rynmccall - Hello Poetry

the morning I left my toothbrush on the windowsill, the Cleveland sky smelled of laundry. later still, after the snow had started in southern Ohio, my coworker returned to verify the body of her father. a clear, azul dusk fell cloudless, peaceful and still through the turmoil in the atmosphere, the tension of lost things could no longer fit on a windowsill. march 13, 2017 c.e.m.

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Nov 3, 2017

Nov 3, 2017 at 11:19 PM UTC

s(t)ill

the morning I left my toothbrush on the windowsill, the Cleveland sky smelled of laundry. later still, after the snow had started in southern Ohio, my coworker returned to verify the body of her father. a clear, azul dusk fell cloudless, peaceful and still through the turmoil in the atmosphere, the tension of lost things could no longer fit on a windowsill. march 13, 2017 c.e.m.

15

Uncomfortable white man Looks at his watch. Uncomfortable white man Wants to scream at the kid Up somewhere around row 6 or 7 To simmer down, Stop crying. We all feel like you. Uncomfortable white man Signals the attendant. Uncomfortable white man Is thirsty..wishes he bought a drink. Uncomfortable white man Doesn't want to pay six dollars for a ***** Uncomfortable white man could afford it. Uncomfortable white man Glancing at his watch again Not allowing it the time To click to the next analogue minute. Uncomfortable white man shifts, Uncomfortably. Uncomfortable white man Crossed his arms, Grasping his wrists. Uncomfortable white man Isn't accustomed To being Uncomfortable.

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Apr 24, 2017

Apr 24, 2017 at 9:33 AM UTC

Uncomfortable White Man

28

Carried home from a family occasion and placed in the icebox, slowly slid to the back of the fridge as leftover moments fight for space near the front. Styrofoam predictions of life after childish ambitions are accidentally neglected and left to spoil, unattended and tempted with wayward growth. You may find them again, rummaging through, making space, or maybe just looking for something you thought you lost. Long since forgotten, the ideas molded over the ages of a chilly adolescence, and what might have been promising is now indistinguishable and unusable. A small, unaffected edge may remind you Of its purpose in a past life and you’ll sigh as you change the trash liner to accommodate another failure. You sometimes wonder What you may have missed piling so many options only to be forgotten until they’re rotten. It doesn’t help any to be the one who has to retrieve it. see what it is, know what it was... a subtle, sneaking certainty of what it could’ve become. more and more often, it’s too early to stomach the sun and you find the day has begun without you, as if it doubts your commitment to present tense. Still, you continue along hanging from a precarious cable car of ambivalence, waving at each opportunity missed as it passes you by, your eyes idly on the sky. "Next time, next time" You mutter "Next time I'll give it a try." C.e.M. 2.17.15 Edited 4.18.17

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Apr 18, 2017

Apr 18, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC

Past Due

Carried home from a family occasion and placed in the icebox, slowly slid to the back of the fridge as leftover moments fight for space near the front. Styrofoam predictions of life after childish ambitions are accidentally neglected and left to spoil, unattended and tempted with wayward growth. You may find them again, rummaging through, making space, or maybe just looking for something you thought you lost. Long since forgotten, the ideas molded over the ages of a chilly adolescence, and what might have been promising is now indistinguishable and unusable. A small, unaffected edge may remind you Of its purpose in a past life and you’ll sigh as you change the trash liner to accommodate another failure. You sometimes wonder What you may have missed piling so many options only to be forgotten until they’re rotten. It doesn’t help any to be the one who has to retrieve it. see what it is, know what it was... a subtle, sneaking certainty of what it could’ve become. more and more often, it’s too early to stomach the sun and you find the day has begun without you, as if it doubts your commitment to present tense. Still, you continue along hanging from a precarious cable car of ambivalence, waving at each opportunity missed as it passes you by, your eyes idly on the sky. "Next time, next time" You mutter "Next time I'll give it a try." C.e.M. 2.17.15 Edited 4.18.17

56

I've got a hand-held mirror and an old can of spaghetti-o's in the back pocket of the passenger side seat. I'd call off instead of quitting. I'd pack my clothes and my books first. I'd miss my quirky little knick knacks. I'd bring all my blankets and a lot of beef jerky. I'd learn to grow my own tea. I'd write letters. I wouldn't send them. I'd think of returning often. I never would.

0

Apr 6, 2017

Apr 6, 2017 at 10:06 PM UTC

if i were to leave

I've got a hand-held mirror and an old can of spaghetti-o's in the back pocket of the passenger side seat. I'd call off instead of quitting. I'd pack my clothes and my books first. I'd miss my quirky little knick knacks. I'd bring all my blankets and a lot of beef jerky. I'd learn to grow my own tea. I'd write letters. I wouldn't send them. I'd think of returning often. I never would.

19

the chime of a phone call awoke me. the message was simple. "don't come today". The murky sun peered curiously past sheered grey phasing in and out like a kitchen light on a dimmer or an oscillating fan. I rarely taste this version of morning breath much anymore.

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Apr 5, 2017

Apr 5, 2017 at 10:10 PM UTC

8a

the chime of a phone call awoke me. the message was simple. "don't come today". The murky sun peered curiously past sheered grey phasing in and out like a kitchen light on a dimmer or an oscillating fan. I rarely taste this version of morning breath much anymore.

12

I left my home in the hands of estranged friends only to find it again nearly two years later, a weekend in Cleveland. I made it to the door with the last sleepy tendrils of sun flaking from drooping eyes. Communion is served at 5:30 sharp by hands adorned with hard work. The elements are passed, fire and glass, 'round a table with seats for 6. It is then I realized... in the half-light it was decided. I never left the pew. My religion is still community.

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Mar 30, 2017

Mar 30, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC

Gin and Ginger Ale

I left my home in the hands of estranged friends only to find it again nearly two years later, a weekend in Cleveland. I made it to the door with the last sleepy tendrils of sun flaking from drooping eyes. Communion is served at 5:30 sharp by hands adorned with hard work. The elements are passed, fire and glass, 'round a table with seats for 6. It is then I realized... in the half-light it was decided. I never left the pew. My religion is still community.

20

Rusted ringlets hang Precariously pouring out Of a metallic scrunchy. I can’t keep myself From glancing intermittently At the slight glisten Of a cocktail On her cupid’s bow, Then, a few inches below, Her taut neck, A small piece of cloth grasping Its sculpted edges Begging the question How it would feel To cup her face With fingers embellished By cheap and chipping paint? Would she settle there, A placid pool of profundity? Or would she seep between The cracks of my fingers Unable to be contained By such a simple stranger? She adorned the corner Of the couch With such grace. It was breathtaking, As she spoke in rhythms Lining the crests of her intonation, Hazel flashes kept tempo, A conversation shifting in tandem. Poetry in motion.

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Mar 27, 2017

Mar 27, 2017 at 11:09 PM UTC

Born Again in Brooklyn

Rusted ringlets hang Precariously pouring out Of a metallic scrunchy. I can’t keep myself From glancing intermittently At the slight glisten Of a cocktail On her cupid’s bow, Then, a few inches below, Her taut neck, A small piece of cloth grasping Its sculpted edges Begging the question How it would feel To cup her face With fingers embellished By cheap and chipping paint? Would she settle there, A placid pool of profundity? Or would she seep between The cracks of my fingers Unable to be contained By such a simple stranger? She adorned the corner Of the couch With such grace. It was breathtaking, As she spoke in rhythms Lining the crests of her intonation, Hazel flashes kept tempo, A conversation shifting in tandem. Poetry in motion.

32

Suddenly... Your idea of someone is shifted...irreparably, so it seems. At first. At the least. Maybe over time you'll forget, somewhat. That is to say, whatever disappearing moment may transition into a partial, fickle memory. You will recall it, inconveniently, possibly with slight inconsistency, and they will claim, should you choose to mention it, some sort of factual discrepancy. It may well hover, all the way to the end of your personal eternity, and it may go unnoticed, covered by each new epiphany, layering in thin, single coats to be reminiscently noticed as a shadow. No matter how deep into someone's secrets you may go, There is always more to know. There is always more to know. 2.23.2017

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Mar 6, 2017

Mar 6, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC

Discrepancy

Suddenly... Your idea of someone is shifted...irreparably, so it seems. At first. At the least. Maybe over time you'll forget, somewhat. That is to say, whatever disappearing moment may transition into a partial, fickle memory. You will recall it, inconveniently, possibly with slight inconsistency, and they will claim, should you choose to mention it, some sort of factual discrepancy. It may well hover, all the way to the end of your personal eternity, and it may go unnoticed, covered by each new epiphany, layering in thin, single coats to be reminiscently noticed as a shadow. No matter how deep into someone's secrets you may go, There is always more to know. There is always more to know. 2.23.2017

8

How many more beers until the moon looks full again How many before I've made some friends Combined, is it enough to make me whole, then? I’ll keep drinking until I reach a dead end. How many sips does to take to reach the truth How many to bridge the distance between me and you. If I sip long and hard, will it be easier to let loose? I’ll keep sipping til it’s warm and I'm old news. How many steps before I find the path I should be on? How many before I know it’s the right one? If I keep on stepping, will I find myself on the proper side of the sun? I suppose I’ll keep stepping along. How many sleepless hours until I've cracked the code? How many split the difference between insane, and genius mode. If I fake it til I make it, when I've made it, how will I know? I’ll only be up a few more minutes or so. C.e.M.

0

Mar 1, 2017

Mar 1, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC

Quick math

How many more beers until the moon looks full again How many before I've made some friends Combined, is it enough to make me whole, then? I’ll keep drinking until I reach a dead end. How many sips does to take to reach the truth How many to bridge the distance between me and you. If I sip long and hard, will it be easier to let loose? I’ll keep sipping til it’s warm and I'm old news. How many steps before I find the path I should be on? How many before I know it’s the right one? If I keep on stepping, will I find myself on the proper side of the sun? I suppose I’ll keep stepping along. How many sleepless hours until I've cracked the code? How many split the difference between insane, and genius mode. If I fake it til I make it, when I've made it, how will I know? I’ll only be up a few more minutes or so. C.e.M.

17

My tongue flicks Absent mindedly Discovering and rediscovering The new sensation Of a missing tooth Or a kernel of food wedged in my gums Or a ****** cheek Bit ferociously while chewing. In my same manor My thoughts stroke the idea of you, Feeling for any new details i may have missed My first time across your surface. a mark, wrinkling beneath your eye a small tattoo above your elbow a delicate crease where your head meets your neck. Subtleties of self are everything to me. you hold your cigarette between hits, bent backwards between thumb and middle finger as if subconsciously, you know you’re damning yourself. You hold your elbows When you cross your arms As though you are afraid, Should you relax your grip The contents of your chest Will spill out before you Like a toppled canister Of produce remnants, Juicy, sloppy, and sopping But you speak quietly, like a discarded bag of shredded documents. Rustling with partial importance I try to piece together your comments almost as though your words hang beneath the weight of your breath as an afterthought of your exhalation. I watch you watch me, calmly calculating baiting conversations with tactful insinuation and later, in deep rumination they replay. I select the moments That fit the narrative I've created, rummaging through until what I want you to mean is all I hear you say.

0

Mar 1, 2017

Mar 1, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC

rummage sale

My tongue flicks Absent mindedly Discovering and rediscovering The new sensation Of a missing tooth Or a kernel of food wedged in my gums Or a ****** cheek Bit ferociously while chewing. In my same manor My thoughts stroke the idea of you, Feeling for any new details i may have missed My first time across your surface. a mark, wrinkling beneath your eye a small tattoo above your elbow a delicate crease where your head meets your neck. Subtleties of self are everything to me. you hold your cigarette between hits, bent backwards between thumb and middle finger as if subconsciously, you know you’re damning yourself. You hold your elbows When you cross your arms As though you are afraid, Should you relax your grip The contents of your chest Will spill out before you Like a toppled canister Of produce remnants, Juicy, sloppy, and sopping But you speak quietly, like a discarded bag of shredded documents. Rustling with partial importance I try to piece together your comments almost as though your words hang beneath the weight of your breath as an afterthought of your exhalation. I watch you watch me, calmly calculating baiting conversations with tactful insinuation and later, in deep rumination they replay. I select the moments That fit the narrative I've created, rummaging through until what I want you to mean is all I hear you say.

67