You see things
aren’t great
they’re tough they’re stressful
I’ve seen things
mostly though
I’ve done things
To myself
to others
It’s not all bad (I’m okay. now?)
though the bad eclipsed
the good
It’s left me with scars
a plowed field on my left arm
an insignia of rank. A decorated veteran
scars on the skin are
a projection of the psyche
just a manifestation
The real scars run deeper
the real scars weren’t made with steel
the real wound was made by people
people who I trust(ed)
people who I love(d)
friends
Broken trust broken boundaries broken friendship
all compound fractures
marring the skin
the cutting wasn’t an illness
it was a symptom
of an ailing mind
an agonizing mind
an acrid acidic mind
burning away blinded
the smoke of its own plight
blotting out the world
blotting out the light
a cut pierces the pall
slashes the smoke
it lets you breath
it lets you see
it lets you forget
if only for
a moment.
But Cuts
are Band-Aids
on a severed artery
they don’t ebb the flow
they don’t change the tides
they can’t stop your vital
hourglass sand from slipping
through your fingers
They don’t give any control
when you need it most
they take it away
and then you aren’t holding the blade
the blade is holding you
and you’re lost again.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
I can't breathe
I can't breathe
I can't breathe.
distant blurry bleary
out of focus vision draining away
to blackout. out of myself removed from my body
I can't breathe
I can't breathe
I can't breathe
tense tense tense; nauseous pressure in my chest
suddenly I'm Numb
an empty vacant vessel
my head is filled with gauze
I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't move, I can't hear
I can't feel.
Detached, disconnected, despondent, dead
divorced from reality with nothing
just dread and anxiety
a persistent refrain
muffled behind cotton fog
a distant urgent shadow
I can't breathe
I can't breathe
I can't breathe
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
Morning. Diffuse light
through frost painted panes
xylophone alarm quantifies reticent consciousness
warm sheets a Siren Song
or ****** Lotus beckoning
to stay in comfort and familiarity
crawling to a vertical orientation
jerking into up-right ambulation
the still tepid bed implores you to stay
Dredging subconscious anxieties
nebulous worries swirl; full blown gale
Lightning fears & thunderous uncertainty flash behind groggy eyes
Backhanded ocular rub
quells queasy qualms
life is ineffably uncertain
But there’s excitement in ambiguity
satisfaction in resolution
interest in intrigue
invariable inevitability
only begets; stagnation, complacency,
boredom & apathy
Uncertainty is positive, perhaps
a necessity even
but then again the bed is still warm
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
Arduous late Winter
woes amplify in February
false hope
We’re all sick
of constrictive clothes
and cold climes conducive to staying in
Cabin fever running rampant
45° t-shirts & sunglasses
everyone driving with their windows down
Hoping Vernal rituals
performed early will
hasten Spring’s arrival
I’m done
fed up
ready to move on
Going crazy in the cold
writhing to get moving unimpeded
by frigidness and snow
I’m ready for Spring
for Summer
for Fall
I’m ready for the scent
of thawing soil in the air
biking in the Sun, verdance, and flowers in bloom
I’m ready for grass between my toes
Fireflies, crickets, peepers
and warm night stars
I’m sick of frost reddened runny raw noses
sick of numb fingers and toes
and having precious few daylight hours
I’m sick of combatting glacial winds with layers,
of treacherous icy apathy,
and dreary bleak boredom
I’m sick of not being able to sit on the ground
sick of long pants, long socks, long sleeves,
and silent stagnant long nights
So, despite the fact
that I’ll pine for January
every day over 90°
Despite the fact
that when mosquitoes swarm
I’ll wish a frost would **** the little ********
and despite the fact
I’ll get just as fed up
with temperate seasons
I still want Spring
and then Summer
and then Fall
But February brings false hope
and despite the lengthening cheery sun
months still stand
between us and t-shirt weather
mild nights, grassy hills,
and emancipation from an inclement icebox atmosphere
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
Languid
restless
I don’t even know anymore
I don’t have anything to say
nothing real
nothing fictional
Plagued today
a lack of passion
no inspiration to be had
stuck in vapid complacency
I haven’t chosen
not to feel
Anything at this given moment
would be salvation
from banal doldrum
I’ve slipped
fell
into pacificity
Observer at best
always just a passing wayfarer
part of the scenery
running a facade
a mask of my own image
sure I see myself in the mirror
but Who
Is
That?
Trapped
by the singular perspective
that is consciousness
I have no idea
what anyone feels
What another’s notion of me is
other than myself
and even then
I’m not so sure.
Does anyone
ever give me
a thought?
Who am I?
an Artist
a poet
a hiker
a biker
a walker at night
a friend
a son
a brother
An acquaintance
that guy
hey you
a fool
a loser
lost
selfish
lonely
insecure
Maybe?
but who defines me
myself or others
Does it even matter
what I think
if I’m really not the judge
but then again
how will anyone see
what I am if I don’t know
Is there even
a place
for me?
Where am I going?
what am I doing?
Will I ever make a difference?
Will I ever carve a niche?
will I ever be remembered?
will anyone ever think of me?
Who will think of me?
how will they define me?
who knows?
I sure as hell don’t.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
There’s too much light
deluge of photons
an affront to Night’s ambiance
Harsh sulfur streetlight glow:
trickery. illuminating
arteries of Artificial
making the Night
dull dark distant
confined to human construct
robbing Mystery
masking subtlety
devouring nature
the Immensity
the Antiquity
the Beauty of Stars: gone
Lost
blotted out
by buzzing wasp’s nest
Denizens’ sting
to eyes & minds
inflaming consciousness
no longer can you Feel
small and lost
under the grandeur of nocturnal sky
all is set
before you
here to there
Elsewhere to home
Home?
Sleep in Darkness?
listening & thinking
‘til sleep succumbs
No, now rather
befalling Sickly
pallor of computer glow
we stare with blinders
all else fading
save the screen
before us
******* us in
trapping us
excising thoughts
keeping us
from ourselves
that is why we fill the night
Out of fear. To hide
but not from monsters
nor from ghosts goblins gremlins ghouls
not from lurking eldritch terror of yore
but from ourselves
from Feeling and Being
for fear of perceiving
tactile intuition in the air
of what lies ahead rather than seeing
for fear of walking by ourselves
just ourselves with unencumbered thoughts
and seeing through the facade
the facade of daytime ascribed meanings
the facade of of who we are
the facade of light
The facade that Darkness
is what is lacking
that light is normality
That light is beauty
light is hope
light is life
but it’s just that
a Facade
we plastered ourselves: an Illusion
But there’s truth
at Night and under stars
truth in the sensation of dusky hours
Artistry in ink
the allure of “unknown”
feeling small and lost
Under soft Milky Way
floating over dew laden grass
caressed by cool currents
There’s Truth
& Beauty
in the Night
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
On Tuesday, I had
the intention
to set the precedent
of doing the
the work for Class
promptly
And for that
I had
Tomorrow
But Tomorrow
turned
Into..
Up at Five AM
to climb
A Mountain (Kinsman a 4000 footer)
Then back at Three
to take
A Well earned Shower
Then out at Four
to see the group of
my Best Friends
For the first time (in quite some time)
And the last time
until Summer
Then back at One
To get some
Sleep
So, even though
Tomorrow turned
to Yesterday
And I didn’t
at all
do school work
So, this Morning
I hurriedly
write this
I can’t at all
Say it wasn’t
Worth it
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
In the fog
streetlight glow:
Will-o-the-Wisps
Embers wrapped in gauze
harsh yellow light
spills into grey monotony
The world has shrunk
confined
to the pools cast by floating lamps
All else
is a faded
grey blur
A stagnant breeze
stokes the down air
into writhing ethereal vines
Vision clouded
permeated by whisper
mist caressing
Everything is painted mute
a drear uneasy blanket
cast into the valley
I drift
strung along
by the luminous spectral splashes
Unseen
Unnoticed
a smudge in a world of vapor
Am I
anymore definite
than the intangible fog?
March today
despite being January
At least a good day for a walk
Ice in sepia speckled with black
wilted under
the Water’s surface
Ridges and islands
of white ice protrude
from the murk
Delicate ripples
roil from
inky black wells
Drab and tattered
the snow trodden grass
sways in the wind
Murk
Murk
The color of tea
steaming
Chai
In a floral mug
A warm up from
the chill
walk
I drink down
to the dregs
satisfied
It’s still March
as if January resigned early
and February forgot to come
Forty Degrees
clad in shorts
and sweatshirt, I walk
Air perfumed by thawing soil
and melted pond pools
painted robin’s egg blue
Ice bent trees
bow towards the road
like children’s hands
Reaching towards
pothole puddles with trickles
trailing like balloon strings
Reflecting the sky
inverted vignettes
Caste in brown
Framing the trees
skeletal fractal fingers
reaching across the tableaux
Peering through the clouds
the Sun silhouettes
black bottle brush pines
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
Learn to live
in Summer hours
happy
Always adjust
the Sails
to wise wind
There is heart in us
asking to Live
You and me
Luck chance
there is nothing to lose
by living in your heart
There is
always
Something
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
I was immersed
In Ray Bradbury
and a cup of Tea
Suddenly, my bubble popped
wrenching me into
the real world
On the television
there was a commercial
for the new Ford Fusion
I find myself
again
in a new world
It's last year
in a Friend's car
approaching a red light
I say "If we just drive fast enough the red light will be Blue Shifted to green"
Amused, she inquires "How fast would we need to be going?"
"Oh, I don't know. Probably approaching the speed of light"
with a chuckle she says "What is they had a particle collider, but for cars"
not missing I beat, I shoot back "Oh they do, it's how they make the Ford Fusion" I continue laughing "You know a CARticle accelerator"
We Laugh
Back again to the present
I'm basking in the thought
of friendship
Her voice just as real
our laughter just as warm
the feelings just as real
That vivid moment
had felt just as real
if not more so
I can't help but smile
and let out a little laughter
at the significance of the Ford Fusion
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC