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Jun 2023 · 414
Old Haunts
J C Jun 2023
I expel smoke into the atmosphere
and think of all my ghosts this year.
I fumble the deck in search of fives
but still find the Jester half alive.
I stumble through old alleys
we used to go to, in search of songs.
But I do nothing right but fill valleys
with all of the right wrongs.
I absorb oaked *** into my veins
and felt hot tears in the rain.
All those moments — lost in time
the second you were no longer mine.
Do Ghosts of Spring Fever's Past Dream of Electric Sheep, a.k.a., I'm Not a Smoker

And, hey, Hello Poetry can actually publish poems now. Yay.
Jun 2023 · 230
I'm Not Mad
J C Jun 2023
I'm not mad I gave you my number.
I'm not mad I tolerated your nonsense.
I'm not mad I asked to watch Elysium with you.
I'm not mad we fell in love.
I'm not mad you helped me look for a flat.
I'm not mad you leaned on my shoulder in the cab.
I'm not mad you swooned me all over.
I'm not mad we fell in love.
I'm not mad we rode my bike to the coast.
I'm not mad we promised to marry there.
I'm not mad we feared the sun set on us.
I'm not mad we fell in love.
I'm not mad our worlds consisted of each other.
I'm not mad our children would have had stupid names.
I'm not mad our bodies were all but untangled.
I'm not mad we fell in love.
I'm not mad you ended it by telephone.
I'm not mad I didn't speak the last time we talked.
I'm not mad our lives won't be the same again.
I'm mad I haven't yet fallen out of love.
October 2015 feels like a lifetime ago.
J C Feb 2019
I don’t believe in the term I love you more.

It’s either you do [love] or you don’t.

We will not be able to quantify or qualify this feeling.

All things are possible when love lives in our hearts.

Impossible dissipates into the ether.

[I think] that’s just me.
J C Jan 2018
I’ve been thinking
about death a lot lately—
or, that is, I think the image
my brain’s been showing me.
The vestiges of the visage
of who I used to be haunt me;
and in the crickets of my slumber,
I couldn’t help but wonder
about death a lot lately.
The quarks and the quasars I inherit
from the big bang of long ago—
elements that form Mercury—
collide back and forth, and
these are pangs that wouldn’t go,
and it has been deathly difficult
meandering out of this hole.
I’ve been lost in myself—thinking
about death lately so droll.
The synapses fire and misfire;
the subsonic trappings bellow
in the cave of my deep below.
These black-and-white films
feel rewired [rewritten annals]
of which I existed since long ago.
I resonate now an unholy see
of white-noise hellos; or:
the slow slipping of my psyche
around death a lot lately.
The string of unforced errors
does all but help me be still;
yet still the terror rises each
time I open my eyes to this
farce that I’ve been waking up to.
Since your “I don't care for you,”
I've never felt so unwanted;
as my heart opened and bruised,
my soul aches for yours dotted
along my arms so they feel whole.
I unravel when you’re in my mind;
in those twilight hours of just us,
for those unmeasured hours,
you were irretrievably mine.
And doubt may blur what we feel,
and walls may [and can] fall,
and in those moments so real—
yes, surreal—
and for those days that we were,
I haven’t thought about
death at
all.
Save yourself—no one else will.
Jan 2018 · 951
The Woman Who Loved Me
J C Jan 2018
I walked alone this earth,
walked with nothing but my feet along the sea.
A long road it seems; weary
and burdened, I walked for miles endlessly.
To see no sun, feel no zeal under the bright noon,
no light, no crisp draft beneath the full moon—
so dull and faint, my fading reverie.
My fate seemed sealed ‘til the day my path crossed hers,
‘til the day the woman I love saved me.

Alone I  totter—blue skies overhead,
with a softness high above where I cannot see.
Standing on the calm of white cliffs,
carrying  me, my yoke, and I so steady
and high, beyond, safe from the raging sea within me.
There is a light that brightens, the sunlight of hope,
There is a light that frees, a glimmer of evening’s globe.
With the woman I love, I quietly caressed,
by the cool breeze under a towering oak tree.

No more will I walk with two feet—
now four—and her smile so beautiful, so carefree.
A touch, a whisper, a tender together,
a belongingness—an intensity encompassing
my heart, my soul, my being with childlike glee.
So warm and bright is the light of high noon,
so cool, so serene, the waning light of the cloudy moon,
Time is now filled with her, with love,
with love, of love, from the woman who loved me.

Sauntering without a care in the world,
her hand holding mine, with fleeting hints of agony;
with a love that comforts, I am laden no more.
And yet, my love has begun to grow colder to me
her distant gaze, words of discomfort, a ruse I can only perceive.
Hope setting in the distance, the skies turn gloom,
the moon comes watching our every move.
Gazing at her squander my love so unkindly,
the woman who meant the universe to me.

On a cold, dreary November morn,
I paced slowly for her cozy home.
Her locks left opened by the hidden key,
under the modest Welcome rug, sign, and marquee
to surprise her with bundles of roses and lilies.
Slowly, surely, I tiptoed over to her bedroom.
“Strange,” I muttered, confused, her lamplight lit akin to the moon.
All concern and dread rushed all over me.
“My woman, my love, what have I done to deserve all this agony?”

I trembled, hearing noises from inside her shut bedroom door.
Once t’was opened, carnage left me frozen on her floor.
Distraught and ire was what laid bare in front of me.
Seeing eyes frightened, staring straight with disbelief,
her lover under sheets of white embraced whatever my love bared.
“No, love, believe this is not what it seems,” weeping, she.
“The sun, moon, and stars tell you are my one and only.”
Blinded by despair, asking questions I tried not to seek,
daftly cursing the air, all answers were right in front of me.

“My love, my love, I will always be,
“forever yours for all of eternity.
“O lover, are those tears shed for me?” said she.
“No,” pulling gun then trigger, I hushed quietly.
There is a light of smoke, so sudden and loud;
there is a blackness of blood spilled, of anger unbowed.
A bullet through her lover’s head, a bullet through her chest,
and now I can no longer caress, no longer see,
the woman whom I have loved—and love still—with all of me.

Barred and treading alone this earth,
marching with nothing but chains on my feet along the sea.
A long remorseful road it seems, weary,
and burdened, I will walk for miles
endlessly.
(This thought still haunts me.)
To have seen and lost the sun under the bright noon
and to have borne hope under the full moon,
once so bright and clear was my reverie.
‘Til the day our paths crossed,
‘til the day I killed the woman . . .

whom I loved with all of me.
Written on January 1, 2013, exactly five years ago.
Dec 2017 · 538
Non-Poem No. 316
J C Dec 2017
I look up to the sky, and all I think about is you.

It pains me when I see your name on my notifications



or the photos I have of you on my Flickr

or the photo pinned to my dresser

or the notes you left in a tin of mint

or the broken promise of a Bee Movie critique

or the wedding in a small chapel in the boonies

or the names we’ve made for our four [sic] kids

or the thoughts—

these ideas of a life together.



Because it was you who broke my heart.
It was you who left.
Originally a non-poem from my online journal
Dec 2017 · 597
A Grade-School Memory
J C Dec 2017
Naive wedding vows
under a towering tree
ends childhood ardor
A playground romance, an abrupt end, and an ensuing haiku.
Nov 2017 · 571
12:24 a.m.—a Non-Poem
J C Nov 2017
I knew I should be alone
after the torment meant for me
had gone on and on and on and on
'til loud 2:46 a.m. was freed.
I searched for something to fill the void
that toyed with whatever mind I had left.
I opened cans, broke bottles, and soiled
what good I had left when you left.
So I met this one who unfurled and quizzed me to death.
And I loved her laughter, and she said, "Suddenly,
"I miss you when I'm not near you. My breath
"feels incomplete when I linger . . . without you."
And I thought, Finally, happiness is no afterthought;
but still I was empty as a camel thirsting
in the Sahara, groveling, with no life bought,
even in the oasis that was burning through this rot.
And then this amazing girl came right in front of me,
came on my face, and came on my crotch;
but I was emptier than a lonely pier out at sea.
I knew then this new sin she and I shared was botched
from the start when I said, "Hello,
"may I enchant you sometime?"
And over time I grew hollow, more hollow,
most hollow, when she tells me "You're all mine."
You haunt me still in my sleep and in the quiet;
your image seared right into my skin.
And I no longer have the will to calm this riot,
your voice embedded deep within.
It's 12:24 a.m., and my being yearns to feel hers,
but my heart belongs to someone else.
I see her for her in the dourest hours,
but yours is my birthright, and I haven't felt myself
being—trying to feel—all right.
Some things just don't feel right.
Jul 2017 · 698
I Cleaned Up
J C Jul 2017
I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and I saw the first doodle
you had ever drawn.
I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and I'd thought I'd have the strength
but I found it was all gone.

I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and it was unearthing tin cans
I can't seem to break.
I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and the dust of what once was
I kept in an ashtray.

I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and all I have to remember you by
is how the n caressed your lips
when you said my name—or
at least think you never said good-bye.

I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and I'm trying to keep afloat
but there are too many holes in this boat
and I'm sinking,
thinking,
how to throw your memory all away.
Unfantastic Beasts and How (Not) to Move On
a tale by
An Empty Cavity
Jul 2017 · 598
Dream 987
J C Jul 2017
I close my eyes to sleep
to see you smile through
your long, wavy hair.
Through uncoated curtains,
the warm gold of sunlight is
soft on your fair skin.
And pearls don’t shimmer
as your eyes, wide and (bright)
as heaven is on dark, cloudless nights.
And my eyes turn to yours
and we laugh like it’s new and
we fumble over hot breaths
and we sigh deep, (a deep,
contented sigh)
of unused I love yous.
And when mouths no
longer utter the right words,
the silence dwelt in is home.
In the blink of an eye,
the crank of a ****,
once more the cogs of life turn anew.
Since when do flies feast hastily
on rotten hopes
of unfulfilled promises and dreams?
To sadly realize (terrible fruition)
there is no home to go to
when there is no you—a fate worse than
death.
Jul 2017 · 410
What It Feels
J C Jul 2017
Someone asked what depression felt like.
“What?” I asked.
“What you feel it's like,” he gasped.
I've been in and out of this all my life, I thought.
“It's something,” I said, “something you can't let rot.
“It's when you feel freezing at 2:17 p.m. on hot July 24,
“and you shiver and sweat blood you can only see.
“It's when you feel water filling your lungs, clogging every pore,
“clogging so drowning is all you breathe.
“It's when all the ticks and clicks and noises in your head
“are all you feel—not hear, feel—in bed,
“and all the while [silence] breathes down your neck.
“It's when the world doesn't stop an inch for you
“but slows enough so you're left more than unhinged,
unscrewed, and you want the days to go by faster
“but time says no, and melting is your only answer.
“It's when you sound content on the other line,
“but all there is [in your throat] are a million little knives
“and they can't hear you from the other side of the glass
“from all their 'You'll be fine. It'll all just pass' [*******].
“It's when you down all the Citalopram in the world
“you fit in your hand but still feel as grim as the [under]world,
“and all you want to do is sleep so you're all alone,
“but the Ambien fails so your eyes and regrets stay open in its bone.
“It's when the closest thing stopping you from the trigger
“is the thought that you'd have Mom clean up the mirror
“from all the blood and flesh you leave behind
“but you still think of pulling, keep [the lead] in your mind.
“No, it's not something you will want to feel,” I said.
“It's not something as easy as talking to a friend.
“It's not something you leave to rot in your head.
“It's not something you want in the end.”
Rest in peace, Chester B.
May 2017 · 2.4k
Dimensions
J C May 2017
We're stardust, you and I.
The iron and calcium and magnesium
in the [stars], collide
within and beneath skin and bones;
and I've never felt—saw—myself alone
when I see the galaxy in your eyes.

We're electric, you and I.
The protons and neutrons and electrons
dance and [fade] into a trance
when our lips first sealed;
the first kiss—electric—wrecked on
the idea of bad good-byes.

We're thunderstorms, you and I.
The heat and the pressure and the cold
form tornadoes [slowly], thrashing
the home we built in our hearts;
and I've never felt—myself—more alone,
more paralyzed watching you cry.

We're supernovae, you and I.
The explosions and light and blackness
consume all matter [away], leaving
nothing in our souls—left—nothing
but the stardust in you and I.
Feb 2017 · 647
23:23
J C Feb 2017
A slow serenade of pianos and birds,
solemn, broken voices caress
lonesome souls wandering the world
endlessly in black print dress.

Hands softly touch carved ivory,
[dark and white].
So easy, so effortless, and without disdain—
never false honesty, an unfaked feeling of pain—
a specter, an angel, clad in beautiful light.

Hair flowing like wolves under moonlight,
lips colored cold, pale wine.
Eyes drowned in a weariness pulling
magnetically, hypnotic in eerie delight
a hopeless promise of paths entwined.
Jan 2017 · 564
Gone
J C Jan 2017
On an autumn day, they saw him stand;
on a winter night, they saw him on cold lands.
Such earthly things he needed were friends,
and there was no one, no one in the end.
They all knew about his loneliness
and his accompanying sorrow.
Smiles and laughter were objects
he could never borrow.
The birds and trees still stand witness,
the sky refusing once more to tell.
Everything he thought he knew
could neither be smooth nor well.
At the sun’s first ray of light,
at the trembling crack of dawn,
he spread once more his arms,
mimicking wings.
And he was gone.
Dec 2016 · 1.2k
Dream 2
J C Dec 2016
I woke up in my dream last night,
and it felt real and you were there.
I woke up in my dream and you were inside
my room and on my bed you lay bare.

I woke up in my dream, and the northern lights
could not match the colors in your smile.
I woke up in my dream, and there you embraced me tight,
and I swear I was breathless a while.

I woke up in my dream and oranges and sky blues danced,
when you stepped and swayed to old piano pieces.
I woke up in my dream and immediately into a trance,
when I felt your freeing love in innumerable kisses.

One day, I'll wake up from my dreaming
and see you sleeping by my side.
One day, one moment in the right timing,
I'll wake up next to you for the rest of my life.
Apr 2016 · 733
Up and Away, Cosmonaut
J C Apr 2016
All I hear are muffled sounds
as I walk slowly, closer toward the light.
Today is the final step in which I’m bound
by duty and history I’m about to write.
Everywhere I look are cheers
from people I do not know;
their spirits are high above the skies.
Beneath my mask is a certainty unclear
of the task I am about to undergo;
no time now to say proper goodbyes.
Up calmly, ascending the stairway to the unknown,
my heart pacing more rapidly than before.
Though safe in numbers I feel more alone,
all courage and might I now implore.

Radio sounds buzzed and fed through the lines;
the countdown now comes down to Five, four,
three, two, one—my ears ring from the sounds combined;
this is what it means, what it feels to be alive.
All signs seem well, so far so good;
though I feel as if my weight is pulled down.
Everything looks so small, so minute,
so close yet so far as it really is should;
it’s into unfamiliar ground we’re abound.
Left and struck with awe, I see no one up here;
dark matter clouds all thoughts of fear,
as the stars shimmer even closer in space.
This memory, this single moment will never disappear—
up and away into a sweet unfamiliar embrace.
Jan 2016 · 742
Sixty-Two
J C Jan 2016
Walks alone with you,
my hand holding yours
best when counting from sixty-two,
sixty-two minutes along this sandy shore.

A silent gesture,
a smile from ear to ear
all the more becomes sure,
sixty-two hours, love is sheer.

The wind against your hair,
bologna and cheese on your lip.
Deeply spellbound by your stare,
sixty-two days we've tightened our grip.

Walks alone with you,
my hand away from yours.
Love drifting away by the bayou,
Sixty-two weeks, here comes a detour.

— The End —