tj-struska - Hello Poetry

I wished to be a priest smoking in a garden, gazing at faded photographs of ancestors, They’re breath like the dry sound of reeds hollow in the wind. Empty as raincoats hung up to dry under a dark a private weather. Roses leeched by rain circling the lake like a reoccurring dream. £ September 12 2024

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Sep 22, 2024

Sep 22, 2024 at 2:46 AM UTC

Assent

I wished to be a priest smoking in a garden, gazing at faded photographs of ancestors, They’re breath like the dry sound of reeds hollow in the wind. Empty as raincoats hung up to dry under a dark a private weather. Roses leeched by rain circling the lake like a reoccurring dream. £ September 12 2024

10

I heard the neighbor’s screen door part with the faint blue of dawn. The black cat strode in like a whisper. His silken body curling her leg as he took the first lick with his rough, red tongue. The cold milk glowing in a golden saucer. * January 05 2024

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Sep 20, 2024

Sep 20, 2024 at 2:38 AM UTC

Crepuscular

I heard the neighbor’s screen door part with the faint blue of dawn. The black cat strode in like a whisper. His silken body curling her leg as he took the first lick with his rough, red tongue. The cold milk glowing in a golden saucer. * January 05 2024

10

He is on an all-night train Reading from the book of his life From time to time raising his head To glimpse something of the landscape Rushing past, beyond the darkened window, Only to catch his pale reflection in the glass. Whispering secrets under their breath, The flutter of pages like birds, Dark and motioning the moonless night. * June 28 2023

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Sep 20, 2024

Sep 20, 2024 at 2:27 AM UTC

20th Century Ghosts

He is on an all-night train Reading from the book of his life From time to time raising his head To glimpse something of the landscape Rushing past, beyond the darkened window, Only to catch his pale reflection in the glass. Whispering secrets under their breath, The flutter of pages like birds, Dark and motioning the moonless night. * June 28 2023

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Memo: 22:13 Hours. Roman Numeral 17 Wanted for questioning related to home invasion on Milwaukee Avenue. Seen fleeing with female. Last spotted in Busia’s Old Time Tavern on Kostner, Losing pool game to undercover narcotics. Said individual practiced in the art of none-linear prose Proceed with caution. Rumored to have washed hands in Pilate’s bowl after passing judgment. Report unconfirmed. Memo to Bixby: Roman Coliseum desecrated. Cut the ties binding. Roman Numeral seen in vicinity. Apocryphal papers flown to Helsinki. Eradicate with Extreme Prejudice. Yours: Turner. € January 05 2024-September 14 2024

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Sep 20, 2024

Sep 20, 2024 at 2:10 AM UTC

Memo To Bixby

Memo: 22:13 Hours. Roman Numeral 17 Wanted for questioning related to home invasion on Milwaukee Avenue. Seen fleeing with female. Last spotted in Busia’s Old Time Tavern on Kostner, Losing pool game to undercover narcotics. Said individual practiced in the art of none-linear prose Proceed with caution. Rumored to have washed hands in Pilate’s bowl after passing judgment. Report unconfirmed. Memo to Bixby: Roman Coliseum desecrated. Cut the ties binding. Roman Numeral seen in vicinity. Apocryphal papers flown to Helsinki. Eradicate with Extreme Prejudice. Yours: Turner. € January 05 2024-September 14 2024

18

The room ticks like a cooling engine In a blue motel on the edge of Apache. A tranquil night of drunks and televisions. Poly-neon signs and road closures. Up the road apiece, just north of nowhere, Past the graves of Grandma and Grandpop, There’s a place that has no business being there, A place of cisterns and honeycombs. A wheel in the desert, the moon on some swings. 🌙 September 02 2024

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Sep 19, 2024

Sep 19, 2024 at 3:05 AM UTC

Blue Mesa

The room ticks like a cooling engine In a blue motel on the edge of Apache. A tranquil night of drunks and televisions. Poly-neon signs and road closures. Up the road apiece, just north of nowhere, Past the graves of Grandma and Grandpop, There’s a place that has no business being there, A place of cisterns and honeycombs. A wheel in the desert, the moon on some swings. 🌙 September 02 2024

11

I once was young, Now I’m an old man, Whose time is memory, Whose future is past. I sit here with knuckles that ache from this pen. There’s a light scrim of snow in December’s dusk. A lone horse and a farmer’s spark light Dominate my field of vision. In between this motel and that warm farmhouse Lay a half-mile of afternoon run away with light. The barren howl of an idiot wind Mumbles near words like a ghost. The fence and slate of white sky given over to winter. There seems no beginning or conclusion; Just the warm, pallid air of the heating system. A gun and a sheaf of poems probably no one will read- Except maybe the police. Outside, the horse’s mane is fluid to the wind, The snow peeking through the window, Hovers for a moment, Then falls on past. * April 10 2024

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Sep 19, 2024

Sep 19, 2024 at 2:50 AM UTC

Letter From A Motel 6, Outside Platte Wyoming

I once was young, Now I’m an old man, Whose time is memory, Whose future is past. I sit here with knuckles that ache from this pen. There’s a light scrim of snow in December’s dusk. A lone horse and a farmer’s spark light Dominate my field of vision. In between this motel and that warm farmhouse Lay a half-mile of afternoon run away with light. The barren howl of an idiot wind Mumbles near words like a ghost. The fence and slate of white sky given over to winter. There seems no beginning or conclusion; Just the warm, pallid air of the heating system. A gun and a sheaf of poems probably no one will read- Except maybe the police. Outside, the horse’s mane is fluid to the wind, The snow peeking through the window, Hovers for a moment, Then falls on past. * April 10 2024

23

I was a captive on a ghost ship, Its sails ripping in a gale. The sea and all its monsters could not contain me. I wore glasses with a spider crack in the lens. I told the librarian I was a medieval philosopher Lost in a long and lonesome theory. She asked for my library card Then escorted me to the door. I fled to the local theatre. I remembered I had a small, none-speaking part in a ****** epic. I was one of the bombed and fleeing minion. In the distance, Our Great Leader Crowed like a rooster from the balcony. “That’s me!” I said to the balding man To my left- “Between the man with the blown-out eye And the old woman with her mouth open like she’s showing us her tooth.” Later, I saw the man to sitting to my left. I asked him for the time. He gave me a frightened look And stepped out in to rain.

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Sep 18, 2024

Sep 18, 2024 at 11:35 PM UTC

****** Epic

I was a captive on a ghost ship, Its sails ripping in a gale. The sea and all its monsters could not contain me. I wore glasses with a spider crack in the lens. I told the librarian I was a medieval philosopher Lost in a long and lonesome theory. She asked for my library card Then escorted me to the door. I fled to the local theatre. I remembered I had a small, none-speaking part in a ****** epic. I was one of the bombed and fleeing minion. In the distance, Our Great Leader Crowed like a rooster from the balcony. “That’s me!” I said to the balding man To my left- “Between the man with the blown-out eye And the old woman with her mouth open like she’s showing us her tooth.” Later, I saw the man to sitting to my left. I asked him for the time. He gave me a frightened look And stepped out in to rain.

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