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Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men- poor folks-
work.
That moment- to this. . .
may be years in the way they measure,
but it's only one sentence back in my mind-
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up at the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.
A L Davies Sep 2011
1
layover in toronto:
******* rain &
emptiness out the window

2
hushed crowds:
the sound of/
rainy footsteps.

3
waiting for the greyhound:
dismal spectres
ask about my change.
sittin' in the big smoke/getting all soaked after a great guelph weekend/on a monday. terminal haikus.
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
On a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an island,

had a layover in Dubai,
so I decided to visit a friend,
a beautiful traveler such as myself,
in Dubai the Hyatt was her residence,

I got off my flight,
and cleared customs,
took the Metro to Palm Deira,
then emerged into the thick Emirates air,

felt like I’d emerged into a tide pool,
the air was damp and salty,
as if I’d submerged my whole body,
into summer sun heated waters,

walked a long short walk to the hotel,
and entered the oversized lobby,
Dubai lives off of air conditioning,
and the climate control was welcoming,

my friend came down to meet me,
dressed as beautiful as ever,
a flight attendant she was very attentive,
we hugged and she invited me to the rooftop pool,

on the rooftop I changed into my swimming trunks,
because even though it was just I layover,
I bring my trunks with me everywhere,
because you never know when you’re gonna swim,

she stayed poolside,
gazed at me apparently amused,
after a quick dip I emerged refreshed,
toweled off and we talked,

she asked me why I write,
she asked me what my goal was,
I told her I didn’t know why I write,
or really what my goal was,

she pressed on,
and insisted there must be a reason,
so I answered her question,
with the following reasoning,

“I guess I write,
so that our collective humanity,
has some sort of documentation,
of our emotional history.
But I don’t have a goal,
and I am not flattered when people compliment my work,
because I don’t really consider my writings mine,
I consider them the world’s.
So when some says my writing saved their life,
I feel awkward because God wrote it not me,
still I say thank you because I don’t know what else to say.
The books I’ve written are bigger than me,
millions of people have read the poems I’ve penned,
but most people that that have read my poems,
wouldn’t recognize me on the street if they walked past me,
see it’s not me they know it’s the writing I’ve written,
which means readers think they know me,
but they don’t know me at all.”

There’s a moment of silence,
on that rooftop,
all the lights of Dubai,
reflecting in her dark molasses eyes,

and I ask this,

“Do you ever feel trapped?”

She seems a bit perplexed by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,
here you are,
in The Emirates.
You are constantly on call for an airline,
you could be called to go any minute,
so you’re in a constant state of defense.
Plus,
this whether,
I mean,
it’s unbearably hot here,
and people here are completely dependent on A/C,
plus there are cameras everywhere always watching,
and to open almost any door here you need a key,

it seems there’s so much security that nothing and no one is free.”

“No I don’t feel trapped.”

Her answer comes too fast,
as if she doesn’t want to take the time to think about it,
and speaking of time,
my flight to Thailand is quickly approaching.

I change out of my shorts,
put my ‘normal’ clothes back on,
khaki shorts and navy shirt,
so that I can cruise through without being bothered,

but I am bothered,
because I can’t even touch her,
this is Dubai and despite the pretty lights,
this place is not Liberal it’s Conservative Islam,

and everything is forbidden.

We make our way across the rooftop poolside,
walking on plastic grass under canvas canopies,
we get to the outside door she slides her plastic key card,
and we enter back into the climate controlled insides,

we reach the elevator,
she taps her key card again,
the elevator opens,
and we start to descend,

inside the lift I can’t help myself,
she’s too attractive,
so I try to place a kiss on her shoulder,
she pulls away.

“Aaron no!”

“What?”

“We can’t,
not here,
I can get in trouble,
seriously.”

She nods discretely to the close captioned camera,
recording our every movement in the corner,
I guess the only thing we can exchange here is glances,
the system still hasn’t found a way to stop us from making eye contact,

and eye contact is the only contact we’re allowed to make,
everything else is forbidden,
heck they’d probably even outlaw looks if they could,
the elevator opens,

we’re back in the lobby,
she offers to walk me to the metro,
I obviously accept her offer,
I would accept any offer she ever gave me,

We emerge back into that thick Emirate air,
that damp and salty tide pool,
back into that traffic and incessant noise,
back into the smell of the fruits of the sea,

I ask her why it smells so much like fish out there,
she tells me there’s a fish market across the street,
she tells me the Pakistanis shove fish in her face during the say,
and have absolutely no respect for personal space.

we reach the doors of the metro station,
already we can feel the cool artificial A/C breeze,
and I’m again reminded how fake this city is,
fake people fake air fake grass fake plastic trees,

seems she’s the only thing real here,
and we are about to say goodbye,
we hug quickly before we depart,
don’t want to catch the attention of the camera’s eye,

she waives goodbye,
as I descend back down the escalator,
I want to tell her that I don’t like goodbye waives,
because that’s exactly what I saw before I lost my sister,

in other words the last time I ever saw my little sister,
was when she waived goodbye to me,
before she drowned in the fish pond,
actually that’s the only memory I have of my sister,

but that’s another story for another day,
that’s a different trip entirely,
that’s something that happened long ago,
something that now’s a distant memory,

anyways that’s why I wanted to tell the girl in Dubai,
“Please don’t waive goodbye,
because that makes me worried,
that we’ll never see each other again.”,

but it was too late,
the hands of time had already pushed us away,
the escalator was already creating too much space between us,
I guess I can hope that we’ll see each other again in another time and place,

but for now,

I’m on a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an Island,

and the planes coming,
and it’s almost time to board,
and you can’t go back to a passed moment,
because the only constant is change and the only direction is forward,

so be forewarned,
if you love someone tell them right then,
because even when things are just beginning,
everything and every one is only a moment from the very end…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
A lesson in Time and a Reminder to Love
when the moon  writhe and crawling the silent night..
it was time to layover yearning  who clotted for sweetheart..
when the sun excited to greet the morning ..
it was time to embed cheerfulness on the idol of conscience..
sprinkle knitted heart turmoil and dew drops each cavity of jasmine petals ..

i greet to you,  my dearest sister..
each twist will crease beautiful crowded heart longing ..
so that  relieved you feel full carefree breathing..
with the presence of me,
i will fulfill your every drought in the lake of your worries ..
i will treat every your petulant  in lap with more  excellent attention ...

return back to you  as always,  my dearest sister..
to pulling  the curtain  the recesses of the heart that always hiding ..
to wrapping blush smolder desire in your heart arms ..

because your bliss,  my dearest sister..
it's  most beautiful thing that can i enjoy ever ..*

-the poetry is dedicated to a sincere friend of mine, Ha-

┈┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶ ƦУ »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

adinda

kala sang rembulan menggeliat merayapi malam sunyi..
tibalah waktu untuk menyinggahi gigilnya kerinduan sang kekasih sanubari..
kala sang mentari bersemangat menyambut pagi ..
tibalah waktu untuk menyematkan kecerian pada sang pujaan nurani..
menyemaikan untaian gejolak kalbu dan meneteskan embun disetiap rongga kelopak melati..

kusambut darimu, adinda...
setiap simpul lipatan hati yang sesak akan indahnya kerinduan..
agar terasa lega engkau bernafas penuh riang..
bersama hadirku,
kan kupenuhi setiap kekeringan ditelaga keresahanmu..
kan kumanjakan setiap rajukanmu dipangkuan perhatian nan syahdu...

berpulang selalu kepadamu, adinda..
untuk menyibakan tirai pada relung hati yang selalu bersembunyi..
untuk membalut rona kerinduanmu yang membara dalam dekapan hati ..

kerena bahagiamu, adinda...
adalah merupakan hal terindah yang dapat kunikmati..
whatever it's you're seeking won't come in the form you're expecting..
that's why they said,  "man purpose but God dispose.."
****** up along with it, then..
Kevin T Norman Jun 2014
Sometimes in the airport I save a seat for you.
I hope that you will be boarding a plane or on a layover
and we could happen to meet one more time,
before we once again depart in different directions.
Wk kortas Sep 2018
The casket was coming up, swaying and wobbling
Like a novice skater’s layover spin,
The workings proceeding apace,
The stillness of the August heat
Punctuated by disinterested growl of the backhoe,
The occasional out-of-place jocularity by the excavators
The creaky jingle of the chains holding the muddied box
As it proceeded skyward in its clumsy poor-man’s Resurrection.
The affair was being observed by an elderly couple,
Old enough to be of no particular age.  
Their car had Carolina plates,
But their inflections, their casually-tossed idioms
They noted that ruefully The grass needs mowed)
Marked them as natives.
They’d returned (Last time, most likely,
The wife uttered mournfully)
To take their son with them; he’d drowned when was five? six?
(The years will do that to a body, apparently)
In Kinzua Creek some half-century ago,
Back when little boys weren’t under a mandate
To be safe from themselves, as it were.  
He was our boy! We’ve never forgotten him!
The old man said, the words snapping off
In a manner that spoke of something else altogether,
How the whistle at the Montmorenci
Went off at three and eleven for second shift,
And your *** had better be there,
As those were good jobs that didn’t wait for bereavement leave,
Because there was always someone
Just itching to take your spot on the line,
And anyway life went on,
At least in the sense that television screens went all to snow
And tires went flat and fuses blew
And eventually a dead child
Is not always in the forefront of your thoughts,
Only tiptoeing in when the Press ran a picture
Of the Montmorenci Area Class of whenever,
Or there was an item about some other family
Who opened their front door
To a grim sheriff’s deputy with his hat in his hand.  
Eventually, after some time
And in defiance of both the odds and gravity,
The casket was settled into the back
Of the undertaker’s huge old black Caddy,
And the couple cane-toddled back to their car,
Following out the through the old spider-like gates
And onto the main road.
The brief procession fading from sight,
Until there was nothing left to see
Save the hillsides covered in old growth pine.
Syahmi Imran Apr 2014
On the loneliest rail and road
Is where I could see the foggy mountains
As on the trip I stare at the most smoky sky
Is where I could feel my mind at peace and calm

Of questions and imaginations.

On the widest field of grass, being greenish I layover
Is where I could see a figure of your perfect look
As the stars beaming down and as the moon illuminating away
Is when I feel like my heart beats a pound and my chest pumped a gun

Of butterflies and flowers.

And in the deepest hole of heart
Is where you unfold your love and passion
As you're lying down unfurl your affection and addiction
Here I'm sitting, giving, sharing, and holding

*On hopes and an unstoppable benediction.
Aaron LaLux Nov 2016
I’ll never know why someone Loves me,
even if they tell me in their total truth,
it’s possible that even what they believe,
is not exactly totally true,

so I don’t question Love anymore,
I never ask a Lover if they Love me,
because honestly to me love is a verb,
it’s an action not a title,

when in Love,
or making Love,
or showing Love,
or being Love,
there is no time for questions,
why ruin bliss with curiousity,
why have to know why,
why not just accept and be,

see,

I’ll never know why someone loves me,
even if they tell me in their own total truth,
it’s possible that even what they believe,
is not exactly totally true,

through,
the Night Sky I fly,
on a flight from Athens to Cairo,
I have a date with the Pyramids,

was only in Athens for one night,
en route from Budapest,
and with all this traveling,
one might ask when do I rest,

yes,
good question,
a much better question,
than “Why does she love me?”,

Why does she love me?

I’d only just met her,
and we’d only just made love,
still she looks at me so deep,
that I swear to my soul it seems she speaks,

and I swear she’d leave,
not even pack a bag,
she would just runaway to the airport with me,
and fly away to whatever destination comes next,

in this case the Pyramids,
and I’d take her I really would,
because I’ve loved and lost enough to know,
that her Love for me is genuine forget the questions,

so I ask,
on the couch,
in that living room,
at that house in in Athens,

“Will you come with me to Egypt?”,

I pray She says yes,
and as I’m asking her that question in Athens,
on that layover to Cairo from Budapest,
her hands I’m graspin’ and my heart is hopin’,
I’m open,
as open as my invitation to her is,
and then She replies,
in words so plain and full of pain,

“I would love to come with you,
but I don’t have a passport.”

And then everything hits me instantly,
so many things become clear,
I see how wealthy I’ve become,
and I see my success through her despair,

there,
She is,
on that couch at her friends house,
with nowhere to go,

watching false idols on the internet,
fantasizing about people I’ve actually met,
and I realize in that moment,
that I’m as close asSshe’ll ever get to freedom,
I am what She wishes to be,
so of course She’d run away with me,
of course She’d explore the world and her dreams with me,
but she doesn’t even have a passport,

and I am at a loss for words,
for me She is just a layover,
no pun intended,
but I wrote it so I meant it,
and as amazing as she is,
she’s just a Greek girl,
an Athenian human being,
but not Athena and the days are over for the Byzantines,

so she’s stuck there,
in that city of Yesteryears,
flooded now with refugees,
while I’m about to catch a flight out of there,

and I want to say so much,
but sometimes there’s nothing to say,
sometimes there’s no more questions,
and all the answers are plain,

so I don’t ask a thing,
I just sit there with here and smoke,
I just bare witness to another girl’s empty dreams,
because dreams without reality are just hopes,

nope,

not going to question this,
I’m just going to write it all down,
as I fly south over the Mediterranean,
in time for a feast in Giza,

and I want to give here everything,
not just a passport but a path to freedom,
but I’m just a bad boy with a good heart,
so all I give her are these words in hopes she’ll read them,

Alexia,
I love you and I’m willing to be patient,
and when you if ever get your passport,
come find me for I’ll be here waiting,
and I can’t promise you I’ll be single,
in fact I can’t promise you a thing,
because an honest man makes no promises,
and the true embodiment of freedom wears no rings,

but I will be here,
and I will accept you in all your Midnight Lights,
and I won’t ask you any questions,
and I won’t lie to you and tell you everything’s going to be alright,

but I will accept you,
in all your Midnight Lights,
and we will just let what we don’t know rest,
and attribute those unknowns to the Mystery of Life,

and I,
I,
I,
I,

I’ll never know why someone loves me,
even if they tell me in their total truth,
it’s possible that even what they believe,
is not exactly totally true…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

The Holy Trilogy Vol. 1; Masonic Psalms from Holy Lands
available worldwide 11/11/16
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N3QR3E4
True Story?
Josh Bass Aug 2014
I had a three hour layover so I ordered a bartender's handshake
She smiled at me and said "welcome home"
I smiled at her mistake and
told her I was only a visitor
She placed two glasses down and poured the fernet and ginger
The strong solvant dissolved the feeling of being alone
She poured another at half price
For the next three hours
I sipped the heart out of a perfect San Francisco night
Sam Schedler Jan 2012
The trip complete there’s nothing left
Save for the souvineirs.
It was a blast, a welcome rest
I’ll think of it for years.

But here I am at LAX
No dream, no cardigan.
I’ll have to wait a hundred years
Just to lift off again.

Don’t get me wrong the airport’s nice,
The smell is odorless?
The chairs, the chairs, Oh god, the chairs:
The source of my unrest.

I’ll sit and sit and try and sleep
but always: no avail.
The strangers stare, don’t offer help
They watch me as I flail.

The pillow doesn’t offer rest
The armrest pokes me, merciless
My mind white-hot and furious


Just calm down.

Relax your self.

It will all be over soon.

LAYOVER

Denied:  my only boon.

— The End —