jordan-a-duncan
Carbondale
I have been writing since I was a child and never really felt I was good at it until the first time I got paid. I took a few years' hiatus after someone told me my passion was not feasible. That person is no longer in my life and I find myself wanting to create again. The problem is I never see a project as truly finished. I keep finding something I want to change.
Sunrise floods through
vertical blinds strong enough to
bleed through thick fingers of my aloe.
Mold grows from soil-top deep into
the root.
I
stretch my arms, wipe
crust from my eyes
just to find
you.
God,
anybody but
you.
Eyes red. You
didn't sleep.
It's been days since you
slept. Your
pile of cups, stained from old coffee, mingling
with cheap liquor
bottles. Lying on the floor like the bodies
in Normandy.
The first thing you
say to me, your
catch phrase, prodding me with bony
fingers, the scars across your
arms like scales.
Shallow pools under your
eyes lingering, you
say "you will not last today."
I
tried to spring to my feet, you
held me down.
"Sleep," you
cooed as my eyelids buckled
I
believed it best I just
lie
down.
"Spend the day in bed," you
said. "It'll be nice," you
say "let me have just one more day."
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
The Strid, at ground level, seems
A calm stream. A peaceful bath.
None foresee being swept into
My roaring depths, trapped under current and crag
I want to merit photographs, but
I am midday with overcast skies
The light isn’t quite right, the
Scenery you see seems trashed
I picture myself behind the wheel of
The steel frame of a 1967 Chevy Impala. Black and
Worn down from its time in domesticity
Its escapee driving fast, kicking up dust, so
He can never look back
Praying the engine doesn’t clunk or thrash
My heart is the library of Alexandria
Endless tomes taken from open trade
Open to few, elites within not knowing they’re kindling
An empire of knowledge gone to waste in
A night of passion and fire
My mind lives in Constantinople
Unbroken walls build in fear of failure
I am the fire in that city, uncontrolled
I consume myself from within, and
My walls crumble
Prized relics of pride swiftly settle
Kicking up dust at the bottom of the river
The bosun yells “man overboard!”
Too late; they’re trapped
Under current and crag.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
Sunrise floods through
vertical blinds strong enough to
bleed through thick fingers of my aloe.
Mold grows from soil-top deep into
the root.
I
stretch my arms, wipe
crust from my eyes
just to find
you.
God,
anybody but
you.
Eyes red. You
didn't sleep.
It's been days since you
slept. Your
pile of cups, stained from old coffee, mingling
with cheap liquor
bottles. Lying on the floor like the bodies
in Normandy.
The first thing you
say to me, your
catch phrase, prodding me with bony
fingers, the scars across your
arms like scales.
Shallow pools under your
eyes lingering, you
say "you will not last today."
I
tried to spring to my feet, you
held me down.
"Sleep," you
cooed as my eyelids buckled
I
believed it best I just
lie
down.
"Spend the day in bed," you
said. "It'll be nice," you
say "let me have just one more day."
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
I remember you tall.
Running marathons with ease as the
Portland breeze was my only relief as I
Staggered behind to a crawl, you – you
You turned back,
Picked me up and said the blisters on my
Feet showed a need to push harder – to attack and I –
I wanted to keep going. To fight through tears and blisters
Sitting in the corner of your office.
Small firm accounting. Where I had my first
Toffee, you excelled at numbers, serving rich and crass
You smilled, sipped your coffe, flipped through pages fast
One day, you went to the store. You
came back empty-handed, like a child forgetting a chore, you
you looked confised, but your wrinkled smile didn’t fade.
At least, not until you
At least, not until you – you
You
Forgot my name.
A life is a collection of memories
And hopes
And for you – for you
-for you that was
Fading
My fear wasn’t as loud as
The “nope” I was saying
Like all
My well wishes could stop
The slope you were slipping
Like – like
Like I could have the audacity
To force you into
Into staying
Your gray beard, your
Coffee staining your shirts and
Your jackets
Weighing heavy
The tracks
My
Tears were laying when your
Your last word to me was “hey”
Trying to stop
Stop my crying in vain
Now
These jackets weighing
Weighting too heavy on grandma, she
She put them on my shoulders
The soft leather
Felt more like a
Boulder, my
My
My arms
Slipped through the sleeves,
Sleeves crawled at the wrist
Funny, I remembered you
tall
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
She dragged her body across the room
Away from the steamy pile in my studio
“why does your japartment smell like spoiled cheese and
Sadness?”
Her speech sloppy as her movement
“because you vomited on my ******* floor!”
Her head spinning, she lurched forward
“I didn’t do that – must been you.”
She slurred, staring at her mess, smelling the fumes.
Swinging her head round, smacking the wall
She burped.
Why help the helpless? It’s hell.
An hour of her refusing clothes
Forcing her to dress like a toddler in my clothes
“I’m a goddess! I’m a goddess!” she bellowed.
“Yeah, but even Athena wore clothes.”
When you ***** in a toilet, it
Goes in a second – cleaning’s a breeze!
When someone pukes on your floor, it smells like sadness
And cheese,
Interesting how I remember my toilet bowl clearn
That night, resting my head on icy porcealan
Alone, isolated from friends usually there when I’m “unwell” in a toilet stall
After ally, why help the helpless? It’s hell.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
My garden, bedded
in rest.
The roses bloomed like chiffon twirls
shine or shade
You approached with vested
Interest
Your neon eye-shadow, your black-tar curls
With intent like clumsy mower blades
You brought a dandelion from my neighbor’s lawn.
Its puff splitting, flying from your breath like a song from
Your lips, I thought a wish flew along.
There was no wish; just seeds, scattered. Gone.
You entered my home, keeping me captive.
I thought the walls closed every time you left.
Breath shallow, you told me I was maladaptive.
You found him, you were gone. Only the ring I gave you was left.
I was wrong; walls didn’t crumble because you were gone, but
Because you were here, my foundation crumbled from
Morning glories, untended, the vines grew too long, and
In and out of the concrete, my rose bushes crumpled.
I near let my home die
I rebuilt from rubble what’s mine
Late summer, I toiled, upturning rose root.
Piled the brush, for us, a pyre.
A former self turns to a pile of empty bottles and soot
My friends called it your wake, this bonfire.
Leaves fell, still, I toiled.
Killing the vines with water I boiled.
Tilling the land, laying rose-ash under soil.
Aching back, 56 degrees, sweat, too tired to pull the splinters.
Then came winter.
Ice blew over and all those weeds died.
It started to seem funny, all those times I cried
Over You.
I find my love was never a closet;
A trap meant for one, but
a well that runs deep and
the groundwater clean.
Spring comes, green growth peaks into view
I breathe the air, happy with the year in review.
I plant rhododendrons where common roses bloomed and
A vegetable patch where grass once grew.
My garden flourishes with life and color.
I look to my garden wanting just to tend
my garden, it grows like feelings for new lovers.
I think of how it will look by summer’s end.
Grass like fingers reaching to the sun with new
life, prospering. As the rhododendrons rise from
the care I’m fostering and tomatoes will
ripen and shine when the sun gives luster, and
Fruits from the vine plump with nectar inside.
Sustenance for me, of course,
A boon to the birds, the bees
As She and her soft hands help tend my crop
Pulling stray weeds, sweating from the force.
The flowers will grow in colorful clusters like
July fireworks, a boom for every new bloom.
The difference, Rose, is I
trust her.
She will not turn my garden, my home
into another crumbling tomb.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
mom called it “snow channel”
an ice storm of flowing pixels over the screen
drowning in nothing, it seems my
mood spirals to it like i’m flipping dead channels
like white noise ringing out
loud
last time i turned it off, i forgot to
turn it down
i lie in deafening silence
i lie staring at the snow-channel ceiling
i lie when I tell my mom I’m okay
that i’m not keeping bad thoughts at bay
that i don’t spend all day fighting
this, but i realize
all i’m feeling
unemphatic
just static
and the ceiling
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
your hand slithers around my thigh
I swat at you, With a sigh.
but how I wish I never did
because I am longing for that touch
that sensation you gave me
lay me down again
pull me close
whisper secrets In my ear
now lower, lower
you come back up
see the thing is I want this from you
not just anyone
I want you to touch me in ways
where ill have poems slipping from my tongue to yours
and you'll recite them as we intertwine
you'll recite these poems on every inch of my body
leaving marks that you have been there and you have told them
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC