucklewheat Hay.
He would sound out each number.
That’s just what he’d do!
And he would always begin
All of his counting with “Two.”
He would count every minute
On the clock on his wall.
He then counted the hours,
The Seconds, and all
Of the in-between moments
That we never admit
Have a smidgen of good
Honest counting in it.
He then climbed very carefully
On his ABC blocks,
And counted each button
Safely tucked in its box,
Which came right to twenty-one,
All quite safe and sound.
The Greatest Button Collection
That a Mouse ever found.
Then he counted his fingers,
And he counted his toes,
His counting-type eyes,
And his counting-type nose.
He counted his ears,
And he counted his knees
And he smiled with pride,
For Fervis was pleased.
He had counted two eyes,
And one counting-type nose.
He had counted two knees,
And two stringy elbows.
He had counted two ears
That hung over his head.
And he counted the stripes
On his little Mouse bed.
He had counted each whisker,
And every brow of his eye.
And then he turned his attention
To his french fry supply.
There were twenty-two long ones,
And thirty-four short ones,
Ten busted-up ones
And eighteen athwart ones.
And there were his books,
Lots of books on a shelf
That he hid,
For he wanted them
All to himself.
With his vast and unique
Set of Counting-Mouse Skills,
And the speed and agility
Of trained Whippoorwills
He counted and counted,
And counted them all,
Every book he could find,
Every book that he saw.
All the big ones
And small ones,
And the tall ones,
Every green one
And blue one
Each old and
Each new one.
He counted his Nickets,
He counted his Nukks,
He counted every one
Of his Poppletoff Pucks.
He counted his ear lobes,
Then counted his keys,
And recounted every one
Of his ones, twos and threes.
He counted with such
A fine skill and finesse
That he proudly turned his attention
To Checkers and Chess
And he counted each Rook,
Every Bishop and Queen,
Every foul little Knight
That tormented his King.
Every Pawn en Passant,
Every possible move,
Oh, he counted them all
If only to prove
That he, as a Mouse,
Could indeed hold his own
When it came to a fine
Game of Chess in his home.
The very next thing
He would count were his socks.
He took great care of them.
So he unlocked all the locks
On his Secret Sock-Drawer,
And he counted each Two.
Then he seemed rather puzzled
When he was finally through.
For yesterday’s count
Came to Thirty-Eight pair.
Which meant that one pair was missing!
Yes, Missing! But where?
Now, this called for a re-count,
Something a Counting-Type Mouse
Does all of the time
In his little Mouse House.
So, Fervis F. Ferville,
In his perfect Mouse timing,
Counted and re-counted
Without even rhyming!
The Two and the Four
And the Six and the Eight!
He counted each sock
Until it seemed rather late.
Then he sighed as he sat
In his little Mouse chair.
And he took a deep breath
With a haunt of despair.
And he thought:
Never lose track of socks.
They never forget their neckties
Or popcicle blocks.
They do not misplace their Hourglass,
Or lose track of the time.
And Counting-Type Mouses
Are on time
All the time! ”
He fuddled and fudged,
And scratched at his ear,
Took a deep breath
Just to let his mind clear.
And he spied at his Shadow,
Who had nothing to say,
Who simply shrugged long
In its shadowy way.
So, he counted again,
Very slowly this time,
Sounding each number out,
Every succinct little rhyme.
Every four, every two,
Every ten, every eight.
Every twelve, and each twenty,
Until it was later than late.
“This simply does not make sense, ”
He mumbled to himself.
“Where could they be?
I’ve looked on every shelf.”
He searched through his house,
Very high, then down low,
Every place they could hide,
Every place they could go.
He looked deep in his cupboards,
And inside every jar.
He searched as close as he could,
And then he searched far.
He looked in his freezer,
And then in his hat,
On nights such as this
Mice will do things like that.
He hunted deep in his closet,
And then in every shoe
That he kept always ready
Underneath his canoe.
He searched up the small staircase,
And then down through the vent.
He hunted inside his chimney,
And above the bell tent.
He looked behind every picture
That hung on his wall.
And then he decided
To check behind his baseball.
He searched through his Bob-Bobbers,
And inside his fly sheet.
And, just to be safe,
He looked down at his feet.
And his eyes peered so narrow
He bit down on his lip,
And he twizzled and twozzled
Every single toe tip.
There were his socks,
Safely there, rightly put
As well as can be
On each little Mouse foot.
He hadn’t lost them at all,
And they hadn’t lost him.
They’d been there all the time
Very proper and prim.
And Fervis F. Ferville
Jumped up with a snap,
He sang out a “Woohoo, ”
And he let his toes tap.
He danced with a jig
And a biggillowigg,
With his toes hanging out.
He looked at the clock
That hung high on his wall,
And he stretched out, refreshed,
Like a porcupine ball.
And Fervis F. Ferville adjusted his tie.
And breathed deep the evening air.
"Why-ever have I been so distraught?
This simply does not seem fair."
I have every toe, every ear, every sock.
I have every number that ticks on my clock.
I have every whoo that has ever said hey.
It is a grand and new, wonderful day.
And wonderful days, as the story is said-
Are filled with those numbers that dance off the head,
And tap tap tap wonders of yellow and blue,
Wonders that shimmer much newer than new.
And he smiled so warmly the evening shined,
As though Fervis had one more adventure in mind.
He spied his fine Shadow, on the dash of a whim,
And his top secret Shadow spied right back at him,
And then Fervis F. Ferville so calmly called out,
"I've counted one hundred eleventy-two!
And that's a very fine count, an impressive amount.
I am certain I've counted much higher than you.
But his Shadow just leaned against the far wall,
Unwilling to join in the foray.
Shadows never re-count a good count,
Not when there's still time for Shadows to play.
And Fervis agreed.
For a fine Mouse was he,
Oh, there was so much more
To counting young Fervis could see.
And he smiled a wide smile, fine as any wise Mouse,
And returned to the joys of his little Mouse House.
Copyright © 2010 By Richard D. Remler
'I still find each day too short for
all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take,
all the books I want to read,
and all the friends I want to see. '
It all began as an observation,
a mere innocent study,
to watch people in cars,
First, the tired workers,
who glared and stared in the road in front,
who slumped in their seats,
who held the steering wheels in a glum manner,
who had dark circles in their eyes,
who had cans of beers at the back seat,
tired, weary, drained, exhausted,spent.
The cheeky children,
who yelled at their siblings,
who wrestled with siblings,
who sat listening to lectures,
who texted with their phones,
who went tippy tappy with their laptops,
who ignored the world; reading,
innocent, busy adolescents.
Of course, there are mothers,
who glance at their sleepy children every few minutes,
who smile at their babies dotingly,
who gave loud lectures to kids,
who smoked cigars,
who was on the phone,o was just driving ahead,
loving, fussy, unleisured.
There were the out-going,
who head-banged furiously to booming music,
who sang aloud to radio,
who chatted enthusiasticly with passengers,
who smiled the whole way through the journey,
who stuck their hands out to feel the wind,
who had nothing to worry about,
free, wonderful, liberated, loose.
Also, some were fretful,
who needed to visit hospitals,
who had their heart broken,
who got rejected at interviews,
who lost someone,
who is obviously in anxiety, who were simply drunk,
worrysome, tired, sad.
And then there's me,
who had nothing better to do,
than to watch and observe,
and felt many things should be changed,
The sky crumbles quickly,
As flowers become prickly.
Changing with the summer dew
To become something new.
The wind blows heavy.
Over the levy
The waters flows steady
Tastes sort of "leady"
Its all falling apart
Find the start
Replace some bark
Before things go dark
The nights are long
Once the sun sets, the thoughts come back
Something about the absence of light drawing my mind back
To the darkest of times
The gun in my mouth, blood stained sheets
A handful of pills in my lap, so easy to swallow them all
Tying nooses for practice, just in case I ever need them
All those things?
They really happened
And they feel like so long ago
But in reality, it was just
8 months ago
That I decided to fuck it all
Roll the dice, end my life
It was the only failure in my life that ever made anyone proud
Which is sad
But most things in life are sad
Just like me
A broken boy, age 16
So young, to be so damaged
Released from the hospital because i was "fixed," whatever the hell that means
Struggling everyday now just to wake up, move past those nightmares
Over caffeinated, lacking sleep
Splitting headaches, fear of anyone I meet
Anxiety so constant a bother
It never lets me be free
So any and all interactions are tinged with more dark thoughts
Like, "i'm messing this up, she must hate me"
All day is like this
Forcing laughter, always tinged with hysteria
I don't know if anyone notices
I highly doubt it; nobody ever notices me
But even if they do, they say nothing
But I suppose there is nothing right to say
To some lost soul, losing his sanity