I know how it feels
How it feels when there’s a gremlin gnawing on your side
It sits behind your eyes,
And pushes out tears
It comes from nowhere, and anytime
From the middle of a lecture
To being held in the arms of the one you love
And it’ll push you apart.
And away
Its little claws grasping at invisible threads connected to your mind
While logic cowers in the corner
And you're left alone
There you’ll turn to the one holding you
moments ago
And they’ve turned too
turned away
So you lay in defeat,
letting the gremlin crawl back into your ear
latching back on
this consistency is the only thing coming up clear
draining you more day by day
but you let it
because
control seems better then the inevitability of the water that surrounds you when you take a dip in the deep end
-but othertimes-
when you're feeling braver,
finished submitting to the shallow end
you'll try and settle it down,
or at least help it sleep
meditation
medication
breathing
tea,
but
                                                       ­ these start to ring up useless
hope becomes your ploy
so maybe one day
those bite marks in your side will heal

This gremlin is not biased.
it does not care about race,
or status,
or gender
it has no consistency
it may plague you for weeks on end,
no relief
or room to breathe,
and disappear without a trace for a couple weeks more,
but it always knows the way back
it knows you

This gremlin is inconsiderate.
It does not care of your disposition
towards life
or academics
or your career
It does not care of who you are
and at times it will try to define you
use you against yourself
but just as a tree may lose its leaves,
and blooming flowers
you define yourself from your roots

so sleep tight,
           and settle in,
                    because
although your fight is far from won,
                    you've always got one thing to hold on to,
                    to cling to
                 and coddle in the dark
when the gremlin is quiet and still
dance in the solitude
and laugh
because you are you
and beautiful
down
to
each
and
every
root

Life, love an cooking
are the same-
all of these,
require,
the proper ingredients,
to create a balanced
and perfectly wonderful
life changing recipe.

Touch the roughness of my natures bark,
Through the needle ****** of my out-stretched (branched) legacy,
How I once spired toward the heavens,
But now am filled with rot and moldy decay,


All ways had my arms stretched out,
Green with envy,
Of having you not by my side,
But seen in the company of theirs,


Yet now my ****** have softened,
As I have altered from a rugged envious green,
To a mellow yellowed,
And the last of me is drying up inside,


I still stand alone,
My rise upward has all but continued onward,
My branched out legacy as you now see,
Is now wasting away,


I am a near naked skeleton,
Soon to become no more,
Oh, how at my life’s end shall I do what I refused to do in my pride,
For life shall surely break my back… and I left to lean on others,


Their arms shall hold me up with all their strength,
But their help is now futile,
For the weight of my life’s gluttony,
Will break their resolve and push me down ward,


That is now the legacy of my life’s route,
But before I collapse,
With a rage of hot red… I shall become,
My needles will one last time harden,


As I frantically poke my anger into all who dare reach into me,
The rugged skin of my stature may have partly flaked off,
But I want not that my soul core be reached,
By any who wish to reach in and dissect it,


My strength or weakness need not their assistance,
Nor their explanation of matters concerning it,
I was once a great tree in an endless forest of trees,
But it was you alone… that had made me special.

(c) Joseph D R-H Palmateer

Have you ever seen a moth die,
Mid-flight?
Neither have I.
But imagine how it would drift
From the immaterial sky,
Upon the slightest currents of air,
Without even a whisper
That you or I
Would be able to hear..
What a sight.
With love
From above
As a guide,
Seemingly glowing
With mother moon’s light.

Moving at such a momentum that is necessary for the mere realization makes any attempt of catching yourself futile. You’re moving too fast with entirely too much force. Your fingers scrape at hard dirt sides, the glass that sand once was cuts once again. Branches turn into hot, fiery rope in the palms of your hands.
Just fall.
Land well.
And begin to ascend….
Yet again.

we walk on thin ice covering a lake of sharks and serpents.
i feel like i'm loving you through time.
we are not from the same era.
your soul is old and wise and mine is young and foolish.
we are so far apart yet so compatible.

i love you through time
but every day that time decreases a few hours.
i am counting down the days
where our time difference will reach close to 0
and you will have to decide
whether or not to let the difference go to 0
or break the clock.

i love you, but we are not from the same time.
we are spread apart by millions of minutes,
minutes full of emotions and love and happiness,
full of sadness, pain and heartbreak,
full of you and me.
are there enough to stay afloat?

i don't want to wait until 0 seconds. i need to know before then.
i don't want a broken clock.
it will break as the thin ice over the lake.
i can't use a broken clock.
i can't out-swim the sharks and serpents.

i can't lose you,
because i will be broken
and i won't know how to fix myself.

the clock is approaching 0.
is this time that we've spent saving ourselves
greater than the time we'll spend
together on solid ground?
i don't even think our converged timeline is a possibility.
we are not from the same era,
and i don't think we will ever be.
i feel as if i'll always be loving you through time.
this thin ice is breaking and i am the one without a lifesaver.

-m. j. g.

ching, ching*
Two men walk into a local cafe.
A city boy, and a Townsman

The cityboy sports
Slicked up hair.
Blue button up shirt,
Grey slacks.
Dress shoes.

The townsman simpler.
Brown hair.
Orange T-shirt,
cargo pants.
Work boots.

"Hey there!" Says the city boy.
walking up to the counter.
"Do you ladies have different roasts of coffee?
Or do you have just one kind?"

The Register girl looks at him sideways.
"What are you talking about?"

"I want a black light roast if you have it. Also, two shots over ice."
He hands her his travel mug.
"What's this for?"
The girl fondles the travel mug.
"I'd like my coffee in that please."
The manager puts a hand to the girls shoulder.
"The house coffee is a light roast doll, give him that."

"Cream and sugar?" Asks the register girl.
"Oh god, please no." Laughs the city boy "Thank you."
Handing over a credit card.
The register girl does not understand
what is so funny about cream and sugar.
"Cash?" Says the manager.
"Is there an atm? I can only offer this, but I know how to change that if you point me in the right direction."
"No ATM. We just Offer a discount for cash, we'll take your card." Says the manager.
The city boy waits for his drinks.

The townsman, walks up and says
"Coffee, please"
The manager hands him a paper cup with coffee, cream, and sugar.
He pays them in cash.
smiles, nods. Says: "Thank you"
Then waits for the city boy.

"Here's your sippy cup."
Says the register girl.
Handing over his travel mug.
The city boy stands there waiting patiently.

"Are you waiting for something?"
"Yes. my two shots over ice?"

"Oh I put it in there."
"Could I have two shots over ice please? I'll pay for it again if you forgot."
"Oh we don't have an espresso machine.
Our shots are like a syrup."

"Oh... Is there syrup in here?
I just wanted two shots over ice."

"Well like... I mean our prices are so low anyway, it's no big deal, but we don't have an espresso machine so..."

"Sorry" says the manager.
"Thank you ladies." Says the townsman.

The cityboy grabs the townsmans hand.
They leave the Cafe.

The city boy sips his
Botched coffee.
"I've had good, bad, and know what I want.
I don't want to be seen as difficult because I'm educated."
He tolerates it.

The townsman sips his
Familiar Coffee.
"Sometimes ignorance is bliss."
He enjoys it.