I had a lend
Of a bend
Further down the track
A bend to borrow
For maybe tomorrow
I’ll think of heading back
This is one of a series of short poems about being lost
that day broke me.
a part of me left.
I don't know
if it'll come back,
if I'll be me again.
but I'm trying.
I'm picking myself up,
taking small steps,
looking for the missing part.
I hope to be me again.
I watched my house recede to the invisible
as the water rises and the slow flat boat ferries me away.
My only baggage— the wife in her angels nightgown,
my chihuahua, a revolver loaded with dusty bullets—
all collapsing in the flow, dissolving into rot and mold,
a place not all that comfortable for other people,
a belligerent child evaporating into condemnation,
a concrete overhead blocking my view of heaven.
My archive of creeping shame sheds their existence
until it fits into the reality I see, no longer see.
I can only call this invisible place, this marred space
what it originally was before the water and erasure—
I called it love.
I call it love.
Home sweet home
Where I can sit on my ***
With no need to roam
And no need to ask
What to do next
A good sesh of nothing
Sounds like the best
With no need to worry
About where to eat dinner
And when to meet friends
Order in trusty take out
Throw the kids in bed
Time to binge on light shows
Then sleep like the dead
NCL August 2019
Had a lovely vacay but it's always so nice to get home.
Can you let my heart be your home
Because the only one I want to take refuge in is yours
Starscapes on summer nights
That we will always find ourselves returning to
It's been a while
Dear old friend
But I wish
To open you again
My mind has been emptied
Into the fold of my notebooks
Instead of here
For over a year
So one may hope
That I've grown
As I return
AHHHHHH I am super happy to be back and also kinda regretful/sad because I forgot about HP for so long and it just helped me through some really dark stuff...
So yeah. YAY. Ok, now watch me close this and forget about it for a couple months lol
Now they are memories
like silver threads in a gliding tapestry
how wondrous feeling and smelling the sea breeze
the aromas and excitement of the market
the cool magnificence of the mountains
in late autumn on the brink of winter.
These travels and their newness
still dance in my head
but even now my gut clinches
remembering the effort and focus
on preparations each day.
It’s the dark side of the coin
sadly evoking shame
to even mention it
a blotch in the snow
on the marvelous trek north.
But write it I must.
I wonder if it take courage
to be pitiful in public,
but maybe that’s what poets do
undress in front of everyone.
It is the stuff of nightmares
and here I am doing just that.
On the other hand…
How sweet the peace
sitting calmly writing
looking out on the back yard
the tallow trees coloring
preparing to shed a variegated carpet below.
Maybe it took travel
to help me appreciate
the beauty of
these serene moments
Written two days after our return from a glorious ten day trip from Texas to Vancouver and Whistler, British Columbia. This has been a draft, but I revised it and made it public today.
I watched the birds fly away for the winter and soon I will watching them returning back home hopefully bringing summer with them
I miss there singing In the mornings always brightens
one's day and they will again build there nests In
guttering around my roof
there they'll raise there young
And when they're old enough I shall watch them taking there first flights supervised by their
mothers the same every year never changes from as far back to when I was just a kid
For now I wait the return of the birds and the sun hopefully they'll bring with them and to once again to hear them singing upon dawns early
Thought drifting towards summer and birds singing
again the mornings