Atticus Fife plundered his tomes and fondled his books with his milky eye. A shade of grey has crept into his blue, and The Help is more helpful as of late. He shuffles, having lost his gait, but never does he wander off... Atticus Fife glissandos over the parchments and leather-bound lungs. He inhales the Past; elated. His limp eyes galloping over the deserts of his un-simple mind, past the creekbeds of his revery, and the unspoken Hopes of his Frailty.

Atticus Fife, leads a very fine Life... Like a Destiny.

Or a lamb to the Doubt.

Happily.

We may all seem different,

but at the end of the day,

we’re all the same in lots of ways.

No matter where we’ve been,

or who we’ve seen

The consequences of our actions

ultimately add up.

It’s not just a dream.

We must not fear,

And if we stand up,

the goodness within

will overpower.

This is enough.

We may have different beliefs,

labels and signs,

But if we are true to ourselves

it will all be just fine.

And when we reach a point in our lives

when it’s time to say,

stop crying,

I knew it would happen anyway.

Accepting and loving,

this is my virtue.

Open and honest,

I hope I have taught you.

Overcome your prejudice

and make ends meet.

You know I always say,

don’t do it in your home

if you won't do it on the streets.

Have you ever met a person
who at first glance
you’re not attracted to
but then you talk
and with every word
every smile
every laugh
they become more beautiful
until you can’t believe
there was a moment
you didn’t think they were

Small talk is much more of the former than the latter,
small, definitely,
but I've rarely, ever, talked.

My favourite?
"How Are You?"
As if the true gauge of such a complex question
can be summed up in a random stop and chat.

My response?
"not bad",
or something similar no doubt,
but sometimes,
I feel like being honest...

honestly...

i feel like boo radley in a town full of atticus,
feel like i deserve no more than the back of the bus,
feel like every single word that i say,
is another cliche, just another cliche,

feel completely silent, scream with no effect,
hope to find a true meaning, it still hasn't happened yet,
feel divided, from this joke we partake in,
where every single victory, is simply, a fake win,

why is nostalgia the only feeling that's appealing?
back when inadequacies weren't worth concealing,
that's all i cherish, that's all i want now,
and instead i'm standing here, and you're wondering how...
am i?

“...How Are You?!”

when fate's gentle whisper turns into a scream,
and crashing down come all of your dreams,
a roaring tide from what once was a stream,
tell me, is everything as lost as it seems?

"when one door closes, another one opens!",
that's nonsense,
i'm staring at a one-sided peephole, hoping,  
that the people that said they would help,
and forgot,
truly feel how the hell i've felt.

...that's how i am.

I was engrossed in falling in love with Atticus Finch all over again,
when you came and sat before me in the train
I don't know why.

Without looking up, a side glance,
I started to judge you as you arranged your stuff
White side burns, specs from the forties
A pale yellow shirt with blue stained pocket
There was something about stains from ink pens
I found hypnotic, emanating wisdom I suppose
pants inches above your feet

I pretended to stop gauging you as you settled down
You smiled at me. Why would you smile at me?
Uncomfortable silence

"You know, that is my favorite book!"
Of course it is, it's a classic
"Mine too, reading it for the fourth time."

I heard the ice between us crackling and crushing

You took your wallet out and opened it
to where your wife's black and white picture resided
"Look, this is my gorgeous wife,
I am going to meet her where we met for the first time.
I hope the train reaches on time,
she hates it when I make her wait,
military father you know!"

I smiled at your sparkling eyes
caved in between the black circles of a fatigued life

"She is very beautiful, sir."

You laughed
"Of course she is, it was love at first sight.
Why were you telling me this?
I don't believe in love
I still remember a mischievous adolescent me,
ogling at her as she walked out of her home,
I followed her till the bus stand.
Half a step into the bus, and she turned around and walked towards me,
my heart forgot about its sole purpose.
You know what she did then?"

"Smitten by your charming etiquette, she kissed you?" I grinned at my wit

"Ha, I wish! She came red faced to me,
with innocent eyes trying to show off barren anger,
and she slapped me!
I had to pretend really hard that it hurt,
but oh! those flower soft hands,
they lingered for long on my blushed cheek."

We burst out laughing over your juvenile confession
fading into a never ending smile

"Finally one day, she turned around from the bus, but just smiled,
I lived a thousand lives in that split second.
I didn't see her for months after that.
smiling at her picture you almost cried
I had decided to stand on my own feet,
so I could ask her father for her hand in marriage.
Dare she say no now,
I'd steal her from the end of the world." You winked.

I went back to my book as you gave way to sleep
Sorry Atticus, your admiration is being shared

As I got down the train, I saw you
seated at the platform on a ***** wooden bench
with rusty brown scraps falling out of the wet wood

"Weren't you going to meet your wife, sir,
do you need any help?"

"This is where I saw her for the first time,
like you were talking to yourself
when she had gotten out of a train,
I missed mine after that of course.
you chuckled and then sighed with satisfaction
Look, here she comes!
ecstasy
Sit here my love,
I missed you.
I got you the bangles you had asked for,
you know I can't say no to you.
That mascara in your eyes my dear,
you take my breath away, every time,
like you did sixty years back.
Yes, I love you too.
Meet this kid from the train, don't scold me,
I told her everything about
how you swept me off my feet.
Remember, when your father held a gun to my throat
as I asked him for your hand,
he declared he would shoot if I even shivered,
I almost wet myself!"
you grinned and ****** back on one side,
like somebody mischievously hit your arm
from thin air

No I couldn't smile this time.
I looked in to your soulful eyes one last time
and turned towards the invisible figure.
"Nice to meet you, ma'am."
And I walked away, with tears trickling down my eyes.











.

TURN OF THE SEASON

For Friends and Family


Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
                                          -Robert Herrick

Intoxicated nights of orange halogen lights-
Illuminating through misty blown water.
As the April breeze ruffles the newly sprung leaves upon the trees,
Men pour malted liquor inside clandestine cellars of tuxedo staff and obsequious waitresses

Echoes of an engine shuffles on down the alley,
Startled it hides in the cornered places.
Men enclosed in smoke talk of days of old-
And better times,
And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces.

Woman go about chatting of useless things and waste the night away.
Men sit about playing games of little meaning and waste the night away.
Both will head to familiar places at mornings first rays
And April effortlessly falls into May

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces
Slowly trudging through the paces
Slowly they tighten their laces

And set out for another monotony dipped day

Planting their ears to the ground listening
And many things they'll hear and say
With many hindsight memories in their mind glistening
And their lovers will whisper are you listening
And they'll say "yes yes my dear have no fear I am here"

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces
And they'll make many a plan and in cases
And step over cracks in fear of dark places


The clink of a glass carries on down the hall
The bartender while wiping the counter yells
"Last call"
And they'll retort "for what reason"
And he "none at all"
Then the bar goes the way of the shopping mall
And summer slips effortlessly into fall

What reasons can they make when the night is through
When it's time to wake what will they do

As the days retreat with their hairline
And each mirror more distortive than the last
They'll retreat further, further into their mind
And what will they find
With their sanity fleeting fast
A desperate thought floating in the breeze
A candle to thaw the freeze


Intoxicated nights of solemn solitude
Tucked in the back thoughts of a lonely suburb
Trying arduously to abandon actuality
But failing and jumping the curb

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces
"Sorry love they're not home I'm afraid"
"They've gone to the races"
Each two lovers in two different places

Rest assured rest assured they'll return
They'll unconsciously sell their freedom
Rest assured rest assured they'll return
At this moment they are Carpe Diem

Rest assured rest assured
They'll be plenty of time
To fumble with furniture
Plenty of time
To spend with her
Plenty of time to waste
Plenty of love to give
Now's to go slow not make haste
Now's to go slow and live


And they'll remember childhood
As a warm August kiss
And where their feet stood
And what they missed
And when the leaves
Upon the trees
Fall down down down
To rise to their knees
They'll remember who they are
And who they use to be


So, before you grow old
And wilt away
And the December cold
Melts the summer’s day
Enjoy what you have
For what you have is to enjoy
For what you haven't
Are merely foolish toys

This summer began as the last one did
And will end when Autumn bids
With the sun and stars above for you to see
Run around like children in the heat of lunacy
...


Though I've fasted and wept,
Wept and prayed
And stayed stoic long
Through passing day
And bards’ men song
I can never,
Never truly say
I have achieved arête

No, I'm not the son of Xanthippus
Who instigated the apogee of Athens
The past beacons of Atticus
Dims my own ember passions

Though I've loved and lost
Loved and lusted
Won a few
Others busted
Though I've seen the world at the needle point,
With all the sordid souls suffering
I've lived like Cummings
The farthest extent of emotions
I've kept a drug induced devotion
But never could I stop from wondering
Never could cease sundering

I've seen the valleys of my life
Where the flowers are disseminated like t.v. static
And the only sound a high tinnitus pitch
They've said go, Go I don't love you anymore
Not pretty enough to be a poem
Not intelligent enough to be of any use

Though I've smiled and agreed
Agreed and died
Through all this hell
I have tried
...



They're troubled tonight
Their restless gaze fails to penetrate the maw of a darkened window-

To have
To have not

To operate in the probity of normality
To practice trembling sobriety
To lose an arm for the ones you love
To have in heart the morning dove,

Assures that come evening tide
Through shroud and delusion
Secrets the world shall confide
And lift your illusion
...

The very next morning
Or so it would seem
Awoke the old men
Rendering a dream

Patiently focusing
For a clearer account
The words from the past
They seemed to mount
And as they pressed closer
Not to be deterred
It crested their mind
And then they heard

"Soured metal, rotted walls
Darkness hangs from hall to hall
Broken bonds burning ambitions
A feeling half held until fruition

Life a moment
A last choking breath
Happiness a second
Before eternal death

We exist only
In the time between
A hint of joy
Goes often unseen

Until again
The crest breaks
And life slips by
But leaves no wake

Such was the tale
Of the great eluder
A hidden knife
A dark intruder

A ****** thorn
Upon the rose
A heap of sand
At the toes

Left undone
The last request
Above the head
The water crest"

Intolerable mornings of required communion
Accompanied with formulated phrases
Men limp from church
Their mind wondering
Far from there
To their childhood breakfast table
Breathing the memory becomes stable
They hold on to it as long as they are able
Plates of porcelain
Decorate the wall
Floral patterns swirling to the center
Across the room mother enters
The image wavers and ripples like water disturbed by a pebble
"Honey set the table
Get the biscuits, gravy, ladle."
Set the trays down equal from the middle, a cup to the left, forks and knifes to the right-
Get those filthy boon dockers off my floor and out of sight
Go get your brother without causing a fight
BREAKFAST TIME
Rise and shine on the biscuit line
BREAKFAST TIME
The sun is up and shining
The coffee is on and the bacon frying"

The memory dissipated into a fleecy cloud.
It hangs heavy on their heads.
Remnants of yesterday remembered in indignation
When slipping off to bed.

I'm in the December of my days
And stuck fast in my stubborn ways
If only I could grasp youth for longer
If only my frail body were stronger

If only I were confronted again with every last myriad encounter where I chose reticence
Opposed to openness
My martial mind refuses any peacefulness
Perhaps the reason of my restlessness
...

Shaking off the foreboding dream
A distant luminary seemed to gleam
An old man frail but proud
He spoke a poetic oration aloud

"My head is swollen, my mind it wanders
My tongue is twisted stumbling it stutters
My thoughts are lost in the colliding clutter
My meaning is lost under soft mutters

My smile shields my solemnness
My eyes reveal my weariness
I am a man of little happiness
But refuse to possess helplessness

I am as I decree
An old man wrapped in misery
But not one broken to submission
Just one in a transition

I have tasted the bitters of love
Witnessed the horrors of death
I have choked my linen dove
To its final breath

No, I am not a careless senior
Full of content
Shriveled in demeanor
Mind absent

I'm dying not dead
No resolving to expiration
Living instead
No meeting expectation
No bowing my head

In credence I say
I'm living for today

No consideration for tomorrow
No more drowning in sorrow"

...


The day was overcast
Fitting the mood
Black suits stood in formation
While the lucky ones heaved their load.

"He was not an exceptional man

Not one of great worth
No wife, no kids, no friends.

To an outside eye it would seem as a waste
And maybe it was
But that's the nature of things to end abruptly
On a minor note"
Written by
Tyler A. Sullivan

Lovers all are soldiers, and Cupid has his campaigns:
I tell you, Atticus, lovers all are soldiers.
Youth is fit for war, and also fit for Venus.
Imagine an aged soldier, an elderly lover!
A general looks for spirit in his brave soldiery;
a pretty girl wants spirit in her companions.
Both stay up all night long, and each sleeps on the ground;
one guards his mistress's doorway, one his general's.
The soldier's lot requires far journeys; send his girl,
the zealous lover will follow her anywhere.
He'll cross the glowering mountains, the rivers swollen with storm;
he'll tread a pathway through the heaped-up snows;
and never whine of raging Eurus when he sets sail
or wait for stars propitious for his voyage.
Who but lovers and soldiers endure the chill of night,
and blizzards interspersed with driving rain?
The soldier reconnoiters among the dangerous foe;
the lover spies to learn his rival's plans.
Soldiers besiege strong cities; lovers, a harsh girl's home;
one storms town gates, the other storms house doors.
It's clever strategy to raid a sleeping foe
and slay an unarmed host by force of arms.
(That's how the troops of Thracian Rhesus met their doom,
and you, O captive steeds, forsook your master.)
Well, lovers take advantage of husbands when they sleep,
launching surprise attacks while the enemy snores.
To slip through bands of guards and watchful sentinels
is always the soldier's mission - and the lover's.
Mars wavers; Venus flutters: the conquered rise again,
and those you'd think could never fall, lie low.
So those who like to say that love is indolent
should stop: Love is the soul of enterprise.
Sad Achilles burns for Briseis, his lost darling:
Trojans, smash the Greeks' power while you may!
From Andromache's embrace Hector went to war;
his own wife set the helmet on his head;
and High King Agamemnon, looking on Priam's child,
was stunned (they say) by the Maenad's flowing hair.
And Mars himself was trapped in The Artificer's bonds:
no tale was more notorious in heaven.
I too was once an idler, born for careless ease;
my shady couch had made my spirit soft.
But care for a lovely girl aroused me from my sloth
and bid me to enlist in her campaign.
So now you see me forceful, in combat all night long.
If you want a life of action, fall in love.

There are some things in life
that you have to do knowing
you're going to lose.
Life isn't a game, and
you'll never be crowned winner,
so stop racing to the finish.
Walk tall.
Walk slow.
Savor every step,
and I promise you,
losing won't feel so bad.

I wonder if you would like another child,
even one who is a problem to teach.
It's just that your manner is rather mild,
and patiently forgiving when you preach.
Would you show me the courage in losing,
valor without violence? I wonder
can I love with more than selfish choosing?
Can you help me silence hateful thunder?
I would trade anger for a head that's clear.
Teach with fire, curse words, flowers if you can.
Remind me there are enough sunbeams here,
that you don't mind me much the way I am.
Could you teach me how to live with myself
so that I can live with anyone else?

Breathing in the rich hot air, is a budding dark red rose;
tall and triumphant it grows, jutting out its vivid green thorns for a naive deer to witness,

the scent of spices in the heavy air from my mom’s cooking is inhaled by the flowers and weeds, both intertwined and gleefully bursting out towards the welcoming daylight,

the leaves of parched trees whistle and sway with the occasional hot breeze
and the wind chimes dance with raw tunes, glistening in the thick heat,

I scrunch my face and glare at the sizzling white sky
where the sun lord shines with no restraint on my messy dark haired head,
right through my ripped blue shorts and light purple tank top,

walking barefoot from scalding rough concrete onto scratchy green grass
towards the lawn chair shaded underneath the tall dark pine tree,
I sit and take a sip of my icy cold cherry coke, popping chewing gum in my mouth

as I lean back to read To **** A Mockingbird by Harper Lee,
enjoying a light daydream of Atticus Finch
with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up in the tangible summer heat,

just like the guy standing and looking out the living room window
of the house across from mine, gulping down icy cold beer
and watching with vague interest the girl with bare feet lounging on her front lawn, sweat dripping off her neck like droplets of cold water coursing down a melting icicle,

I look up, shading my eyes to watch a noisy jet fly high in the sky
leaving behind a vacuum of white fluffy clouds in the shapes of loops and swirls
I grin; somehow they spell my name in jagged humid strips of air,

the screen door swings open with a loud creak, followed by the sound of my mom hollering my name,
I sneak one last glance at the guy who looks like Atticus Finch,
and leave him to be alone with the heat as I head inside.