church-rowe
Write a bio? I don't know who I am. I guess that's why I write (type). I'm figuring that out, but I'm getting the impression that you are what you do. So, I guess I'll let you know about myself when I do. / / Also, I write poetry and music and play in the band 'The Wanderer's Drift'.
I am lost!
I have crossed a divide,
where I collide with the unrevealed.
I am thrown into swirling life
spinning amidst defused light;
a kaleidoscopic landscape of streaked memories.
Is the end of this tunnel, my future or past?
Is there any evidence that I'm getting closer, at last?
An illusory distant point - a distraction
from action that needs to materialize
before I realize that I am not strong,
and am wrong about where I want to be.
I attempt to grip the whirl of wind;
hands outstretched to slow the spin.
My feet have yet to find land.
My body plans for impact
a stuntman's tumble back into mid-life,
eluding strife or contention,
but not to mention,
the final and ultimate cost;
alongside bittersweet acceptance,
of knowing that
I am no longer lost.
Jun 2, 2021
Jun 2, 2021 at 7:09 PM UTC
Shoeless,
in a forest,
insects on my toes.
Have I lost it?
It’s better if I don’t think for so long.
I might stop it,
sabotage it,
before I make it home.
Don’t put that spell on me,
now that I’m free.
Boneless,
in a casket;
washed out to salty sea.
Sun-baked, I’m awake,
but again, it’s just me.
Two times, I have tried
to steer away
from a lake that bears my name,
but now that I’m awake,
the notion just don’t feel the same.
Have I lost we,
now that I’m free?
Weightless,
and dateless.
Lost in time and space.
Doesn’t matter where we begin
so long as it doesn’t end.
I stay in place as everything floats away;
running as if chased.
Lasso the sun or the moon
to rocket me to some other rat race.
If I’ve lost we,
then, so be.
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 6:25 PM UTC
Awoke this morning to build an effigy.
A 9 am text turned it toward a eulogy.
I left exposed
my heart of gold
to another gone soul.
Hospital rooms,
beeps and boops,
my grandmother’s last soliloquy.
Her last trip through memory lane;
I listen intent, every word
branding onto my brain.
I beg just a little longer be
the bearer of the key
to this exclusive library, her history.
But, alas the doorway is flooding.
God has shut the ark door.
No salvation is coming.
Pulmonen et vita submersi,
analogon Atlantis
(Lung and life drowned, analog of Atlantis)
Goodbye ‘Maw-Maw’ Nell Broussard
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
Life can get stuck
in a downward spiral;
into Death’s
inevitable black hole.
Fly away
little butterflies.
Hurry
out of your cocoons.
Race
but pace yourself
from the inevitable
and monotonous pull.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
She thinks she can change the world
just by hugging it tight,
swaying back and forth,
singing “It’ll be alright.”
For her utopian world,
I’d be willing to fight,
though I don’t believe
it’ll last a night.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
She draws closely.
Her nostrils flare; she senses me.
Too late to evade,
She's on the prowl, hunting me.
I convey a little interest,
and then a little lie,
in hopes to divert her current opinion;
to convince her of some other project to drink from.
While conversing, she made two good points before
and for a time, I did adore
her night-life sins,
like the antithesis
of her pale white skin.
One part yang, the other part yin.
Her total package perfectly zen.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
I fell off a slick, wet roof.
An oscillating view
of black and blue,
'til the thud of the ground
made its cue.
Funny how things no longer pain,
when the mind's busy fighting for what life remains.
Fuzzy darkness invades.
My life's last pixel threatens to fade.
Blood slows for death's chains,
as a distant angel serenades.
A voice long before I've ascertained
My wife, my love, running to me with voice strained.
Panicked footsteps thud against the ground.
Death's dark veil seemingly overwhelmed
with the light of my love's
symphonious voice at my helm.
Now, two months later,
with a story to tell all,
of Death's light overcome by Love's song.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
Part of me doesn’t want to write anymore (or is it anything?).
Am I just afraid to drag my emotions across this page?
My words tend to come back black and blue,
misunderstood from the most ridiculous points of view.
Should I end communications?
Though the shadows in my closet offer no verbal retaliations.
For better or worse, at least my ego’s not hurt
from a mad world’s projections.
But I don’t want to be the lonely one
hiding along the edge of the room,
surely looking broken to some,
while others wait for me to come undone.
Give me a minute and I’ll return to center ring.
Maybe it’s just the thought of a crowd that I find overwhelming.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
I feel like running into the arms of warm grave,
if it weren't for all these people I supposedly saved.
Now looking at me with their accusatory stares,
looks of "How dare you emotionally sway,
from the hopes and words that convinced us to stay!"
What if you find that I'm wrong;
that these are not real songs,
and that I don't belong?
I'm sorry.
Compared to other heroes, I'm not nearly as strong.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
Run, rat, run.
Though you don’t know where to
or what from.
Live, love,
fly, die.
A cyclical life we all live by.
Disorientedly
caught in the streams
of others’ hopes and dreams.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC