#cement
Where you stand now,
can be moved.
It's either you or
the ground.
Is it light you seek
or darkness?
If you remain immovable
Like that thing in the street,
Tripping, your face will meet
The ground, hard.
Lay ****** and bruised,
Defiant as the cement
That slapped your face.
It gets dark real fast
When all you hear is the mold
That lays you to rest.
Be alert and aware like
A library door.
Possibly your unnoticed
Life is awakened by
Words that wrap you with
History and comfort as if
Every minute is the opening
From a wrapper of your
Favourite candy. Live
In the trace of light
Where you stand.
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 12:28 PM UTC
Riding the air
In dark morning
A steady current of rain
Descends
Upon everything
The fir tree
The house roof
My dogs fur
The empty Ash tree
The fallen leaves
Brown, red, yellow, orange
The bird feeder catches the water As does the bird bath
The puddles
The street
The cement
My head
My ears hear each
Multitude of patterned drops
In apparent chaos
Reminds me of the
The synapses in my brain
Circuitry, each drop a connection from
Dendrite to dentride
Messages of the unknown
Of falling to earth
Of vulnerable life
Unprotected.
The unhoused, in the cool soaked air of December. Will you remain blessed?
Will you spread your joy in the patter of rain to those who bare the rain in their skin, on their dampened clothes? Adding a chill.
Will today you find some without a home
Bringing tarps, blankets, source of heat, to those who listen
To the same rain
While they shiver
And you stay in your glow with your tidy wood burning fireplace. Stay comfortable? Risk giving for giving sake. What floods of love can you share in December rather than giving to
Your precious family, the left overs, the excesses
And give to charity that make each day another day for breath in rain from the heavens. I choose the rain. I could be the one in
The open now, soaking as I pen these words.
Hoping words of love, neutrality, non-judgement and altruism be the "church" we reside in. Drop by drop.
Over a hundred different sounds of rain brought to earth by gravity, in my receiving ears, and the tiny sparkles of light reflected upon the light from the street lamp shining upon concrete saturated by this extended morning rain.
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 9:10 AM UTC
You were the cement boots around
my ankles and I would sink beneath
your gaze screaming as I sank to the
bottom.
I saw the others the ones who failed
your questioning, your mind games
of unconscious action and reaction.
But with me, I screamed in laughter,
as I knew that you'd always let me
drown enough to be conscious of
your ever-changing needs.
We were the lime and the sand,
our words the water that would be
mixed together. We would be concrete
metaphors of each other's needs..
And I found it slightly ***** when you
tried to metaphorically drown me in
your mind.
I always learnt some depth to you the
longer you let me drown.
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 5:31 PM UTC
Last night I
Covered myself in dirt and rocks
Snuggled in to the ditch I dug myself into
Pulled up my covers of grass
Laid my head on a pillow made of gravel
i dressed in cement this morning
Crawled out of the ditch
put on my helmet and nothing could hit me
Indestructible
Cars can run me over and not break my bones
Designed to go over me unnoticed
Am I a speedbump
or a lost tire from an eighteen wheeler
That tried to bypass the rules
And ran off the road
And got covered in dirt and rocks
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
Infinite
whispers
of snaking
cord
either
hold me
up or
strangle me
dead
knots tied
to tight
cannot be
removed
irreversible
cement
strangling
though,
if broken
you
will
fall
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 2:24 PM UTC
You’re standing on my head
My face is flush
And wet
I’m sinking further into the cement
Until there’s nothing left
....
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 12:49 AM UTC
I could not speak
For you have poured cement down my throat
You told me once that my opinions were too strong to be heard
I ingested your indignity
And silenced myself
You told me to quiet down
As you wrapped your hands not around my body
But around my neck and my mouth
You made me fear the sound of my own voice
I began to believe that everyone else did too
This is what silence is
It is both the sound of my love for you
And my own despair
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 6:56 PM UTC
morning dew drops on your collar
impressing me with the zealous way the seasons drastically measure the moment it takes me
to reach forwards and brush it off
liquid winter falling onto a ***** cement
the initials 'F T' written jaggedly into the cold stone of asphalt
i wait for it to disappear, for the flicker of everything gone to fade from my vision
but it passes too quickly
i look back up and there's no one around
the street is empty and the capricious wind has ceased
a sucker for patterns i walk into a fabric store and feel my hand linger on the erratic linens
fingers paused on the peach organza sprawled like a pink bubblegum sea
and i am swept into the manic fantasies of wearing the sheer tissue-like textile into
the abdomen of your sweaty palm and sinking like a sticky sweet stripe
until you put your hand in your pocket and i spend a year inside melting
into the every thread and curve of your jean until it is nothing but disgusting sugar
everything i could be when i am hidden from sight in the dark caverns of denim pants
who knew the tongue in cheek joke would be nothing but my tongue in your mouth
touching all the way up your gums
find me sweltering beneath the uvula wondering if i could go back
to the time i found that girl with the mountain logo sweatshirt who whistled between her teeth and hummed all the reasons i should skin my knee and kiss the salty wound because there's no greater pleasure than knowing you don't have to wait for that morning dew drop to fall from their ******* collar
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
you’re a sick, sick person
my little,
old
love.
with eyes like ferocious , angry
beetles, you
chew into me and cut out
tiny,
stinging
holes.
if only you knew i wasn’t invincible,
if only you knew
you were toxic.
the cement is wet when you bash my head
open,
and
the cement is still wet when it
rains.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
Take one step forward
just one step
one step is progress
she tells me
but how do you take a step forward
when you don't know
which direction you are facing
It takes some time
to gain control
To rid myself from the concrete
But I take my first step
and the cement begins to break
it's left scars on my feet
they feel painful
but free
I'm wounded
but still standing
and which direction I'm headed
I don't yet know
but standing
is enough for now
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
At home we have instrument
We have task for our senses
And chore to cement company
We have duct
We have other
And we have other in practice
Home can operate with being
And can factory improvement
It has appetite and seasons
Cavern and congregation
It has gratitude and matters
Chatters and conflict
And conflict resolved
Instrument
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:28 PM UTC
It’s cement that covers her grey lips
They crumble as his name dusts them
Crimson tears do so slowly drip
Every spoken word another traitor
Cracking, the shadows scream
Light scorches the darkness
Brutally rips the violet seams
A rotting tongue speaks out loud
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 4:35 PM UTC
-you rip up your coffee cups after you're done with the drink just as an excuse to stay and talk longer yet the thought of spending time unchaining your fears fights the red in you to conquer them in groups of 2
-did you forget that you were once an artist who could move mountains into valleys just to brush the snow off them?
-whoever set fire to the blooming flowers you holistically grew in your heart was only doing you a careful favour because you never liked orange roses and now you're watering glowing daises that suit your vibe anyway
-brick walls aren't as blocked off as they seem but the cement keeps them together like the sky is willing to do for you
-stop picking apart the petals on peonies and maybe the stars will stop picking pieces of peace off of you
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 10:29 PM UTC
I used to walk down the block to the bus stop everyday.
Whether it was a bright sunny day, or a dark icy winter before the sun woke up, I was there...
Walking.
Backpack slung over my shoulder, alto saxophone in its case in my right hand. Leaning to the left to balance out the weight so I didn't fall over walking over the uneven rectangles of grey rock.
Artificial building blocks that make the world flat.
When I was little, I rode my bike to a nearby school park. They had a water park right by the school and surrounding the drain was a wide circle of bricks set in the ground.
But they had to take some of the bricks out of the ground, I don't know why. But they filled the gap with cement...
And lucky for me, I had gotten to that water park just before the liquid rock turned to solid ground. I pressed my right foot into that patch of grey. Just barely leaving the treads of my shoe in the cement.
I sometimes stop by to visit that old water park. Some 10 years later and that mark in the cement is still there. And no one will know it was me who left a temporary mark on that patch of grey all those years ago.
My footsteps are bigger now. I can run faster now.
Or maybe I can just walk.
I am older now. I don't take the bus much anymore. I drive my car to get where I'm going. I run everywhere, I don't take the time to walk through my life. I live too fast.
I've made mistakes.
I have regrets.
And even if I don't want to...
I have to walk with them.
I have to accept my actions and live with the consequences. I must walk slowly with my choices. My rights and wrongs... my own self inflicted pain.
I step in rhythm with the music playing through my headphones. I don't step on the lines that divide the building blocks of my pathway. I follow the grey brick road, not traveling with anyone this time.
So now I am leaving.
I will take everything.
My guilt.
My shame.
My regret.
My heart.
My mind.
I will go...
Song lyrics slung across my backbone...
Guitar in my right hand.
Ipod in my left hand.
I look ahead at the sidewalk before me.
I feel the sun on my skin, and the wind in my hair.
I breathe...
And I walk.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 12:26 AM UTC
Disjointed and ajar
I left the windows to my reality
too far open for far too long
and the judgements got in
the doubts collected
the inflicted pain pooled
puddling at my feet
and somewhere along the way
you flew the coop
leaving me stuck sitting there
with cement shoes on
that I never could get off
again
Feb., 2017
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
I can now remember,
The night spent together,
When we had lost virginity,
But had gained a lot of quality,
Our friendship had bettered itself,
It so seemed like the doing of an elf,
Strengthened with the cement of love,
Kindled with that tenderness of a dove,
But now this memory is not at all useful,
And now this heart is just very resentful,
A lot changed & is entirely irreversible.
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
there is magic in concrete
if you believe
when you work the surface
flat, in circles,
the float tool buoyant
on a gray puddle
here’s the enchantment:
with fingertips on the handle you can
sense the wet concrete, the mojo
like a sleeping wet bear
solid in mass yet grudgingly liquid
sort of bouncy
as you stroke
pebbles disappear, embedded
the tool is ******* cement
a final thin film, a pretty coat
over guts of gravel and sand
now hose the mixer, shovels, tools,
hose your hands and boots
as the water disappears, so shall you
unless you scratch a name
honor the skilled arms,
the corded legs and vertebral backs
the labor that shaped
this odd stone
sculpted, engineered
implanted with bolts
forgotten
half-buried in dirt
bearing our lives
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
There are many days
when I wish
that like Joshua,
I too could make the sun stand still,
and there are many nights
when I wish to do the same
with the moon
to allow us subtle darkness
just a little while longer,
and there are many times
when my voice
is only its own echo....
You say,
that like a fossil
which went through its changes
at an earlier time,
that now
I too am changing.
I am no longer like wet cement
where the things
which I'm to remember
are inscribed
like someone's initials
upon the wet surface,
but that I am more like the things
I've forgotten
those things
which distress me---
crabgrass and weeds
growing up through the cracks
in the face of my soul.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
I find no comfort in simple words,
I’ve heard too many lies for that.
Even actions I always question
For ulterior motives always act.
Say you love me, let me feel it;
It’s a challenge, I understand.
But let me know I’m worth it
For real love should withstand
All obstacles—wipe my tears,
Heal my pain, make me whole
When I’m incomplete—yet
With you, my hungry soul
Is empty, parched, in need
Of something genuine at last.
Please, I can’t help but believe
Our future’s in my past.
I fear we may have turned,
In our hesitation, obsolete,
What will it take for you
To feed me something concrete?
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
Bay Street Bus Terminal at 2:23 PM
A small bird travels between the feet, one joyful hop at a time. It's accustomed to the careless giants that move about,
and it knows nothing but doors and trick glass and steel and cement. I doubt
it's ever seen a natural, unabashed forest in its lifetime. Nor have I, but I belong to
the rapists of land, molesting everything natural that should ever cross our paths. I'm not an exception, I type poems
on my smartphone and wear nothing but name brands, I travel by burning oil and I consume everything from plastic cases and my protein comes from animals
that sit in cages, their feet crushing old food and new **** but I don't like to think about it. So I won't,
and I'll keep on enjoying the company of a small bird that can't even conceptualize a forest.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
When you wrote his name in wet cement
did you think your love would be permanent?
Did you write his name and, he yours,
when you slipped away from your daily chores?
When you come back, will he have your hand
will you still be helping each other to stand?
Or will it just be you alone someday,
and see those words, scratch them away?
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Every morning plays over like a silent black-and-white film.
You wake up and somehow you’ve forgotten how to speak.
Your throat feels raw and congested from the disuse of night.
The sunlight strikes your eyelids,
affecting an obliterating blindness,
forcing them apart,
drawing you from the velvety embrace of a dream.
Your feet sink into dirt-smudged sneakers;
they drag across tiles and floors and grains of cement,
across blackened splotches of gum tacked to the streets,
pressing them ever deeper into earth,
into tar.
A young woman in a fitted red pea coat stands near you,
leaning against the steel column by the edge of the tracks.
She is tiny,
her olive skin stretches tight across her bulging cheekbones,
her eyes are pools of grey,
her shoulder-length hair is the color of molasses.
It happens slowly:
the woman in the red pea coat leans further over the ledge,
tilting her head to the side,
searching for life in the roaring darkness.
It happens briefly:
a low rumble beneath your feet,
a glint of light,
a yellow-white rectangle splays across the tracks.
It widens and expands,
oppressing you,
swallowing the woman in the red pea coat,
as she looks up and stares back at the brightness.
The train does not strike her –
it consumes her,
it ***** her up like a vacuum through its sharp metal teeth,
and she vanishes,
or she becomes a refractory beam of light,
or she explodes.
A screech hovers above the crowd,
shrill, high and clear – the rawness of terror.
You cannot help it – you peer into the gap
between the platform and the subway,
absorbing the darkness.
You wonder what moment, precisely,
her life left her body,
or her flailing limbs surrendered to their inevitable consumption.
The paper bag she had been carrying survives,
strayed on the platform,
an afterthought.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC