your father got drunk at your graduation
and i wanted to keep holding your hand.
you in your blue robes,
a white star in the sea,
your heart so palpable
like an artist's dreams.
your step-father pretended he cared,
but muttered under his breath during the procession
and i wanted to keep holding your hand.
i wished my fingers would grow like vines around your
palm
so you'd know i'd be there all along.
the ground may feel broken and your successes
made into background noise,
but you're my white owl
who carries all that is unseen
in your forest-touched eyes
and i believe that our hands,
as long as they're stuck together,
will give you the wings
to leave the rubble behind.

I am lost
in this abyss
you have created
in my heart.
A hole that
only you can mend;
darkness
that can only be illuminated
with your smile.

I have put so much of myself in you
that after you left me,
it feels like
I don't know myself anymore.

poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
****** things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year
after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can't find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.
I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.
if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:
a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a **** guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant's **** in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a ***** joke
anything
anything
but
these.

You were in a tail-spin, (You remember?)
Of course you do, endlessly falling,
Churning dark clouds for company,
Every silver-lining has a cloud.

So I reached right in, (you were so blind.)
Placed your trembling hand on the controls,
Although, you did not trust me, (did you?)
Not at first, although with good cause,
Because you were dizzy, disorientated.

But slowly, ever so slowly, we relaxed,
Pulled you out of the dive, up and away,
Banking, climbing, power ramping up,
Juddering through the stutter-stall,
Until we were purring, a throaty growl.

A big cat in a poorly constructed cage,
Bursting free, guided by rainbows,
Flickering smile insinuating itself upon your face,
(So lovely) on your beautiful lips.

Without really noticing, (smooth as silk)
We coasted along in open skies,
Rah, French kissing the gentle swell of the sea,
Transforming everything into a mirror,
Reflections captured in burnished bronze,
Can I release your hand now? (don’t gasp)
Yes, my love, you are flying again.

© Paul Chafer 2014