#pools
a shadow calling me
not with voice
but with the weight of memory pressed against my spine
a hush that drips from the ceiling
and pools at my feet
I walk toward it
not because I want to
but because the air tastes like unfinished sentences
and I’ve always struggled with leaving things unsaid
it doesn’t beckon
it waits
like a question I forgot to ask
or a name I almost remembered
I think it knows me
the way I flinch at kindness
the way I catalog every silence
as if it might one day bloom into an apology
I think it’s mine
the shadow
the echo
the flicker in the corner of my eye
that disappears when I turn
I keep moving
not forward
not back
just through
through the ache of recognition
through the static of old grief
through the soft collapse of what I thought I was
a shadow calling me
and I answer
by becoming quieter
than I’ve ever been
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 6:03 PM UTC
heart turned as heavy as metal
sinking down, it's an uncanny battle
stomach twisting, can you feel it contort?
someone once said that life's a contest of sorts
I've created stories patented for myself
yet they still belong to somebody else
I've found love in nooks and crannies
only for it to be ripped away potently
with confidence, I'll make my move
only to be checkmated with crude
I'll pack my belongings in a metal crater
my head's been submerged underwater
chlorine stains the tips of my hair
I close my eyes and she's not even there
the crowd thinks that they might know her
scream the chorus, play the player
when will you see that the glass's been shattered?
she's viewing herself through minuscule scatters
do you not see that her head's a mess?
she's losing the strive, won't be the best
history is repeating
can you feel the wind?
cold as ice
while she's paper-thin
they drag me out of the pool
unwillingly, I go
the men are worried
the women don't show
the poison burns like fuel and fire
life's a train, it's advancing forward
I imagine myself walking through compartments
everyone's now in a different department
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 1:43 PM UTC
Our summer fellowships are over! We learned a lot - for instance - how summer’s a lot less fun when you’re hemmed-up, inside working. I mean, we preesh’d the clinical experience, the learning, and especially how good these fellowships will look on our med-school applications - seriously - but there were a hundred rules - aren’t rules incompatible with summer?
Hmm, Ok, let’s see, something poetic..
As the summer sun's blistering radiance waned, shadows,
muscled by sunrays to the marginal edges and corners,
gradually spread, like water - soothing, lenifying and assuaging
simmered nerves with their refreshing, canopied touch.
If sunlight scorched with heat, twilight soothed and gentled,
while varnishing, the dimming world with rainbow, event-horizons,
larger, more inventive, colorful and glorious than any mere mortal art.
Night gradually squeezed, unseen, through those vivid sunset cracks,
and refreshing night-air, drawn in by the last, escaping updrafts of heat,
rustled cooling relief to weary workers seeking the solace of evening and home.
back to unpoetic realities..
When work was finished, we’d retreat from the heat, racing up to the rooftop pool, like two happy porpoises out of school.
Whoever invented poolside food delivery, should win the Nobel Prize for ‘thank you very much.’ We wouldn’t go back to our rooms until it was dark and we’d started to prune.
Now, we’ve a month to relax before our Junior year begins. We got letters from Yale that said, “As upperclassmen..” “Upperclassmen!” We shouted as we danced in hand-holding circles, singing, “Upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen. upperclassmen.”
We’ve grown so much at Yale.
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 12:05 PM UTC
Five seconds of illumination
Is all the time I need
To pace the halls inside new walls.
I’ve found my place indeed.
You spring to life in dreams.
Four months of new sensations,
Planting pretty seeds.
Like a basket in the bulrush,
You nest in my mind’s reeds.
Three minutes of tantalisation
Danced a year in my eyes to the nth degree.
And now somehow you’ve found a home in me.
Two weeks with a shared sixth sense,
As patience made way for our wishful wings.
One life to live & learn. I love the way she sings.
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 6:42 AM UTC
Your life feels shallow,
or are you waiting for depth in empty pools?
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 5:50 AM UTC
Poems flow in a stream
That winds through me
As I guide them,
Through meandering, uneven
Places in my life,
Or once in a while,
The smooth runs
Where fishing seems easy.
And I collect the pretty stones
That come to rest,
Water-washed, shining,
Along the river’s bank.
And often, there is a pool,
Green-blue, with clear water
And trout shadows, swift
And still, making a brief home,
Suspended above the sand.
Those are the ones I choose,
The surface touched only
By tree-filtered sunbeams
And beckoning on summer days.
It seems sometimes to me
That poets travel backward
Up to the source of beauty,
Where the water is still pure,
After struggling up through
Rapids and waterfalls,
Or wading through swamps
Down where the stream ends
And a wide river opens up.
Giant rivers can be majestic
But they often bury the gems
Brought down from the
From mountain caves and highlands
Swallowing them to swirl,
Mixed-up with the jewels
Of other poets’ streams.
And from remembrance
We gather our dreams.
Does sorrow fill the traveler
Who reaches the dark places
Where springs emerge
From some place we cannot see?
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 5:41 PM UTC
The birds chirp outside
Rain crashes in sleek pools
Small ants are crawling
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 6:29 AM UTC
Water, the same color as the sky,
Completely filled the pools of light.
The rays of Sun are want to try
And push to break through the bright.
Yet, languidly our time we bide
Until the pools are full of night.
Oct 16, 2020
Oct 16, 2020 at 12:15 PM UTC
Sea stars, urchins and anemones
ride the tidal waters at Rialto Beach
swirling into shallow pools -
clad in shades of blue, emerald and violet.
Gnarls of ancient driftwood line the beach
up to the rainforest’s edge just beyond the rise.
Pulsing waves dash and roar against the sea stacks
where the Pacific adjoins the California shore.
Legions of seagulls circle above
piercing the misted air with their cries
and the tide, beckoned by the Sky Queen,
begins to ebb and regain the open sea.
As the sun sinks into the western sky –
the towers of Split Rock and Hole in the Wall
are silhouetted against the horizon
pasteled in gold, orange and burgundy hues.
Gray whales and dolphins breach the surface
before plunging into the sacred depths
where the ocean beats pulse on and on -
sounding resonant cadences
through timeless hallows of infinity.
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 6:16 PM UTC
Claustrophobic in this vessel
that I'm
contained within.
I'm floating on a sea of waves
that never settle,
but slam upon my
subconscious membrane.
Stimulating my pools to never close,
but stare into the vastness
of unfulfilled gazes.
The charcoal stain within the white cleaner
than the pool it resides within.
I feel like I'm a victim of non-consensual birth,
never wanting to be in this void less
manifestation.
Could I delete this construct, make it static.
Yes, but my breath is continual,
and my morality keeps me tied to this frame.
I'll have to live, even though i didn't
agree to this sting tying me to this existence.
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 10:47 AM UTC
Your eyes
We're the pools
I swam in
every morning.
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 5:16 AM UTC
if your eyes are no ocean
why do they look blue
and i'm willing to dive in
to grasp what's inside you
a treasure buried in your mind;
ten thousand emerald pools
hundreds of castles standing tall
a kingdom in your soul
i'll drown if i have to
to sink into your heart
if i die then i'll tell you
dying's never been more fun
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 4:39 PM UTC
I couldn't venture upon the words that
flowed from your voice...
dancing on every pebble.
But sometimes we miss-stepped,
getting sullen in the
waters that we found ourselves,
delving in deeper than
we wanted.
You & I where,
me and you where that
moment.
Drowning within the pools of our eyes..
We held on to another,
suffocating in
the love of each others vision.
And I drowned deeply within you..
knowing that Id be free on
the other side of your gazing eyes..
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 7:04 PM UTC
I’ve always had a fear of water that’s deep
I remember my fright in the city pool
how I made friends with the shallow end
how close to the sides I’d keep.
I still recall that curved stone edge
how my fingers held on and I felt a fool
being so scared when the other kids
would jump in the deep end with joy
how I felt like such a silly scardy boy
and I envied their abandon and grit
the big splash when their cannonball hit.
But it’s true my daddy was never there
to teach me to swim
to help when I came up coughing for air.
Oh man, how I could have used him
and his strong arms to hold me
and show me the breast stroke
slap my back when I choked.
Now I still thirst for a father
when I get afraid of the deep water.
The difference is now I’ve got a dad
who’s always there when I’m afraid or sad.
In fact I look forward to the dive
into the deep where I’m so alive
centered and at peace.
But I’m still learning to let go and release
the edge of that deep pool
and breathe in the depths… of spirit fuel.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 12:48 PM UTC
Rain poured its *** off,
And see now: pools big and small;
More than can handle!
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
I am meditatively sitting at the edge
Of the Saturn rings
High in the sky, looking down
Into an Earth-pool of reflections
I can see it, concentric rings
Moving like shadowy things.
In that space between you and me
is a pain, like a sheet of glass
My stretches through and
Into the water of the pool
And as I pull out the watery rings
I feel alchemic longing swirling inside of me
To have and to hold you
To pour you inside me
A soul-jug and its chalice companion
Its in your face I see
But it's reflection only
Touch and you are gone in concentric rings
And I return to the edge of things.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
Those who pass us on,
are but shallow pools of self-worth.
For when we look upon ourselves
we see a depth
that only gets deeper
the more we look into
the pools of our own perception.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:46 AM UTC
I ask her if she saw your eyes
She said she did that they are the
“boy eyes” but tripled and then
says but “have you seen your own eyes”
I said I hadn’t so I ran to the mirror
to see and started crying
at the way my dark eyes are full of peace
(giant wet pools of love) melting against my skin
through my pores
all because of
(you)
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 12:16 AM UTC
He wasn't looking at my eyes ,
so I took his.
Pretty little pools...
marbles of sight.
I threw them in the trash,
his life dirt trodden looks...
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 8:25 AM UTC
I'm waves of sorrow
collapsing on shores of
dejection
High tide carries me to
rock pools of collected
reflections.
When I regress to my lowest
point, I drown within my own
regrets
I'm in a cycle of waves that crash
within myself, washing me slowly
away...
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 10:06 AM UTC
vestiges linger in static waters,
dejection
ascending its reach further.
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 7:32 AM UTC
On a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an island,
had a layover in Dubai,
so I decided to visit a friend,
a beautiful traveler such as myself,
in Dubai the Hyatt was her residence,
I got off my flight,
and cleared customs,
took the Metro to Palm Deira,
then emerged into the thick Emirates air,
felt like I’d emerged into a tide pool,
the air was damp and salty,
as if I’d submerged my whole body,
into summer sun heated waters,
walked a long short walk to the hotel,
and entered the oversized lobby,
Dubai lives off of air conditioning,
and the climate control was welcoming,
my friend came down to meet me,
dressed as beautiful as ever,
a flight attendant she was very attentive,
we hugged and she invited me to the rooftop pool,
on the rooftop I changed into my swimming trunks,
because even though it was just I layover,
I bring my trunks with me everywhere,
because you never know when you’re gonna swim,
she stayed poolside,
gazed at me apparently amused,
after a quick dip I emerged refreshed,
toweled off and we talked,
she asked me why I write,
she asked me what my goal was,
I told her I didn’t know why I write,
or really what my goal was,
she pressed on,
and insisted there must be a reason,
so I answered her question,
with the following reasoning,
“I guess I write,
so that our collective humanity,
has some sort of documentation,
of our emotional history.
But I don’t have a goal,
and I am not flattered when people compliment my work,
because I don’t really consider my writings mine,
I consider them the world’s.
So when some says my writing saved their life,
I feel awkward because God wrote it not me,
still I say thank you because I don’t know what else to say.
The books I’ve written are bigger than me,
millions of people have read the poems I’ve penned,
but most people that that have read my poems,
wouldn’t recognize me on the street if they walked past me,
see it’s not me they know it’s the writing I’ve written,
which means readers think they know me,
but they don’t know me at all.”
There’s a moment of silence,
on that rooftop,
all the lights of Dubai,
reflecting in her dark molasses eyes,
and I ask this,
“Do you ever feel trapped?”
She seems a bit perplexed by the question.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,
here you are,
in The Emirates.
You are constantly on call for an airline,
you could be called to go any minute,
so you’re in a constant state of defense.
Plus,
this whether,
I mean,
it’s unbearably hot here,
and people here are completely dependent on A/C,
plus there are cameras everywhere always watching,
and to open almost any door here you need a key,
it seems there’s so much security that nothing and no one is free.”
“No I don’t feel trapped.”
Her answer comes too fast,
as if she doesn’t want to take the time to think about it,
and speaking of time,
my flight to Thailand is quickly approaching.
I change out of my shorts,
put my ‘normal’ clothes back on,
khaki shorts and navy shirt,
so that I can cruise through without being bothered,
but I am bothered,
because I can’t even touch her,
this is Dubai and despite the pretty lights,
this place is not Liberal it’s Conservative Islam,
and everything is forbidden.
We make our way across the rooftop poolside,
walking on plastic grass under canvas canopies,
we get to the outside door she slides her plastic key card,
and we enter back into the climate controlled insides,
we reach the elevator,
she taps her key card again,
the elevator opens,
and we start to descend,
inside the lift I can’t help myself,
she’s too attractive,
so I try to place a kiss on her shoulder,
she pulls away.
“Aaron no!”
“What?”
“We can’t,
not here,
I can get in trouble,
seriously.”
She nods discretely to the close captioned camera,
recording our every movement in the corner,
I guess the only thing we can exchange here is glances,
the system still hasn’t found a way to stop us from making eye contact,
and eye contact is the only contact we’re allowed to make,
everything else is forbidden,
heck they’d probably even outlaw looks if they could,
the elevator opens,
we’re back in the lobby,
she offers to walk me to the metro,
I obviously accept her offer,
I would accept any offer she ever gave me,
We emerge back into that thick Emirate air,
that damp and salty tide pool,
back into that traffic and incessant noise,
back into the smell of the fruits of the sea,
I ask her why it smells so much like fish out there,
she tells me there’s a fish market across the street,
she tells me the Pakistanis shove fish in her face during the say,
and have absolutely no respect for personal space.
we reach the doors of the metro station,
already we can feel the cool artificial A/C breeze,
and I’m again reminded how fake this city is,
fake people fake air fake grass fake plastic trees,
seems she’s the only thing real here,
and we are about to say goodbye,
we hug quickly before we depart,
don’t want to catch the attention of the camera’s eye,
she waives goodbye,
as I descend back down the escalator,
I want to tell her that I don’t like goodbye waives,
because that’s exactly what I saw before I lost my sister,
in other words the last time I ever saw my little sister,
was when she waived goodbye to me,
before she drowned in the fish pond,
actually that’s the only memory I have of my sister,
but that’s another story for another day,
that’s a different trip entirely,
that’s something that happened long ago,
something that now’s a distant memory,
anyways that’s why I wanted to tell the girl in Dubai,
“Please don’t waive goodbye,
because that makes me worried,
that we’ll never see each other again.”,
but it was too late,
the hands of time had already pushed us away,
the escalator was already creating too much space between us,
I guess I can hope that we’ll see each other again in another time and place,
but for now,
I’m on a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an Island,
and the planes coming,
and it’s almost time to board,
and you can’t go back to a passed moment,
because the only constant is change and the only direction is forward,
so be forewarned,
if you love someone tell them right then,
because even when things are just beginning,
everything and every one is only a moment from the very end…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
There's more to this little brown bottle than the sunshine within,
and if you search across the hills of Kalamazoo
you'll find the meaning of gold.
Cheers to this:
the smell of barbecue and grass
and the taste of oranges drenched in ale
and sunlight.
As the fire crackles
and the flames move like the flags we claim,
I can hear each individual string
on a friend's guitar
as they tell a story of an everlasting summer.
When it's cold
the sun smiles and burns
as the sound of cannonballs piercing aqua blue waves
washes through your body
clad in pink
skin,
and fabrics
seen from many
and any
wandering eye.
As the hi-hat sizzles,
so too does your soul,
and that's why you can't help but
dance dance dance.
But just like any season,
this friendly brown bottle
is a moment in time.
Winter must come,
people must go,
but somewhere in the recipe for your favorite drink
are all of their names
glistening in gold.
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC