michael-hatfield - Hello Poetry

I sit at an angle facing the window. Morning sunlight staggers in and tumbles onto the table. It seems to be as relaxed as I am this early in the day. I sit and I smile. A lazy smile. It sits as easy as I do. My mind starts to wander, the way it only does just after sleep. The hazy connection-forming sort of way that must be closely related to dreaming. I find myself thinking of a summer years ago. Not a particular event from that summer. Just that summer in general. How it was to be a kid then, with that set of friends. Care-free, or relatively so. Only ever attempting to locate trivial entertainment. A band of kids, a sworn allegiance long since faded into the great collective memory. A bird flits across the sky outside my window. I shake myself, that smile I found so effortless now gone. I think “been a long time, wonder how everyone is?” The moment broken, I stand up and walk out of the room.

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Oct 9, 2010

Oct 9, 2010 at 10:39 PM UTC

michael-hatfield

Reminiscently, I sit.

I sit at an angle facing the window. Morning sunlight staggers in and tumbles onto the table. It seems to be as relaxed as I am this early in the day. I sit and I smile. A lazy smile. It sits as easy as I do. My mind starts to wander, the way it only does just after sleep. The hazy connection-forming sort of way that must be closely related to dreaming. I find myself thinking of a summer years ago. Not a particular event from that summer. Just that summer in general. How it was to be a kid then, with that set of friends. Care-free, or relatively so. Only ever attempting to locate trivial entertainment. A band of kids, a sworn allegiance long since faded into the great collective memory. A bird flits across the sky outside my window. I shake myself, that smile I found so effortless now gone. I think “been a long time, wonder how everyone is?” The moment broken, I stand up and walk out of the room.

19

My mind wanders continuously To and from the hear and now Seemingly I don’t pay attention to what you say Not true I do, in a way But thank you for talking at me When you thought I couldn’t hear Because the rhythm of your psychoses wears upon my soul Weathering me Not like the sapphire waves beating on a jagged coastline wearing a mighty cliff into the humblest grain of sand Or anything quite that dramatic More like the way subtle occurrences can effect ones perception so powerfully And while I’m floating along From one island of idea to another I’m tethered to reality By the ironic lifeline of your madness.

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Oct 9, 2010

Oct 9, 2010 at 1:51 AM UTC

michael-hatfield

Your dementia, which holds me.

My mind wanders continuously To and from the hear and now Seemingly I don’t pay attention to what you say Not true I do, in a way But thank you for talking at me When you thought I couldn’t hear Because the rhythm of your psychoses wears upon my soul Weathering me Not like the sapphire waves beating on a jagged coastline wearing a mighty cliff into the humblest grain of sand Or anything quite that dramatic More like the way subtle occurrences can effect ones perception so powerfully And while I’m floating along From one island of idea to another I’m tethered to reality By the ironic lifeline of your madness.

17

Sometimes I feel as though time has stopped moving I know that it never really stops That time moves as regularly as it can But Moments linger They lag and rip and jostle Stretch out like taffy in a candy stores window on a boardwalk They have a tendency to stick around long past the expiration date I know Somewhere in the factual portion of my brain That each second is uniform One sixtieth of a minute and one thirty-six hundredth of an hour Exact concrete absolute Measured just the same As if I can’t lose everything In that same second That was At one time or another As uniform and bland as all the others.

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Oct 7, 2010

Oct 7, 2010 at 9:27 PM UTC

michael-hatfield

A paradoxical look at time.

Sometimes I feel as though time has stopped moving I know that it never really stops That time moves as regularly as it can But Moments linger They lag and rip and jostle Stretch out like taffy in a candy stores window on a boardwalk They have a tendency to stick around long past the expiration date I know Somewhere in the factual portion of my brain That each second is uniform One sixtieth of a minute and one thirty-six hundredth of an hour Exact concrete absolute Measured just the same As if I can’t lose everything In that same second That was At one time or another As uniform and bland as all the others.

19