sundowner - Hello Poetry

She spoke like the rush of quiet air you hear while passing under a bridge in heavy rain. The wiper blades scratched on the semi-dry glass like a broken record.

0

Nov 29, 2017

Nov 29, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC

sundowner

STORM

She spoke like the rush of quiet air you hear while passing under a bridge in heavy rain. The wiper blades scratched on the semi-dry glass like a broken record.

2

Amidst the rancor of the bar the conversation lulled. After the last "remember when?" I watched the puddle of beer foam at the bottom of my glass. "Ohhhh..." I mutter with a fleating half-grin. As if to say "Good times" but somehow unable to do so. He sat across from me staring not at the empty Budweisers in front of him, bit past them. He stared into shadows around the edges, the floorboards below the table, and the earth beneath that. To him if he just looked hard enough, he could almost make out the other side of the world. He clenched the can and it made a subtle pop yet remained uncrushed. Staring on, just louder than a whisper, with a fleating half-grin, he said "I hate my life."

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Nov 23, 2017

Nov 23, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC

sundowner

WEDNESDAY

Amidst the rancor of the bar the conversation lulled. After the last "remember when?" I watched the puddle of beer foam at the bottom of my glass. "Ohhhh..." I mutter with a fleating half-grin. As if to say "Good times" but somehow unable to do so. He sat across from me staring not at the empty Budweisers in front of him, bit past them. He stared into shadows around the edges, the floorboards below the table, and the earth beneath that. To him if he just looked hard enough, he could almost make out the other side of the world. He clenched the can and it made a subtle pop yet remained uncrushed. Staring on, just louder than a whisper, with a fleating half-grin, he said "I hate my life."

5

Rachael. I heard you were moving My procrastination caught up to me. A text was all I could bear. A shot at something long gone or already losing 4 hours I Lit up like a homeless man with a winning scratch off Who said we couldn't pretend? For a couple weeks or so... 15 hours It takes a split second to bounce a signal off a satellite and back to earth But 15 hours for me to lose you. You packed that moving van and put me in your pocket. Two men and a truck. What about two hearts and a chance? That chance was beyond fragile Must not have seen the label "Handle with care" Distance You promised a post card. Instead I got an unanswered question A perpetual reminder of what could have been Boundaries. I spoke of a future. For both of us. Separate, Unable to live for an idea. I wanted us both to live. I called it "boundaries" Pain. I heard it in your voice I hope you heard the struggle in mine I didn't bite the hand that fed me. I destroyed it. Silence Haunting. I must have written you 20 letters Even if I hadn't thrown them all away Wouldn't have done me any good Never got your address anyway. Or a post card.

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Feb 24, 2015

Feb 24, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC

sundowner

Untitled

Rachael. I heard you were moving My procrastination caught up to me. A text was all I could bear. A shot at something long gone or already losing 4 hours I Lit up like a homeless man with a winning scratch off Who said we couldn't pretend? For a couple weeks or so... 15 hours It takes a split second to bounce a signal off a satellite and back to earth But 15 hours for me to lose you. You packed that moving van and put me in your pocket. Two men and a truck. What about two hearts and a chance? That chance was beyond fragile Must not have seen the label "Handle with care" Distance You promised a post card. Instead I got an unanswered question A perpetual reminder of what could have been Boundaries. I spoke of a future. For both of us. Separate, Unable to live for an idea. I wanted us both to live. I called it "boundaries" Pain. I heard it in your voice I hope you heard the struggle in mine I didn't bite the hand that fed me. I destroyed it. Silence Haunting. I must have written you 20 letters Even if I hadn't thrown them all away Wouldn't have done me any good Never got your address anyway. Or a post card.

38

It had no batteries. It could never die If still it is found It must only be wound How lucky we are to find We always Have someone to wind.

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Feb 24, 2015

Feb 24, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC

sundowner

The Watch

It had no batteries. It could never die If still it is found It must only be wound How lucky we are to find We always Have someone to wind.

7

I went to the cemetery with you I saw the frost hug the caskets of the loved buried deep below I saw the the tombstones stare at you The one source of light How could the dead seem so alive? The hill screamed Crimson Yet you smiled back Gold The cold in our entwined fingers The warmth in our searching hearts. The snow settled softly. On a thousand possible directions with the same destination. I saw the cemetery in you.

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Jan 8, 2015

Jan 8, 2015 at 1:03 AM UTC

sundowner

Untitled

I went to the cemetery with you I saw the frost hug the caskets of the loved buried deep below I saw the the tombstones stare at you The one source of light How could the dead seem so alive? The hill screamed Crimson Yet you smiled back Gold The cold in our entwined fingers The warmth in our searching hearts. The snow settled softly. On a thousand possible directions with the same destination. I saw the cemetery in you.

12

Our hopes burn like the butts of the cigars we smoke. You smell sweeter than any whiskey. The house vanishes brick by brick But these planks are here to stay A locomotive howls up at the moon across the field A harvest moon casting an orange glow Intercepts our prismatic tears All is dull and dark Save our shining faces

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Aug 28, 2014

Aug 28, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC

sundowner

The Porch

Our hopes burn like the butts of the cigars we smoke. You smell sweeter than any whiskey. The house vanishes brick by brick But these planks are here to stay A locomotive howls up at the moon across the field A harvest moon casting an orange glow Intercepts our prismatic tears All is dull and dark Save our shining faces

9

You love sculptures. Which I always found ironic. As it's quite clear You were chiseled from something divine The magnum opus of some artist long ago passed. Your lines like the cosmic waves of a million galaxies. The burn in your eyes Hotter than any star. The brightness of your smile drowns out nebulas. Your words fill the vacuum of my space.

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Aug 28, 2014

Aug 28, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC

sundowner

Sol

You love sculptures. Which I always found ironic. As it's quite clear You were chiseled from something divine The magnum opus of some artist long ago passed. Your lines like the cosmic waves of a million galaxies. The burn in your eyes Hotter than any star. The brightness of your smile drowns out nebulas. Your words fill the vacuum of my space.

10

I'm good with words but I can't organize them. A million sentences float through my synapses in a stormy sea of thought. I try to catch them but there's a hole in my net and a leak in my boat. As if I wrote a million books but they were shredded and now fill my skull. Fishing out broken sentences. Sewing together a makeshift rhyme.

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Aug 28, 2014

Aug 28, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC

sundowner

Sea of Words

I'm good with words but I can't organize them. A million sentences float through my synapses in a stormy sea of thought. I try to catch them but there's a hole in my net and a leak in my boat. As if I wrote a million books but they were shredded and now fill my skull. Fishing out broken sentences. Sewing together a makeshift rhyme.

6

There's a certain charm to struggle. A draw to despair. It's adventurous. Sleeping in a car. No idea where you're headed but you're getting there fast that's for **** sure. The road is an aching souls best friend.

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Aug 28, 2014

Aug 28, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC

sundowner

Homeless Romance

There's a certain charm to struggle. A draw to despair. It's adventurous. Sleeping in a car. No idea where you're headed but you're getting there fast that's for **** sure. The road is an aching souls best friend.

6

I run down highways like your lips run down the veins of my arm. Your eyes shine better than any headlight. Trying to find your voice in the growl of the engine. Strife sings from the radio and I can't find my exit. What good is a map if you carry the destination inside your soul?

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Aug 28, 2014

Aug 28, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC

sundowner

Drive

I run down highways like your lips run down the veins of my arm. Your eyes shine better than any headlight. Trying to find your voice in the growl of the engine. Strife sings from the radio and I can't find my exit. What good is a map if you carry the destination inside your soul?

5