dean-eyers - Hello Poetry

A single piece of paper Flutters in the wind, going This way And that Without end. Bound, The leaves still are pushed This way And that, But the weight holds them in place. A home Can keep pieces together.

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Jun 8, 2020

Jun 8, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC

Pieces

A single piece of paper Flutters in the wind, going This way And that Without end. Bound, The leaves still are pushed This way And that, But the weight holds them in place. A home Can keep pieces together.

12

It's a game you never really cared about. Still, I spent every waking moment giving all I had to this game. Still, you spent nearly as much time ribbing me about the soft sport that didn't matter til the last few seconds. Tonight, my team won a championship against all odds. Tonight, despite the distance between us, I think of you. Old man, I want to thank you. Cause if you didn't show me hockey, or baseball, or lacrosse, or football, I would have never found my life. I owe that to you. Mom, I want to thank you too. Cause if you never took me to every soccer practice, if you never listened to my persistent sports ramblings, if you hadn't taught me what it means to be a good teammate, I would never have found this life. I owe it all to you.

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Jun 14, 2019

Jun 14, 2019 at 9:52 PM UTC

Thank you

It's a game you never really cared about. Still, I spent every waking moment giving all I had to this game. Still, you spent nearly as much time ribbing me about the soft sport that didn't matter til the last few seconds. Tonight, my team won a championship against all odds. Tonight, despite the distance between us, I think of you. Old man, I want to thank you. Cause if you didn't show me hockey, or baseball, or lacrosse, or football, I would have never found my life. I owe that to you. Mom, I want to thank you too. Cause if you never took me to every soccer practice, if you never listened to my persistent sports ramblings, if you hadn't taught me what it means to be a good teammate, I would never have found this life. I owe it all to you.

7

Today is windy. The thawed, muddy earth is restless. Spring is here, slowly creeping forward. Today there is nothing to be done. It's a work-free Saturday in April. The cats laze in windows while I sit on the couch and she does a puzzle. Today is not notable. None of the many life explosions that we will face, will we face today. They will come another time. Today, I look over at her. Her concentration is unwavering, her gaze fixed on that missing piece that just can't seem to find a home. Today, I can't look away. She is content, beautiful, strong, smart. All that, with ease, and she chose me. She looks up. "What?" She smiles, knowing full well that I was staring. "what?" I respond. She laughs, for the millionth time, and it makes me float, for the millionth time. Today, I'm home.

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Apr 27, 2019

Apr 27, 2019 at 1:43 PM UTC

Some things are worth holding on to

Today is windy. The thawed, muddy earth is restless. Spring is here, slowly creeping forward. Today there is nothing to be done. It's a work-free Saturday in April. The cats laze in windows while I sit on the couch and she does a puzzle. Today is not notable. None of the many life explosions that we will face, will we face today. They will come another time. Today, I look over at her. Her concentration is unwavering, her gaze fixed on that missing piece that just can't seem to find a home. Today, I can't look away. She is content, beautiful, strong, smart. All that, with ease, and she chose me. She looks up. "What?" She smiles, knowing full well that I was staring. "what?" I respond. She laughs, for the millionth time, and it makes me float, for the millionth time. Today, I'm home.

9

There's magic in the moments we share. Hands holding memories up with fingertips on each end like clouds in a drought. There they sit, unencumbered, until time necessitates rain. Clouds can be made up of many things. That concert with two thousand people chanting the same words. The moment of knowing pause between sentences of a last conversation. What sometimes becomes remembered as THE last conversation. Brunch shared among friends. These are the things that matter. It's here that sparks are born. It's here that a dry mouth is drenched.

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Mar 2, 2019

Mar 2, 2019 at 10:14 PM UTC

Magic

There's magic in the moments we share. Hands holding memories up with fingertips on each end like clouds in a drought. There they sit, unencumbered, until time necessitates rain. Clouds can be made up of many things. That concert with two thousand people chanting the same words. The moment of knowing pause between sentences of a last conversation. What sometimes becomes remembered as THE last conversation. Brunch shared among friends. These are the things that matter. It's here that sparks are born. It's here that a dry mouth is drenched.

3

to what there is to hold. what is will someday become what was. there will be loss. and it will be without limits. keep your grasp firm.

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Feb 3, 2019

Feb 3, 2019 at 2:44 PM UTC

Hold on

to what there is to hold. what is will someday become what was. there will be loss. and it will be without limits. keep your grasp firm.

4

I get lost in the content. My eyes ache at the pain that burns around the world. No visine will ease the heat. I scroll and see a shooting followed by a dash cam of an accident followed by a cute puppy followed by some family drama followed by a selfie followed by it's unending, and there's nothing to be done, so I scroll and scroll and scroll, giving as much attention to the meaningless and the meaningful. It's all the same to me.

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Aug 6, 2018

Aug 6, 2018 at 8:26 PM UTC

Scroll on

I get lost in the content. My eyes ache at the pain that burns around the world. No visine will ease the heat. I scroll and see a shooting followed by a dash cam of an accident followed by a cute puppy followed by some family drama followed by a selfie followed by it's unending, and there's nothing to be done, so I scroll and scroll and scroll, giving as much attention to the meaningless and the meaningful. It's all the same to me.

2

Every now and then, I'll steal a glance. On the train going to a Jays game. Sitting watching TV. Driving to yet another apartment viewing. While you're working at an adjacent desk and I browse the internet. I see your eyes, glowing blue like the lakes in Banff. I see your nose, rising far from your face. I see your lips, soft. I see the freckle on your right ear. I see your shoulder shimmy that comes whenever any pop song comes on. I see you, every single time, like it's the first time. I am so lucky.

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Jul 2, 2018

Jul 2, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC

Ashley

Every now and then, I'll steal a glance. On the train going to a Jays game. Sitting watching TV. Driving to yet another apartment viewing. While you're working at an adjacent desk and I browse the internet. I see your eyes, glowing blue like the lakes in Banff. I see your nose, rising far from your face. I see your lips, soft. I see the freckle on your right ear. I see your shoulder shimmy that comes whenever any pop song comes on. I see you, every single time, like it's the first time. I am so lucky.

4

Death is one of a kind. It takes adults, sure-handed through years of experience, and leaves them stumbling as toddlers. It takes love and makes a memory. It takes all that you value and slowly breaks it down. It is indifferent, sometimes unrelenting, and fires in any direction at any given moment. All this, but It can be more than just a vacant space. It's hard to see in the moment, or even after, but death also means more than loss. It means you've had something worth missing. It means that every day prior to meeting death in any capacity, you had something valuable. It's easy to see the vacant space that held your family, but not all vacant space has to be empty. It can be a reminder of the endless nights of laughter, the endless days of adventure. This is a reminder that canvas filled with your shared story is worth something, and will remain valuable as long as you still remember. just hold on, nothing is lost

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May 31, 2018

May 31, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC

Hold on

Death is one of a kind. It takes adults, sure-handed through years of experience, and leaves them stumbling as toddlers. It takes love and makes a memory. It takes all that you value and slowly breaks it down. It is indifferent, sometimes unrelenting, and fires in any direction at any given moment. All this, but It can be more than just a vacant space. It's hard to see in the moment, or even after, but death also means more than loss. It means you've had something worth missing. It means that every day prior to meeting death in any capacity, you had something valuable. It's easy to see the vacant space that held your family, but not all vacant space has to be empty. It can be a reminder of the endless nights of laughter, the endless days of adventure. This is a reminder that canvas filled with your shared story is worth something, and will remain valuable as long as you still remember. just hold on, nothing is lost

9

The cup is full. I can no longer absorb the things that retain our attention, their burden is too much to bear. I'm saying goodbye to what I don't need. Goodbye, gunned assailants Goodbye, facebook-shared liver cleanses Goodbye, hatred Goodbye, self-help anything You're not welcome here anymore. All seats are taken. Move along, I'm sure there are chairs at other tables for you. Goodbye, current events Goodbye, whatever new political campaign has us up in arms Goodbye, looming darkness that lingers in our periphery I haven't time for you. Goodbye, road to nowhere Goodbye, helplessness I'm moving on from you, old friends. I'm too tired to do this anymore. It's time for life, nothing less. Goodbye, Good riddance.

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Mar 1, 2018

Mar 1, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC

I'm Moving On

The cup is full. I can no longer absorb the things that retain our attention, their burden is too much to bear. I'm saying goodbye to what I don't need. Goodbye, gunned assailants Goodbye, facebook-shared liver cleanses Goodbye, hatred Goodbye, self-help anything You're not welcome here anymore. All seats are taken. Move along, I'm sure there are chairs at other tables for you. Goodbye, current events Goodbye, whatever new political campaign has us up in arms Goodbye, looming darkness that lingers in our periphery I haven't time for you. Goodbye, road to nowhere Goodbye, helplessness I'm moving on from you, old friends. I'm too tired to do this anymore. It's time for life, nothing less. Goodbye, Good riddance.

18

Suddenly, six years haven't passed. I'm driving home from my first official job, sun rising behind me and moon setting in front. My hands stink of grease, grit, metal, as a byproduct of lugging greasy, gritty metal around the plant through all of the night. I'm tired. My body cries out. It feels good, but I know that Fall will give me something that makes sure I don't have to come back here next summer. My back burns, every movement bringing a new spasm. I know I've got two Tylenol Extra Strength waiting patiently for my arrival at home. I pull over at the side of the road to capture the moment. And maybe that's why I remembered it tonight. Tonight, six years have passed. I'm several summers and a handful of jobs removed from pulling metal bits around from sundown til it rises again. I've got a piece of paper that says I spent four years studying but I only really spent a few weeks total, to be honest. I'm driving home in the middle of winter, sand and salt rusting my edges as the sun falls behind me again, the moon acting as a guiding light to my front. I'm coming from a place I never want to leave. I'm going to a place I never want to leave. It's easy to be torn, especially now, without even taking notice of it. I'm happier for it.

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Jan 30, 2018

Jan 30, 2018 at 7:24 PM UTC

From East to Best

Suddenly, six years haven't passed. I'm driving home from my first official job, sun rising behind me and moon setting in front. My hands stink of grease, grit, metal, as a byproduct of lugging greasy, gritty metal around the plant through all of the night. I'm tired. My body cries out. It feels good, but I know that Fall will give me something that makes sure I don't have to come back here next summer. My back burns, every movement bringing a new spasm. I know I've got two Tylenol Extra Strength waiting patiently for my arrival at home. I pull over at the side of the road to capture the moment. And maybe that's why I remembered it tonight. Tonight, six years have passed. I'm several summers and a handful of jobs removed from pulling metal bits around from sundown til it rises again. I've got a piece of paper that says I spent four years studying but I only really spent a few weeks total, to be honest. I'm driving home in the middle of winter, sand and salt rusting my edges as the sun falls behind me again, the moon acting as a guiding light to my front. I'm coming from a place I never want to leave. I'm going to a place I never want to leave. It's easy to be torn, especially now, without even taking notice of it. I'm happier for it.

27