#maintenance
We both agree that we want to keep it pure
as it used to be -- not a makeover or nostalgic
stroll, but unencumbered from what has been.
Uninhibited --
seeing our true faces anew.
When we seem to hurt each other we agree
that we only want to lift the heaviness that
weighs us down –
carefully shaping words to cut the strings
that drag the weight through the generations
so we can learn from past mistakes and not let
mutations mutate our love.
Peace be still my love.
My peace is not here
as yet, but you have it within your reach.
Drop the weight
and grasp the lightness!
Maybe mine will come sooner if you stop
mourning my darkness and follow your own
light that has always been there--
sometimes hidden
behind the horizon--
but it has always been there.
Let it glow as it used to --
not human-formed
or reflected beams but uninhibited from what
has been. Not obscured, but seeing us anew.
Please see that I can see that you
have the power to be set free.
Then maybe my peace will arise within me sooner.
Then maybe my spirit and mind will heal sooner.
Dec 23, 2024
Dec 23, 2024 at 10:25 AM UTC
For those pieces you long to see put back together again,
Be the stitching which is sewn.
Let your sleeve wear your heart,
And from that sleeve
Let there be a spool fit for knitting.
In your mind, be bereft of emotion
And kindle virtue begat of logic.
Then your words may pierce like a needle Focused,
By & on all the love you know.
Dec 4, 2024
Dec 4, 2024 at 4:47 PM UTC
Ceiling with a hole:
the airco lies on the floor --
It is still buzzing.
Sep 13, 2023
Sep 13, 2023 at 3:49 AM UTC
I
At night, I search for the wrench
I lift it off my nightstand
I lie down on the workbench
the cool weight held in my hand
what I must loosen first is my knee
lull myself to a state of repose
leg is a swollen trunk of a tree
placidity the pain soon outgrows
ache that is green
ache that is ivy,
ache that is wrapping
around me
entirely.
being disarming,
the way that a friend will--
in no way harming,
I pry up one tendril,
My ache and I have just locked eyes
I turn my bolt counter-clockwise
just one half turn.
making way t’ward release,
pain is adjourned
to finally find peace
II
And in the factory,
It seems I was wound too tightly
Deemed satisfactory
Now, I relieve pressure nightly
The bolt pushes in such a way
it leaves the metal bent
Relief is not given away
but instead it is lent
pain that is sharp
pain that goes squish,
pain that is swimming
around me
like fish.
The pain in my head
a pain bright white
Will surely spread
If not done right
My head and I sob, throb, and cry together
And then I finally sever the tether
spin one full revolution,
Though I know it's unwise,
Lets in nightmare pollution
Maybe last night’s reprise
III
At night, I will always search for the reasons
Why is it that bad things happen to good people
I lie down and lament each of the seasons
If it’s about church, I’m skewered on the steeple
Now plaguing me is my dear heart
O! Please don't think me frigid
It’s how to be, if you are smart
Walls that throbbed become rigid
want that is lace
want that is divine,
want that dissipates
completely
in time
Wincing at every twinge
Heart so hollow it awards me pain
Lace is fraying at the fringe
Meteor in my orbital plane
said it flutters and feels flighty
prescribed one spin righty tighty
Then, compact are the loves I hold,
Locked in my heart airtight
No space empty or left cold
I wish you all goodnight
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:06 PM UTC
The tide is low and you can see most of the boat’s ladder,
slimy and green below the high tide mark,
dry and growing brittle above,
subject to sun and salt each day, no matter the weather.
The ladder is the way up, the way out
from the fishing boats that populate this pier.
No matter the undertow below,
no matter the direction.
There are other materials that might last longer
than the locust wood used to make the rungs and stringers,
materials less susceptible to the slow death
of the seaside docks,
But the wood ladder remains. When it fails,
another one will take its place,
new wood gleaming for a week or two
before turning grey,
the persistence of weather taking its toll.
But the wood has a certain feel. A realness
that resonates to these men of the sea,
a trueness to who they are, and the all too real
world they live in.
It will remain their material of choice,
a thing you can run your hand over
and feel the truth of life, that it comes
and goes, that age takes its toll,
and maintenance is everything.
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 9:33 AM UTC
i wish it were obvious
that I treat my car the way I treat myself
because we're both so busy
running everywherre
always out of time.
Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 8:48 PM UTC
The breaking of things,
disappearing meanings,
for growth, and progress,
we strive nonetheless.
What was once old,
remade to the new.
What was once treasured,
now merely a tool.
A hintings of a time that once came to be,
A sign of a future that was once yet to be.
Time passes fast.
Things are not the same.
What was state of the art,
now merely maintained.
All things are like this,
thought to give us amidst,
a splattering of pain,
a dash of suffering,
a combination of stress and disharmony.
A certain happiness,
a joy that won't be missed.
A goal that is worthy,
of all the pains that we once dissed.
We slowly grow,
chasing after things.
Yet then we realize,
said things are now slow.
Everything that's made, will be like so.
Nothing is free, nor can be maintained when old,
for our happiness and joy, that which we sow.
All things break down, even I myself too.
What was once good, may become taboo.
To maintain we strive. to be happy we work.
Not knowing when this will be our last word.
Where we see that all things that have come to be,
just like our happiness, will cease to be.
So abandon this maintenance,
of this facade and countenance,
and live a life of honesty,
of complete abundance.
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC
What is maintenance? My life has to be cold,
planned, full of calculation. Otherwise, what?
Otherwise, I'll be old at thirty-five, bold, but too close
to a tragic slip, toes in the grass by open graves,
when peers gather, grow on pavement past the gates.
My life has to be cold, planned, full of calculation.
Otherwise, the most vital, underlying systems
yell in warning lights, compromised. You may
not think it problematic, but I can't interpret
signs of my demise already six feet down,
now can I? That's why I (we): clean, sort,
scrub, update outdated thoughts, as if
otherwise, I (we) cut the years I'll (we'll)
survive.
Open my chest for me, you,
lovely human you. Your
scent rises through the rain.
Could I live the way you live,
I would. But I can't, and I know that.
So let me react to your input,
open my chest for me
open my chest for me
open my chest for me
open me
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 6:58 PM UTC
My biggest fear has nothing to do
with monsters, the dark, death,
or any of those usual frights.
No, my most intense scare comes
from the anticipation that one day
you may see me the same way
I see myself.
For you see I'm not the girl that guys
conjure up in their daydreams.
I could never hope to pass as one
of those flitty girly-girls who know
of quizzical things such as
make-up
cute hairstyles
or fashion.
My blemishes show, and honestly
I haven't a clue how to hide them
anyway.
I look at braided hair, beachy waves,
and effortless updos with envy
My hair has two styles: up or down.
I've never in my life looked casually cute,
and am obviously uncomfortable
in a dress. Please just pass me
my jeans and t-shirt back,
I'm much more myself in them.
How does one even walk in heels?
I'd like to think I'm one of those
"cool" girls that guys claim
they love, the low-maintenance
type chick, but I don't think
I'm "cool" at all, really.
When guys describe those chicks,
they do things like
play video games
quote Star Wars
read comic books
like some ideal gorgeous geek.
Well that's **** sure not me either.
I **** at video games,
love Star Wars, but
I'm terrible with movie references,
and have never read comics.
Does manga count?
I'm kind of starting to get into that...
I'm not the nerd's epitome of perfection
either, the everyman's ideal.
So what am I? I'm just boring,
little ole me.
I love to read, and would rather
spend the night reading
or watching something than go out.
I'm shy and self-conscious to a fault,
so don't try bringing me around
friends, I'll just bring you down.
Honestly, I'm basically a child. I love
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Gargoyles
Tom & Jerry
Animaniacs
and cartoons in general.
I'm quiet and contemplative, often caught
writing in my notebook,
detailing my observations
about the world around me.
I have a ***** mind and a messed-up
sense of humor, giggling
of the worst times occasionally.
But all in all, I think of myself
as pretty boring. Laidback,
but with the most capricious of moods.
I'm both low and high maintenance.
I don't know why you think positively
of me, but I anticipate the day
you realize I'm really nothing
special at all.
The day you discover the truth
I already know all too well.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
Went to the grave
this past Memorial Day
and saw it was covered
with mud.
With but a dish rag,
maintenance
didn't exactly leave a shine
behind them, walking
away as they massaged
their own aching backs.
Otherwise they could,
I don't know,
massage the backs that
are already broken.
"Don't graveyards have
maintenance-people for that?"
They are humble.
They like not to be known.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC