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Grizzo Apr 2015
If you're reading this and you can understand what's being said

I'm sorry,
It's too late for you

The World pushed us into each other
because I wanted you to find me

When I started writing, I thought I had
something to say that no one has

said before, but I've recently found out
that not much has changed except

the ways that we hate one another
and even that, hasn't changed much

Stop for a second, remember yourself
as a child, you remember

playing baseball in the backyard
with your brother or

holding your father's hand for the first
time crossing the street

Remember how you thought things
would never change?

Brothers eventually move away,
and now you cross streets without

even looking both ways, with your hands
stuffed into your pockets

Now, you get it, how the World pushes
everyone around until one day

you wake up in an old town
you've lived in for four years

and you think,

When did the World
get so ******* ****?

Then you realize, it always was,
you just needed one final push

one final departure, one last pitch
for Glory,

to understand that, but not one
good reason for why,

Why?

Because when we grow older,
we get sick of striking out,

and we learn our Fathers were never Gods
just Men wanting one more

home run,
street to cross,

One more chance to prove
that the World doesn't always win,

If you're reading this,
I'm sorry,
It's already too late,

Here comes the ******* ball again,
swing for the fences

Show the world what you can do
with your last chance

I'm waiting for you with open arms
at Home plate
NaPoWrimo #30 - Write a poem backwards
Grizzo Apr 2017
There are monsters
whispered about by sailors
in tavern fairy tales, through
nervous anecdotes

Speaking about something
will give it life
it will come to you
from the darkest corner
of the Mirror.

You are just another
swallowed sailor
from a ship with loose lips
and burnt candle mirrors

Our story is whispered
by sailors in tavern
fairy tales about the times
when the best that it is
isn’t enough to save yourself

from the darkest corner
of the mirro

BG-4/8/17
Grizzo Apr 2015
The sun sinks behind your hips,
the moon rises around your shoulder, up
your collar,
through your lips
NaPoWriMo #19 - Landay prompt
Grizzo Apr 2015
Why do I still love you?

Anytime we hang out you're always gone
by the end of the night.

You never come home with me
always eager to leave,
more willing to find your
way into someone
else's hands,
than remain in mine.

I can't get enough.

You thrive on the chase,
your bountiful
promises are empty
like my pockets,
but I'm only a few days
away from seeing
you again

and I will never get enough of you.

You help me when you
arrive in two weeks time
and hurt me when you
leave sometimes only
staying for a few days.

My pockets miss your promises.

Your debits are hard to control
and your credits constantly
leave me seeking more
adoration.

I buy your lies.

I want you to love me
in the same way I don't
want to love you. I only
chase you because it's
expected,

but I want my soul back.

Why do I still love you?
I can't get enough
and I will never get enough of you.
My pockets miss your promises
I buy your lies,
I want my soul back.

A man's worth shouldn't
in (lie) you.
NaPoWriMo #7 -Money prompt
Grizzo Apr 2015
If you held a gun to my head
and pressed the barrel into
the small indention I've had
since I was a child
and asked for a story
I'd give you a poem
and ask that you'd just
give me
one more
line
Inspired by a Facebook comment. I described myself as being more of a poet than a writer. A commenter noted that poets are writers. This was my response.
Grizzo Mar 2015
It's hard to say,
You can't really tell.
I hope you have insurance
I wish you well.

When you get this note,
know that I'm an honest guy,
just send me a text
and I'm sure
my insurance will
set you up right.
Grizzo Mar 2015
Father,
grandfather,
father's grandfather,

all died
by the blade.

Father's grandfather
fell fighting one hundred.

Grandfather
fell fighting too.

Father
fell fighting as well,

while protecting his
wounded troop.

All these men
put up a fight,

they did what they
had to do

It runs in our veins,
we stay the same,

destined to do
what we do.

Our grandmothers hug
our grandchildren,

while they still can

widows
tell their sons
when they're old
enough to use
a blade

so one day,
whenever my son

asks where father
went off to

tell him
it runs in our veins

tell him
I will see
him soon.
I had a completely different poem planned for this theme, but the words started doing their own thing. The struggle is real. The blade calls!
Grizzo May 2015
When it's in the air
you'll not know what it
is at first, but once you
smell it once you never
forget

It lingers there as you walk
through it, hanging
in the air as prokaryotic
pill shaped molecules

It always smells different
but the symptoms are
as follows

words stuck in the back
of your throat,
sweaty palms and shortness
of breath
a sense of longingness
juxtaposed
with a sense of fear

An overwhelming need
to communicate all the
new thoughts on your
stone written findings
of what we need to survive

Don't be alarmed, or rush
off to the doctor thinking

"There is something wrong
with me"

We all breathe this in,
multiple times in our lives,

Love's pathogens have a way,
of infiltrating our senses and
controlling our thoughts and
actions like our physical bodies
are more of a third party parasite
to what our souls need
to feed on.

So don't choke on your words,
reach out with dry hands for hers,
the fear will always be there,
because that's love
and this is how we react
when it is in
the air.
Grizzo Apr 2015
I guess it's time to reveal the truth,
It's not like I've been lying to you

but I haven't really formally introduced
myself to you, and I've been thinking

It's time to let you in so I can offer
you a cigarette and you can

drink my finest wine while I tell you
that Grizzo is something more

than a childhood nickname that stuck
to the bottom of my shoes like

parking lot gum, or your grandmother's
lipstick on your cheeks, you see

I was quiet, shy, and entering puberty
when people started calling me Grizzo

Some people in high school and college
didn't even know Bryan

Which is funny because I didn't know
myself either but I knew Grizzo

mainly because people expect certain
things and I keep my word

so when I told them I would jump
off the roof, they just stood around

drunk, but not as drunk as me,
No one expects to see Crazy in action

But at least once they do they never
forget the time you jumped off the roof

and hit the ground at 3 in the morning
so hard that your glasses flew off

and the only thing you broke
was your pride, or how you would

always answer everything with "**** it"
because if life ***** you might as well

get your nut too

Camel Crush Bold cigarettes in an ashtray
and Jameson on ice with a splash of water

These things can help the words on
late nights or lazy afternoons

Sometimes the best lunch is
a tapped Porter or Stout on special

and putting down a few lines
on crumbled bar room napkins

This is his old habit, this is how
he needs to come out from time to
time

Grizzo isn't all ***** and giggles
though because as much as I want

to be tough, be a hard ***, always be right
I'm weak, I'm fragile, and so ******* wrong

about all the things you need to be right
about in life, but I'm turning 29 soon

and I think I'm finally starting to get

why the light needs darkness to shine
why love needs hate to thrive,
why Bryan needs Grizzo to write.
NaPoWriMo #26 - Write a persona poem. I felt like it was time to explain "Grizzo"
Grizzo Mar 2015
Burns holes
in the soul,

the soles
of my shoes

You know the pair

The black Chuck Taylor's
with red dirt on the toes
from our vacation last summer

It was when we walked around
your hometown

That's when
I realized
I hate you
Some people would be prettier
if they couldn't speak
Grizzo May 2015
On the other side
of my over  
                 thinking

I’ve come to realize I still have
more questions
                         than answers

The future feels just the same as
it did ten years ago when my now
was my future
                       then

Friends are more often
thought about
                       than visited

when later today turns into tomorrow
and tomorrow turns  
                                into this weekend
and then next weekend
once a month  
                        whenever you can

because time pushes us all into
this strange thing
                            called Life

and it’s full of all kinds of *******
designed to rob you of
your money
                    your sanity
                                       your time

but don’t let this discourage you
from greeting tomorrow
                                      with open arms

and a head full of more questions
than answers

The magic doesn’t seem
to happen as often,
but on the days it does

You have a good day at work,
you pay all the monthly bills on time,
your schedule syncs with an old
college friend and you meet for
coffee, or street tacos from a
local food trailer, or you shoot
pool and whiskey at a dive bar
early Saturday evening

and it feels like the old times again,
and you learn the things you did
were your first stumblings into
adulthood and even though they
sometimes change the way you walk
forever, it’s those times you discover
again when you start your third game
and the songs you queued on the jukebox
start playing and now that you can enjoy
the taste of good whiskey more than the
quantity of well, and all the loose fragments
of the memories we carry every day, left open
on the table in a journal with more strikeout
lines than unmolested phrases all become
complete with each corner pocket called
shot, each memory recalled and retold with
language alluding Greek Epics and Shakespearean
Tragedies,

It all starts to make more sense in ways
and stops making sense in others,

and the future is the same as it always was

some things
                    you can change,
some people
                    you can keep
some days
                  turn into weeks,
                  months, and years
                  trying to make sense
of what’s coming,
of what’s gone,
of just what, exactly,
                                we have now.
Grizzo Apr 2015
I hate these ******* days
You know?

The days like today,
yesterday,
tomorrow.

The hand turns bringing
the promise
something new
unique
something worth living
something worthy
of a story.

Instead, the hand turns
and brings not change
but same.
Grizzo Apr 2015
There's a bluebird in my heart
too,

but unlike
yours

I like to let mine out
from time to time,

I let him spread his wings
I let him sing

his songs to me
& to the world,

My bartenders like him,
he's how I've gotten most
of the ****** into my bed

and he doesn't mind the smoke,
everyone needs a drag
from time to time,

He's the one
who prefers Jameson
and told my tongue
to not drink
much else,

I don't hide him,

But I'm not mad
that you hid yours away

I'm glad you did
because as much as you
inspire me and make me
want to share my songs

with the world,

I'm glad I'm not as angry
as you made yourself out
to be,

I get it, the image
is everything about
what seperates the men
from the boys,

and at this point I think
I'm all grown up
and we're stuck together
with the same fate,

So I let my bluebird sing
Bukowski,
because more than anything

your songs taught me

how to ****
what the world thinks.

And thank you for lying
to me

You old, drunk *******,

Because you let your bluebird
fly, you know it

and may the gods bless you
for not even trying.

I love you
*******.

Just one question,
Are you crying now?
Napowrimo #24 Write a response to a poem
Grizzo Apr 2017
I.
You always knew
the lies I've taught myself to believe
would never be good enough for him

We have the same smile
he is the last angel that can save
me

Love, I have no easy answers for you
I bury questions with every poem
but there is never enough dirt.

The ugliness behind our
pretty faces

burns holes
in the soul

and that's the first poem
I wrote about you that
wish I could burn
because I see myself
in your eyes and I wish
I could disappear from
the mirror

I don't
hate you.

I can't.

I
won't.

II.
my sweet Ollie,

your face looks like mine
you can see it in the eyes
especially when you smile

Have you discovered
children have a way
of noticing things
that are there,

seeing shapes
and shadows
that aren't?

There are monsters in the dark
but do not be afraid
I am there too.

I thought I
past the would,
could, should be

but there are no stars
in the sky and these
gnarled branches
won't give me release

and the future is the same as it always was

some things
cannot be hidden
cannot be undone
cannot be found
cannot be repaired

If I could still believe
in God and say a prayer
I would ask that he would read
these words you can't see yet

whisper them into your ear
so that with every heart beat
you have an answer for why we're
here

and one day
when you read this

know that I loved you
know that I missed you

There is still sunshine longing
to kiss your forehead

Don't sleep
until the day
is yours
and only yours.

My son, trust me
when I tell you,
there is nothing to fear
in the dark.

Fear the Heart.

BG-4/11/17
Grizzo Apr 2017
I heard you howling in the distance,
saw your fading reflection
in the crimson moon
Your tone smelled of something
different, in a pitch only those
of the same pack know

We mostly hunt alone and rarely
cross paths but when we hear
the call of our own we abandon
the chase we return
the call, we charge fearlessly
into the darkness.

We’ve burnt houses trying
to save the ghosts we loved

Our blood shivers most violently
from the lost words of lovers
on December nights in half full
full size beds.

Those of us who stood
in pouring rain and left
what we found there in
a memory of a new beginning
to keep it safe from ourselves.

We’ve burned and swallowed
the ashes of so many maps
to Neverland and we can’t
remember the way
We’ve
caused shadows in smiles,
emerged from the dirt with rage
of a stubborn heart that continues
to beat.
We’ve
seen the heights
of the universe
and plummeted to the depths
of dimensions beyond
dimensions
We’ve
lifted our arms and eyes
more times than we’ve found
what we’re searching for

Our hope
torn apart by being laid
in a forgotten grave
Our talks
with Saints make
**** a familiar place
like the sanctuary
of your freshly washed
childhood blankets
and the way they swallowed
everything you were

We solo hunt in crimson moon
rays and share different parts
of the same wilderness

The worlds can only crush
your skin if you are alone,

We return the call with the smell
of something different
charging through the darkness


BG-4/8/17
Inspired by Crywolf and his discography
Grizzo Apr 2015
Alarm
goes off,
cup of coffee

Cigarette,
back porch,
before fighting traffic,

Work,
Work, Work
9:30 to 6:30

Dinner,
watch movies
or write poetry

Seems fulfilling enough
I can't complain
NapoWrimo #27 - Write a hay(na)ku
Grizzo Apr 2015
Crystal White Pearl paint,
red racing stripes,
MX-5 traced
on the side

Lightweight aluminum
alloy, seventeen inch
wheels wrapped in
205/45 summer
performance tires,

Limited-
Slip Differential,
rear wheel drive,

Six-speed manual
transmission, weighted
shift ****, perfectly
palm-sized

Black sport clutch
bucket seats, seamed
racing red stitching, a clutch
worked with a snap
of the heel, a flick
of the wrist.

Crystal White dash panel,
red racing stripe
MX-5 traced lines
match the stripes outside.

Piano Black
mirrors match
bucket seats
and the cloth
soft top

unfolds on summer days,
spring nights, fall
mornings.

Heaven/
Nirvana/
Happiness

found
now
with a snap of the heel
& flick of the wrist.
NaPoWriMo #11 - Descriptive poem

Love driving my car.
Grizzo Apr 2015
I couldn't wait, I didn't know, you promised
something else, the moon shone there and I could hear
them moving all around, it burst my heart when
your horse galloped down.
NaPoWriMo #11 - Write a Sapphic poem

This is a short poem inspired by a charcoal depiction of The Highway from the poem written by Alfred Noyes. Written from the perspective of the landlords daughter.
Grizzo Apr 2015
Too little,
The rabbit,
Bukowski,

counted,
scheduled,
realized

that the clock
is unkind
and fate
unkinder,

In college
I went home
regularly

but the work week
doesn't have winter
or summer break,

and this town
isn't home yet
but it's the closest
thing to it,

Nights like
this I smoke
cigarettes on
my porch,

think about
what being a good son
is,

think about the nights
I didn't show up
for dinner when my dad
got home from his
forty hour weeks,

but it's all the times
I was there that bother
me the most.
NaPoWriMo #21 No prompt
Grizzo Apr 2015
One day, I know
that he will ask
questions,

Children have a way
of noticing things
that are there,

seeing shapes
and shadows
that aren't,

A special talent for noticing
missing things and finding
words to help them understand
what shadows mean
and how the sun shines.

Some children grow up
and ask where the sun
goes when the shadows

grow,

I know

that the silver
lining is a cliché,
but I keep looking at the clouds
expecting a miracle,

but the rain brings
no relief,

only pelts me with reason
after reason to keep writing
to you, even though you'll
never read these words,

I know one day

he will.

The sun always shines,
somewhere,
even on the cloudiest
nights, silver lines slice
through in patches,

and all the shapes
and shadows tell
me that.
NaPoWriMo #20 - Write what you "know"
Grizzo Apr 2015
I walked out to my car this morning,
and it started right up

My hair, still wet from the shower
is still full and covering my head

I've got new framed pictures to hang,
and clean sheets on the bed

Work was alright, I guess, I don't
hate my job but I hate the idea

that we work for old paper to trade
for bright shiny things that always
seem to lose their glimmer

I've finally got a good woman
in my life who whispers to my heart
and knows what to say to chase
away the dark.

Every kiss on my cheek, every bite
of dinner, every time I feel alone
I reach over and take her hand in mine
and know that the day needs the night.

I have love, health, a paycheck, and the
freedom to drive until the tank is empty

True, there are still things that I want,
but don't need, and things I need

that were taken from me, like my son,
his first words and his first stumblings
in this world

But every day passed is another conquered,
another reason to keep moving
forward

When you've seen as many sunsets and
broken hearts as I have
You are used to the fact that
the sun returns,
love is real,
and life is beautiful.
even on the old, *****
rainy days.
Napowrimo #29 - Write a review poem
Grizzo Apr 2015
Hear my words, let them steep into your soul,
Unlock the door, serve them your finest wine
Life is full of strange beauty, this I know

The demon will come, but you will be fine
The angel will come, just never on time
Unlock the door, serve them your finest wine

Life is the time, and living is the crime,
and the beauty in living is simple.
The angel will come, just never on time,

her wicked wings will scare off the sickle,
Simply living is beautiful itself,
and the beauty in living is simple,

easy to do with good wine on the shelf,
I’m at a loss for a better adage,
Simply living is beautiful itself,

This is for those of you who wish to live,
Hear my words, let them steep into your soul
I’m at a loss for a better adage,
Life is full of strange beauty, this I know.
NaPoWriMo #16 - Writte a Terzanelle
Grizzo Apr 2015
You can’t smell it anymore,
static cuts out the radio,
it’s the new
aftertaste in water.
&
the smell
of someone’s house
you’re visiting for the first time,

Gawking at old buildings,
hearing syllables differ-
ntly, speaking the same,
different, words heard

A new kind of music and the scent
of childhood

You think you could
stay here, escape

You feel your soul
change, and your heart
beats stronger

There is nothing to fear.

There is nothing ***** here.

How the thunder
and lightening
give you a new
but old kind of fear

but the rain washes everything
the same.
Grizzo Apr 2015
Foot:
I've had enough
after being put down,
'tis time to raise up
turn things around.

***:
I'm well constructed, sturdy
some would say,
I challenge you good sir
Boot away.
NaPoWriMo #14, dialogue poem

Had some fun with it.
Grizzo May 2015
Being here,
with you there
is killing me

No drink special,
No positive thought,
No drug changes

the fact that a piece
of my life is literally
(figuratively)
missing

The love we shared,
your mother and I,
burned away in the
early morning hours
just like Bukowski said

I didn't understand what he meant
when I heard him say it, but with
every drink I'm starting to understand

how, but not why

And why is why we're here
isn't it?

I never wanted children,
but when I held you for
the first time wrapped
in a blue blanket with the
sun shining through the window
and landing on your untouched
cheeks for the first time

all I wanted was you. All I wanted
was to hold all eight pounds of
you forever in my arms

I never wanted to let you go,
I never wanted to leave,

She told me she would bring
you back and life would be
complete

and so I drove back home,
but knew Home wasn't where
I was going

We would take matching family
pictures, and she would paint
and I would come home from
work with a paycheck the world
promised with a college degree

But that's not what happened.

And I'm sorry for everything,
Bad sons make terrible fathers,
but mine was the best I could
ask for

and I'm still trying to live
up to his standards for you

and it's hard because he
worked and worked

stopped writing,
stopped drinking
for me and it kills me
to think I'll never be like
him, no, it kills me
because I'll never be as close
to being God as he was,
as he is,
as he will be remembered

Alpha, Omega, never
Beta, just a better man
than I am with the strength
to hold a family together

Stronger than my mortal heart,
Stronger than whatever lurks
in the dark

I've fallen prey to my demons
and killed my angels in ways
I hope you'll never learn,

people ask how you're doing
and when the last time I saw
you was and what I wanted to
show and tell you

and my heart breaks, and my life
escapes in timed gasps between my
lips and I can only answer

in blood drips on the floor,
and words fueled by weakness
and insecurity,

and if I could still believe
in God and send a prayer
I would ask that he would read
these words
you can't see yet

and whisper them into your ear,
so that with every heartbeat
you have an answer for why we're
here,

You have an answer for reckless
actions of love fueled by youth

So you can understand that love,
while it may not be always eternal,
still means something long after
the carcass has decayed in the sun

Your mother and I,
were in love once and we
charged the stars like we were
their power source

One day, when you read these words
please don't hate her,
please don't hate me,

We only wanted what was best
for you, and somehow that got
transcribed as you being there
and me being here

with a full glass of
alcohol,
questions,
love

for you.
Grizzo Mar 2015
Once I was a Hero,
the Hero of my back yard.
My sword, faith and shield were handy,
kept my face unscarred.

I would fly on wings of ravens,
ride on the backs of beasts,
sleep under the Ice from the west,
rise with the Fire from the east.

I saved many fair maiden,
slew gremlins, ghosts, and goblins,
found ancient treasure from past kings,
ran through numerous gauntlets.

I commanded a battalion of knights,
who would shout my name with pride,
I wonder if my people have missed me,
since the day I grew up and died.
Grizzo Mar 2015
Seven hundred ninety four miles.
Twelve hours twenty three minutes.

I would’ve said something.
I should've said anything,

but her bags were packed.

Her boxes stacked
in the back seat.

I could only ask,
“When?”

and she told me
“Tomorrow.”

That night she placed my hand
on her stomach

and I felt you kick
for the first time.
Grizzo Apr 2015
I always start
the first draft
on my cell phone,

Poetry flows out
of my thumbs,

Blood pumps
through veins,
as letters
become words,
words become
brok-
en lines
and these lines become,
a piece of me, a piece of
you in ways

Soul whispers
flow
from my heart to
brain,

Memories become lines

both broken
and complete,

stream down my spine

circulate down to my
toes,
back up to my heart
and into
yours.
NaPoWriMo #15-Write a poem... about writing a poem.
Grizzo Mar 2015
Clean title.
Low miles.
Everything works.
No negotiations.
Cash only.
Grizzo Apr 2017
It’s one of those things
you don’t notice is gone
until it’s gone.

The last cup of coffee.
The last roll of toilet paper.
The things we use to
make Home.

The clunking of your refrigerator
magnets on the cookie sheet
followed
by a chorus
of pictures, cards, and old
grocery lists quieting their
fluttering song.

We said nothing,
like nothing even changed.

BG-Sometime in 2017
Grizzo Mar 2015
if life were more about,
trading baseball cards,
riding roller coasters,
staying out past
curfew

we would be
friends for
life

But life
is more about
ego
pride
*******

you became someones
to me, because of no ones
important to either
one now

so just like
marbles and hardwood floors,
the right thing to say at the time,
things
get
lost.
*** is a powerful thing
Grizzo Mar 2015
If the workday
went by as fast
as my cigarette
breaks

All my bills
would be paid
and the Cancer
would take me
I wrote this poem during a cigarette break at work. Tooany bills, too few breaks, but this captures it perfectly for me.
Grizzo Apr 2017
If my tongue were a pen
every word would be a postmarked
love letter to your ears.

If my tongue were a pen
my words wouldn’t have
cut so deeply and left you
with coupons you’ll never

use and bills that are past
due.

The page is my playground.

My Church.
My Sanctuary.
My ****,

Our eyes are doorways to
the secrets that make us
who we are

This dark haired face with three
day scruff and glasses is a
single sentence out of context,

and our chapter isn’t finished.

I am fishing on a lake
at five years old.
passing my driving test,
graduating high school,

I am both an old soul
who
lived too much
too young,
and a child reaching
for candles
in the darkness.

If my tongue were a pen,
my darling,

my soul
would slide its fingers
through your eyeballs

and bury itself in
the deepest recesses
of your heart

If my tongue were a pen
instead of picking up all the
bad memories of this apartment
with piles of ***** clothes,

you would
find the words and phrases
we phased out of our lives for a forgotten
reason at the end
of an empty bottle night.

I am moving to a new city at 25,
becoming a Father.
Invisible to my child.
A Stranger.

I am meeting you for the first time,
we are children holding hands
in the darkness
We were children jumping from
swings,
We were the children
who knew just enough

We told each other all our secrets
We shut doors
We blew out candles

if my tongue were a pen
My darling,

it would tell you
we are not a mistake.

we are a
collection
of unfortunate
accidents
that became
something
beautiful.

Turn the Page.

BG-4/10/17
Grizzo Apr 2015
Peace,
Quiet,
Love,

these abstract things that guide
us through our lives,

We all want them in one way
or another,

A steady paycheck,
A backyard,
A soul mate,

those concrete things that justify
our suffering & strife,

We all want them in one way
or another,

We think

Maybe Love will carry us away,
Maybe it will answer our questions,
Maybe happiness is the root of Love

So we keep digging
and we find something different

Or maybe we keep digging
and we never stop

and fool ourselves into thinking
the fruit is the labor, and this is
"What we gotta do"

or we never find what we want

or we find what we need and say
"Whatever."

And then we **** all the happiness
we can from what's found
and we bury it deeper, leaving
what's left for someone else

Meanwhile, the world turns
full of war,
full of noise,
Alone because there's
nothing like it for
millions and millions
of miles

But that's not me,
That's not "Us",

Whatever.
NaPoWriMo #25 - No prompt
Grizzo Mar 2015
The sun came in
from the window behind
and as it touched his face
for the first time

he slowly opened his eyes, smacking
his lips and we

saw each other for the first time.
In that moment,

I saw God,
*****,
embarrassed like Adam,
cheeks flushed like Eve.

The sun glistened off vernix, and he
stared up at me, smelling like her.

I watched the world change, empires toppled, islands sunk,
transitioning from one age into another. I saw dreams
sparkle like firecrackers at midnight.

The lies I’ve taught myself to believe
would never be good enough
for him.

I kissed his forehead,
she smiled,
and God just stood there,
***** and blushing.
The first time I held my son
Grizzo Mar 2015
Browsing in the bookstore,
I stumbled across
a journal

crammed with scraps
people found

in parking lots,
school yards,
fished out of trashcans.

Now I throw
copies of everything
I write away.
Published in HSU Corral and St Edward's New Literai Graduate journal.
Grizzo Apr 2015
past the would's,
could's,
should's,

past the second
day without
a cigarette,

the last
unfinished text,
the last
"I'm sorry,"
the last
"I love you."

past the
first time
"I'm sorry,
I love you."

is just a ****** sentence

"I would do anything..."
lacks Action

"Could we make this work..."
lacks Passion

past the would,
could, what should be,

The first time it is
whatever it's become.
A poem I found in a journal from a few years ago.
Grizzo Apr 2017
the radio is
broken again
and this time
is the last time

Your songs no longer
fight the static.

the crunchy hiss
the empty stutter
between pops

crackling cackles,
unplugged from the wall
still playing the song
of something ending
into a new beginning

Your songs no longer
fight the static

but I still hum
them to myself

at the edge
of our universe

BG-4/8/17
Grizzo Apr 2015
I saw you in a picture today,

A Family Christmas Card.

Your face looks like mine
you can see it in the eyes
especially when you smile.

He's smiling
Holding you in his arms
like you belong there

She's holding your brother
like she held you
in the few pictures we took

Together.

But there's something
not quite right
with this picture.

You can see it in your eyes,
especially when you smile.

Some things will
never be
Perfect.
NaPoMo #2

I saw my son in a family Christmas card and it destroyed me. This poem is for him.
Grizzo Mar 2015
Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material.
F. Scott Fitzgerald

---

I keep you in a book,
Tucked away in the top drawer
of my night stand
I flip through
from time to time
when I can't sleep
when I can't read
when the words don't come
as quickly as the morning does

You're a grain of rice.
Now you have a face.
A hospital bracelet
Boy, 7/27/2011, 10:15am
Folded up in a plastic sleeve
You're dressed like Santa
For your first Christmas

We have the same smile

In this one I'm leaning forward
and your arms and legs
dangle in the air
We were at the park
You loved the flowers and bushes,
the butterflies and birds that
scattered as I pushed you along
The path

The book isn't full,
A plaid patterned
sticky note
shaped like a heart reads
"More to come soon."

Night after night,
book after book,
Crumpled page after crumpled page,

the morning comes.
Grizzo Apr 2015
My color a cliche
    Once new
        Once blue
over aNd over
NaPoWriMo #13
Grizzo Apr 2015
When the movies close,
Facebook crashes,
traffic lights stay red,

When all the stores
are out of clothes

When fathers fertilize the
wasteland and
mothers resort to eating

their children for a few
more hours of life,

When it's all ******
beyond repair

and nothing is left
It's all we really have. NaPoMo #3
Grizzo Mar 2015
FRIDAY
1:00 – 3:30

I swept the packing area.
Three neat piles of duct tape,
plastic wrap, saw dust, dumped
into a trashcan. Made
another mess while packing
toys into boxes for the
community’s Angel Tree.

MONDAY
11:15 - 12:45

A self-proclaimed alcoholic
asked me for a cigarette. He
preached to me with an unsteady
tongue and hollow eyes. I met a case
worker named Maria and alphabetized
children’s names and Christmas wishes.

2:30 - 4:30         

Stapled $7.00 price tags
to shirt collars, pants pockets,
working alongside a man
who served ten years in
prison. He finished loading
a shopping cart and I pushed
the items into the store.
I put cracked ceramic plates,
dusty books, and twisted wire
roosters onto an empty shelf.

TUESDAY
2:30 – 3:30         

Maria turned the wish forms
into Captain Smith. I went
to the Captain’s office and
entered Christmas wishes
into a database. Captain Smith
tapped her fingers on the desk,
hummed along to her Christian
radio station and talked about
the importance of volunteers.

3:45 – 5:00          

The yard on the east side
of the store needed to be
cleaned. Plastic wrap blown
into the barbed wire fence
surrounding broken computers,
archaic metal heaters, and
miscellaneous types of scrap.
After we loaded the trailer
I swept the packing area
and smoked a cigarette.

WEDNESDAY
11:15 – 1:30          

I finished entering the
forms into Captain
Smith’s computer
while she was out
at lunch. I walked around
outside but I didn’t find
the drunk. Captain
Smith signed my
completion of volunteer
service sheet and joked,
“I guess we won’t be
seeing you again.”
I volunteered at the Salvation Army in college during my last semester. This poem came from my experiences there.
Published in HSU Corral and St Edward's New Literai Graduate journal.
Grizzo Apr 2015
Glass lights, red star glow
Could this be Purgatory?
All the bars are closed.
Prompt 17 for Napowrimo, social media poem

A response to a poem on Tumblr
Grizzo Mar 2015
Poetry, the attunement of syllables,
harsh sounds, soft sounds,
rhythmic stanzas
pleasing to the iris,
sound waves to the ear
drums invite Neurons
to experience ecstasy.
They celebrate in unison,
shouts of cheer, roars of joy,
electric screams of fulfillment.
Some pass out in disbelief,
others wave handkerchiefs
in the air and shout
Yes, that’s right!

While somewhere in the limbic
system, the other side
of the hemisphere they whisper,
*No, that’s not what we meant at all.
Grizzo Apr 2015
I'll never go back,
left a trail of gasoline
and dropped a lit match
NaPoWriMo #28 - Write a poem about a bridge
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