If I were watching you now
sat at your lap
desk bare and clinical
like your sharp eyes,
if I were watching you now
I think I would look right into you
and I would see the war scars
that you buried in orderly dysfunction
and raging fits of tidiness,
I don't think you walked away
from those burning screaming
German towns bearing your name.
You ran. you ran hard.
back to your horses and simple fields,
back to a life that was entirely too chaotic
in its gentleness.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
I tried so hard to be happy.
It felt, at times, lucidity,
like dreaming and then awaking,
remembering reality,
that peaceful dream would never be.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
My father's long fingers smooth
over the aged scratchy pleats.
The Kilt is magnificent. It has the
fleeting beauty that only a well
kept antique has, that warm
firelight glow of the past.
It has a few scuffs and holes,
but the somber reds and greens of
clan Mackintoish have settled into
the cloth and darkened pleasantly.
The kilt is always the most important detail,
it has passed from grandfather down,
and it looks as handsome now
as in the sepia photographs on our shelves.
The dirks black ornate hilt rests
heavily against his hip, and the
belt is cinched tightly to hold it up.
you can practically hear bagpipes
My grandfather's dark green cotton socks
sit near the top of my father's calf
and he leans over to adjust the frills.
And as his tan wrinkled brow furrows
in concentration, and his admittedly
attractive white whiskers scrape
across his collar, and the image
nears completion, the drum beats louder.
Reaching up from the ancient past
and grasping the future in tradition,
the ghosts of ancestors enter his poise,
and he suddenly appears less like
my father and takes on the swagger
of a cocky fisherman, of pirate.
He is swinging swords
and playing pipes, and cobbling, and
setting stones upright in ancient
forgotten ritual, and tossing cabers.
I know looking at him now,
what my own ghosts will be
when my time comes.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
Does evil change? Does it mean
something different to
each passing generation?
I rather think it doesn't
but instead wears some
dark mask to disguise hatred.
Looking into the future
it sees a people
who have abandoned their fight.
Subdued by unfortunate
laws and happenstance,
disappointment is normal,
until the cruelest evil
is met with a sigh
and casual acceptance.
Take heed that circumstances
that appear to have
improved beyond improvement,
are most dangerous to those
who are still oppressed
by lingering prejudice.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
I wrote a paper in school
about ancient myths
using an old typewriter
and by candle-light,
wrapped up in a comforter
that cold winter night,
despite the propane heater
in the dining room.
All of our utilities
were shut off for months,
electric, gas, and water;
we had no money.
We were getting food-bank meals,
and making our own
candles out of reused wax.
It felt pitiful,
and in the days leading to
my paper due date
I was told repeatedly
that it must be typed.
The school library was closed
before my last class
ended, and we had some fines
at the public one.
Here's a myth I often hear,
though not learned in school,
party politics will say,
"They wanted handouts."
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
I don't think, sometimes
before, or after, I speak.
And I'm only thinking now,
after hours of antagonizing myself,
and I know we'll have to speak,
maybe today or tomorrow,
but I think I deserve
for you to think sometimes as well.
I really hate being sorry when I'm not
and I really hate saying I love you
just so you can stare offfffffff
and ignore me.
And I really hate the
insinuations and suggestions
that your cold shoulders, sighs, and apathy send me
so that I do think, sometimes
before, or after, you speak,
that maybe you don't care for my company
quite as much as I care for yours
even if I know that's not true <3
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Despite your self-assured sense
of retribution,
violence begetting violence
is no solution.
It's true, though satisfying
violence may yet be,
joy in crying and dying
is awful, you see.
Try understanding the cause
of bad behavior,
their reasons will give you pause;
teaching you'll favor.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
There's a reason why
we call it being
broke.
being poor is like
running out of time
every few minutes
over and over
and the looming tasks
you cannot complete
are ever present
and threatening to
to
pp
le
over your family
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
What of our dark American tome
can we read to our children?
Will they sleep to slave-cries
and tear-gas?
Will they someday play the game
cops and hippies?
Will they understand words like
"peace" or "love"?
Or will they become funny catchphrases
of a bygone era?
Will their culture be hewn of
plastics and contracts
or the red-brown earth?
Will justice become a name and
no longer an idea?
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
My hair stands on end
and I tip over, spilling
into the sky and down
into the dirt.
The stage explodes inwards
in colorful bursts,
black and white bears
strumming and growling
in a cymbal crash
a thunder clap
a tap-dancing
madhouse jamboree.
The threatening noise
reverberateraterating
through the hills
and climbs up inside
until I fly out of my body
straight up into the heavens
with a sigh,
a soul release.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC