"chinstraps" poems
Red chinstraps
Wet blood, slowly drying in the evening breeze
Folded into wells of clouded waves with vague concentric origin
Closer, a flattened helmet, orange ochre blazing
Sun sinking, stars chasing
Warrior's stratified locks wisp out to vanishing points
Freckles of sputtered bronze
Slowly becoming red
Slowly becoming an omen
Foreshadowing tears to be wept
Horses that lay silent
On the eastern Ural Steepe
Nov 21, 2021
Nov 21, 2021 at 9:21 PM UTC
Some moments you’ll find can never be recreated a second time.
Such as when we first met; a moment I assumed I’d easily forget.
But it still lingers in my mind yet, even though nine months have passed down the line,
I still remember that night.
When I entered the room to opened armed embraces.
Where the bottles of beer clanked together as we matched up our names with our faces.
Our conversations hatched open common interests as we spoke of the things we liked best.
Spilling the alcohol scented thoughts off our tongues that run as wild as our mind traces.
Our futures memories of the coming months would become locked behind the
handles of our rooms,
Held imprisoned inside the walls of what became our nighttime tombs.
The voices of my old friends echo when they rebound of the walls filling their own voids in the now deserted halls.
That lie barren as they wait to be filled by the next year’s crew so that the endless circle of old and new resumes.
We’ve watched as our friendships have transcended onto another plateau.
Through break ups, fallouts, spilled wine, growth sprouts, chinstraps and dropouts.
But the end is here and it’s time to go home;
Time to close the curtains on that perfect view,
And open them up again to something new.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC