"crisscrossing" poems
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze
A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze,
Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard *****
And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls.
Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast
Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast
From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin
Gay Paree to London town then way out east again,
Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all
And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall.
Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue
Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through
An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past
And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast.
Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash
Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash
In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies
Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies.
Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years
Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears.
A sudden realisation of immensity of loss
Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across
The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply
And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky.
Global collapse of all electronic gear
No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years.
Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that
And the day is as dark as the cold night is black.
And here all we sit, in the here and the now
On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower,
With a fools pudgy finger just inches above
The nuclear button…and all that we love.
……You fear the insanity, sense the insane
Knowing that people like this are holding the reign?
Knowing that volatility strikes
Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife.
I don’t have the answers to hand
But someone out there, knows how…and can.
The sands of time are running thin
URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN!
M.
Planet Earth
6 March 2019
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
It turned cold quickly
Almost skipping Autumn
Reluctant to wear a jacket
Or a hat, or gloves
Too distant for my arms
To keep him warm against my chest
He said he never wore a scarf
But if he did, he would go Dr. Who style
I had to laugh as i looked up the reference
Fifteen feet of mismatched stripes
Maybe not the stripes, he said
I happened upon a huge skein of yarn
It felt like a warm blanket in the oddest,
Most interesting colors
Manly, neutral, and perfect for Fall
So i crocheted a scarf and pictured him warm
The pattern in those colors was a mess
I chuckled at why they would make such an ugly pattern
I crocheted every stitch with love
Through arthritic hands that felt no pain
I crocheted a scarf, stopping only when it dragged the floor when i put it on
Two feet short, but ridiculously long
I bordered it in shades of green to match
Not realizing it was variegated into Brown's and maroons along the way
But it matched the odd mix of colors
And finally made it almost pretty to me
I covered myself in perfume
And put it around my neck
As I turned I caught a glimpse in the mirror
It wasn't a horrible amalgamation of hideous colors
It was camouflage, with a matching border
I laughed so hard, and felt so bad
My hillbilly in camouflage
Wearing a scarf way too long
Maybe he would hate it
Maybe he won't wear it
I knew better
So, I packed up his bag of gifts
And sent it to the frozen mountains
He never wore a scarf
He opened it and put it on
It smells like You, he said in blssful remembrances
It's definitely camouflage, he laughed
It's perfect baby, I'll wear it whenever it's cold
And in the picture he sent
I saw its beauty
It wasn't in the patterns of crisscrossing colors
It wasn't in the accidental way
The border perfectly complimented the body
It wasn't in the fact that he would be able
To wrap himself up in me to stay warm
It was in that picture
It was the joy that filled his smile
It was in his eyes that danced in love
It was in the fact that he believes
Because i made it, it's perfect
Yes, i accidentally crocheted a thirteen foot camouflage scarf
And he loves that I can keep him warm.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
I
I stole my brother’s car and drove to Phoenix in the dark.
The blue-green glow of dashboard gauges, the biting scent
of roadkill and desert marigolds. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Insects slapping the windshield, incipient rain.
Keep driving. Drive until the sun blooms.
II
Some days were more dire than others. CCTV footage confirms
I pawned a shotgun, a Gibson guitar, and my wife’s engagement
ring at the pawnshop next to Fatty’s Tattoo parlor on MLK Boulevard.
The typographically accurate Declaration of Independence
inscribed on my back also confirms this.
III
I ran the tilt-a-whirl at the Ashtabula county fair,
fattening up on fried Oreos and elephant ears,
twisting behind tent ***** with a one-armed
contortionist with strawberry-blonde hair.
IV
I derailed in a dive bar.
V
I disappeared in a city lit by lavender streetlights,
where buildings blotted out the stars and the traffic
signals kept perfect time. I picked through trash bins.
I paid for love with drugstore wine.
VI
I closed my eyes on a mountain road.
The sheriff extracted me from a ****** snowbank.
VII
I holed up for weeks in an oceanfront motel, dazed
by the roar of the breakers. Each morning I drew
back the curtains and lost myself
in the crisscrossing patterns of whitecaps,
the synchronous flight of sanderlings above the dunes.
I dreamed of dead horseshoe ***** rolling in with the tide.
VIII
The moon over my shoulder
tightened into focus like a spotlight.
One night the barking dogs undid me.
I caved in to the candor of a naked mattress.
I grew my beard, an insomniac in a jail cell,
clinging to bars the color of a morning dove.
IX
I coveted the house keys of strangers.
X
I opened and closed many doors.
I sang into the mouths of storm drains.
I stepped out of many rooms only
to find myself in the room I just left.
Despite all my leaving, I remained.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
She Looks Like a Tiger
See how she places her paws so lightly, so as not to be heard.
Silently, she moves through the crowd, head held high, today she doesn't want to hide.
Depicted in peach coloured stripes. No red, no brown, no blue, no black.
Today, is the first day she felt it was safe to show them.
Asking for the first time in her life, for the world to continue doing what it's always done
Lean on her, sing her our our sorrows so she could sing them back and pretend, that we could not see her scars.
She has always been the brick wall.
The concert hall
The shoulder to cry on.
The logic you would chase after with your pedestrian problems and she was the designated driver.
But when it looks like you're a casual on bridges over troubled waters, there 's no one talking you down from the ledge.
She would never have asked you to.
Hannah, your name sounds like a semi-permanent tattoo.
I hope that's what this poem feels like to everyone who hears it
So that every time they think they know broken,
they feel cold lines crisscrossing their body and can honestly wonder,
was this feeling your blueprint.
But I think you look like tiger.
And I know, I shouldn't give time to some little boys who refuse to use her real name because it fits her to well.
Callin' her some emo, weak hippie freak.
she's just looking for attention.
Because when you're the first person to make it through Hell and back alive, you're a liar.
A hitch hiker piggy backing on someone else's problems.
But her arms served as straightaways for razorblades for nine solid years,
and its no thanks to people like you she's still here.
You think, she should be ashamed of herself. As if scars are a ***** in the armour.
Like she was peer pressured into self-destruction and couldn't resist.
No one asks you:
"Hey there, wanna cut? Wanna, self-mutilate?"
Just like I won't ask you not to hate the idea of someone being that low
That every beat of the heart feels a little like ****** assault, and cutting was the best way she could find to say no.
She looks like a tiger,
and she didn't earn her stripes. People rarely do.
But she has earned the right to wear them for what they are;
Battle scars.
Things she's long overcome.
Her head is held high again.
And I know, I shouldn't be wasting my time on people
Who refuse to use her real name,
but Hannah is still Hannah inside out, upside down,
Backwards, Hannah is still Hannah,
Even with her insides out,
Hannah is still Hannah.
She's still here.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
*The men line up
Up against my brain
Too big for its skull
They bleed out my eyes
And eyelashes become their noose.
But you don't ever get in line.
So you won't be finished off.
Done, you sewn up creature,
Will you keep this name?*
Go ahead
Finish me off with your broken
Neck intentions
I see how your eyes flutter and shut
Like a hospital bed curtain
I see the hangmen
Dangling from your
Eyelashes
*Slowly fire red
blood dries to a maroon
and, there, a raccoon
mocks your crawling carcass*
Ha ha you know the rhyme then
Again and again
I'm looking for someone who can understand
Awkward crisscrossing needle and thread
Your hands are stained red with my blood
Now you are gone
Your absence leaving
Bleeding bullet holes
That anyone can walk
By and put their fingers in
I love the quick high
The exasperated rush but
I wish now you did not leave
Such a perfect exit wound
*Needle and thread shaking
But Why? Haven't I done this before?
A thousand times
Change his name.
Sew him up.
Scared every time.*
You changed your name
A thousand times since last we met
I am cold and tired my wounds deep
I love you no-name
Sew me up
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 10:04 AM UTC
It is a quickened erosion of the spirit
culminated in bad habits
a crisscrossing lattice
over and under like a ferret
Its too small and quick to fight
this parrot is breaching thoughts with its well versed screech
Luring the cavalry into its cancerous reach
Benighted by several regiments of blight
Enticed by visions of a name spelled in the constellations
Do not forget you are a child of the stars
The strength within you contains quasars
A single mind, your mind, has the ability to illuminate a nation.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
I'd walk out across
Even if
There was nothing but water on the other side
Where the lamps break and explode on the surface
And the night birds swoop low, near me.
If you were never there and
The cloud behind your silhouetted frame was complete
Without you
Full in its colored whiteness and
Billowing lines
I would still look and maybe
Smile.
If the wooded planks, missing here or there
Below my padding feet and scraping jeans
Creaked half as much, silent under nothing,
Quiet with no feet behind me
Yours
I would walk forward still
Crisscrossing here or there and meandering
around.
I would
And I wouldn't
Between the glass of the bottle and the asphalt
In the sound of
Their touch
In that moment when the music turns stale
When I know I'll soon
Want for home
I wouldn't.
And in that place
Where soft and quiet
In know and understand
I would, and I would not.
Hereafter, I deny.
Hold me home
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
Hazel eyes to take in the beauty,
Rough hands to cup a soft cheek,
Supple lips to plant words sweet,
And unspoken,
Onto scented brown skin.
Writing sensual poetry on your melanin
Until a million choice words grace your skin
Crisscrossing and overlapping one another
To create the perfect lyric,
Where your vibrations settle into cadence
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:54 AM UTC
The gods of fire and storms seem to call.
Do you not hear that his end is near?
The deep is swallowing up the light.
Skies burn, winds drip emotions.
But unlike Fishes, multitudes of clouds
Dissipate like crowds, oceans
darken with grief as sun seems dulled.
Stars move with the procession
Of boats with floating lamps.
Fishermen’s vessels cross, slicing waves
underneath, spraying salt water on eyes.
Crisscrossing nets spread
Like wings of dove.
Overbearing waves heavy with boats
answer call of coming
School of fish.
Pained hands blister the night.
With Eyes that flicker like lamps.
They Be still and know of Sun’s
promised light.
(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 25, 2009 - Alabang)
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC
There's a girl in my bathtub
I can see her dancing on the surface of the water
Her eyes glinting in the florescent bathroom lights
She and I have a lot in common
The same cropped hair and scars,
Crisscrossing our bodies like little train tracks
She shivers as the water pours into the tub
Hot rain falling from the faucet
I watch her beneath the surface
And I wonder if she is drowning
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Creeping vines climb
crisscrossing the cracked clay
Crumbled brick shards collect
at the base of the tower
Essential oils permeate the air
Invisible liquid fire
Inflaming all feeling
skin bubbling and peeling
Grotesque **** oozes
from ragged ripped flesh
Itching is incessant
Swollen red eyelids
Tear drop elicits twitching
A scream of unfulfilled urges
Vines encircle the neck
countless green nooses
contaminate flesh
Breath becomes brutality
swollen esophagus
Red and green monster stalks
searching for someone
with skin thin enough
to climb underneath
into the innermost layer
Death
brings an end to the maddening agony
Body a bulging red ball already collects maggots
Creepy vines questing
never ending searching
not satisfied until they find
the next target
Cycle continues
no escape from the ivy.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
Grim grey day
starts in the dark,
grumbles, glowers
shoulders hunched
Everyone in bitter agreement -
"Miserable!"
Rain driven against windows,
streaming pavements,
shoe-squelched curses
cast at baleful sky.
Travelling home at last,
raincoat defeated
tricklebacked discomfort,
Windscreen wipers ten to the dozen
under sopping sorrowful trees,
headlights strobing relentless rain
And -
Those aren't leaves.
What are they?
Tumbling across the road,
crisscrossing parabolas
of peculiar joy
Frogs!
I stop:
I have to.
The night is alive
with manic delight
as secret creatures fling caution to the wind
and bound into sight,
into frantic celebration,
unphased by cars, by foolish bipeds
who thought this planet was theirs -
Open mouthed and uninvited
I gaze, displaced and foolish
for not knowing
It is,
it is the most beautiful night
that could possibly be imagined.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 8:24 AM UTC
The nettle stings, scrapes, scratches, and scuffed shoes were
far removed from us; the last worry as we cut,
crisscrossing to create a crawl space
through a wall of flesh-hungry growth -
at first - to gain access to more flesh-hungry growth
The discipline - for me - was an exhorted departure but the
product was worth every scab; an open space where we
could be: undisturbed, unfettered, unchained, and with
a live canopy we were free to create more, build more,
care more and leave a sliver of our growth
Perhaps more than a sliver. Perhaps it has become my
definition of what it meant to be young and to find a fit;
connect with the other forgers - akin to a close-knit
military unit - collecting driftwood, desks, drawers, drapes,
and designated seats to burn or to use as decor
And decorated it was. Spectacularly so! Swings hanging
from the sturdiest branches, discarded rugs coated
with muck, leaves, and filth dragged in to line our atrium,
a place for every member and a code:
"Nobody but us"
Simple society solidified with barbaric politics.
A system preaching tribal nonsense can't last long.
Mostly the damage was done when things got less simple;
when we grew and outgrew and the fences were put up.
The homes and the simple society were moved in shortly after
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
I grab a shoe
a shoe
a shoe
Because everyone wears shoes
Because everyone needs shoes
I grab a shoe
and I shove my foot
straight in
Because that's what everyone does
Because my foot wasn't good enough
as is.
Despite,
supporting my weight
and keeping me afloat.
My foot needs more, to be complete.
Because all feet get cold, I guess.
But this shoe annoys,
it suffocates
it squishes my toes
that just want to wriggle free
And I'll have to wear it,
as uncomfortable as it is,
until I wear it down
But soon after that,
this one
will have given up on me.
And I'll just have to get a new one,
and go through the whole thing,
Because everyone needs shoes
All their lives
But even after I have
shoved this foot into
that shoe
the ordeal isn't yet over.
a shoe needs effort to work right
you've got to tie it up to keep it on.
So I grab this lace,
and I scoop up that lace
and I pull like I've seen others do,
the grip on my foot gets tighter,
But this shoe's not going anywhere either.
So I start crisscrossing
and looping
and more pulling
and stretching
and soon,
I've got a finger
or two
stuck.
Frustrated,
I yank them out.
and the whole thing unravels.
and I've got to start again.
But to no avail;
with no point
Because
even when I slow down,
I get distracted,
Even when I focus,
I fail
But I spend hours
and hours
trying to knot these **** laces
trying to tie this **** shoe
Because everyone wears shoes.
They make it look so easy,
They make it look so fun,
But my foot just wants free.
To roam without constraints.
But bare-feet aren't the norm,
So I'll keep sitting here,
Slowly learning to tie my shoe.
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 10:03 PM UTC
For Roberta and her son
You were like the sunshine limited you were silver gleaming the favorite of all the nights dreaming but at
The crossing of now and forever you ceased traveling this dark world it was the most spectacular light
Show the combination of a star burst and the dazzle of the most shinning moonlight that explodes over
Head and wonderful bright pieces shine and fall all about and then the darkness closes all the light out
We are spectators that stand on a hill as we observe a great dark ominous cloud fills the low land icy
Texture is thick this foe carries the facts that sorrow can’t be averted touch is the first harrowing alarm
By her voice that filled you with natural wonder it was embracing it had the telling way of
Settling like a gentle breeze after a storm assuring that all is well to hold each other was the
Making of a bulwark that had its origin in the most gentle and soft moods that refreshed from
The inside out no comfort is found in the empty wind nothing of sight or sound just the affixed
Preeminent knowing that all contact is lost love lays on the shore a pile of boards and a broken
Mast nothing but ship wrecked love and hope for the future with you the picture was complete
You were the bestowing flowing one my heart was turned to stone my mouth lost it desire to
Speak with deadened eyes I look upon this world then when only her face was barely visible
And mostly just ghostly white except for the dark outlines of her eyes nose and mouth and a
Few deep dark strands of hair that gave her an artful beautiful presence then from somewhere
Where only love knows a voice said she will be waiting my heart that was jarred from its natural
Place it was foreign to my body a strange thing now since losing the tender recompense that
You had so generously instilled in the whole of my life I knew the path ahead meant
Reconciliation time was not any longer a cruel abridgement but a course of one being hallowed
By one above beyond my reach are such wonders for now with exception she breaths in me
Truth reality that holds no comparison in this life she is my guide without equal before we knew
Common trials now we behold the future that outshines all of the hopes we had in this life
Crisscrossing the universe being in a state of pure love enriches and surpasses all prior
Existence
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
For Roberta and her son
You were like the sunshine limited you were silver gleaming the favorite of all the nights dreaming but at
The crossing of now and forever you ceased traveling this dark world it was the most spectacular light
Show the combination of a star burst and the dazzle of the most shinning moonlight that explodes over
Head and wonderful bright pieces shine and fall all about and then the darkness closes all the light out
We are spectators that stand on a hill as we observe a great dark ominous cloud fills the low land icy
Texture is thick this foe carries the facts that sorrow can’t be averted touch is the first harrowing alarm
By her voice that filled you with natural wonder it was embracing it had the telling way of
Settling like a gentle breeze after a storm assuring that all is well to hold each other was the
Making of a bulwark that had its origin in the most gentle and soft moods that refreshed from
The inside out no comfort is found in the empty wind nothing of sight or sound just the affixed
Preeminent knowing that all contact is lost love lays on the shore a pile of boards and a broken
Mast nothing but ship wrecked love and hope for the future with you the picture was complete
You were the bestowing flowing one my heart was turned to stone my mouth lost it desire to
Speak with deadened eyes I look upon this world then when only her face was barely visible
And mostly just ghostly white except for the dark outlines of her eyes nose and mouth and a
Few deep dark strands of hair that gave her an artful beautiful presence then from somewhere
Where only love knows a voice said she will be waiting my heart that was jarred from its natural
Place it was foreign to my body a strange thing now since losing the tender recompense that
You had so generously instilled in the whole of my life I knew the path ahead meant
Reconciliation time was not any longer a cruel abridgement but a course of one being hallowed
By one above beyond my reach are such wonders for now with exception she breaths in me
Truth reality that holds no comparison in this life she is my guide without equal before we knew
Common trials now we behold the future that outshines all of the hopes we had in this life
Crisscrossing the universe being in a state of pure love enriches and surpasses all prior
Existence
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 5:30 PM UTC
The men line up
Up against my brain
Too big for its skull
They bleed out my eyes
And eyelashes become their noose.
But you don't ever get in line.
So you won't be finished off.
Done, you sewed up creature,
Will you keep this name?
*Go ahead
Finish me off with your broken
Neck intentions
I see how your eyes flutter and shut
Like a hospital bed curtain
I see the hangmen
Dangling from your
Eyelashes*
Slowly fire red
blood dries to a maroon
and, there, a raccoon
mocks your crawling carcass
*Ha ha you know the rhyme then
Again and again
I'm looking for someone who can understand
Awkward crisscrossing needle and thread
Your hands are stained red with my blood
Now you are gone
Your absence leaving
Bleeding bullet holes
That anyone can walk
By and put their fingers in
I love the quick high
The exasperated rush but
I wish now you did not leave
Such a perfect exit wound*
Needle and thread shaking
But Why? Haven't I done this before?
A thousand times
Change his name.
Sew him up.
Scared every time.
*You changed your name
A thousand times since last we met
I am cold and tired my wounds deep
I love you no-name
Sew me up*
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
Battered back
what has been
what has affected like the wind defining the shapes of rocks
Silly laws
saying you can't even feel them
my back will never go back to the other color
will never even try to counter something angry
because it has steeled like an earth
unaware of the core and volcanoes in Challenger Deep, miles past bottoms of the ocean
unaware volcanic fire in the heavist water makes it way from the bottom
unaware the terrain is never flat
your back is the most violent answer
counters things like everything is silent
but god knows and does not get angry
he kneels, more than Buddha ever could
Buddha never stood very short
sitting very tall
knees with two corners and just repeating so much.
God sees and with his shoulders drops his ears and his back
no tension of countering
but large as an elephant he shows he also has untame terrain
but done by his feet of his heart
since he does not have sad Hell inside
and then it does not seem so bad
he is this way, especially where people don't treat him like he opens flat
I am this way, eyes such lids of living sport.
We are diagnoled with burning rocks
why the most melted *** of every signal of soul and doubt?
eyes printed in like footprints of a crazy lion
this way
the night creaking with the strength of us
how much we have elephanted the day closely because we are so expensive
we just heat and motion the ground and it gets bigger
because beings cannot be slow or dull
because there is no one but spirits crisscrossing time
no one like day
there is no one little as day
we are all kneeling like true kings at the big things
there is no one as near as day
we are all in the mail flipping around up in the solar system
and all the way down, the whole thing
with every sway scooping like there's air already in every rock
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
I look out the golden window to see the grasslands full fleshed and full breasted ripe trees bearing oversaturated fruit O yes and perhaps It is the fruit beholding the shine and plump perfection that looks of Grand artifice O apples so crimson I could barely touch it and the rich roots and Ra hangin'a'bove, it is a delightful Saci's-cap-red and each apple seems to be aligned in various patterns of crisscrossing and interconnection, bordering on random but almost calculated I look down at the breakfast table I am seated in capped with Irish breakfasts for all O It is the bare Nature herself and her youthful manifestation, strong and deep into the ground, it makes me feel no turning back, no regret from the small passionate days of pleasure, feeling that beautiful girl Marie, like Nature herself toned to the rivers and mystifying like from the clouds to the depths and our lips jamming brushing feeling against mine O I felt guilty I felt I was taking all the sound and the fury for myself I was eating ll the fruits in the garden, fearing a mistake, being caught, not giving chances and only wishing to please my immediate soul; as the great Wilde said, "I confined myself so exclusively to the trees of what seemed to me the sun-lit side of the garden, and shunned the other side for its shadow and its gloom." but yet I feel between us a growing, a yearning that is blessed and twisted; graft of Love, starting roots of naked Love sweet connection, Big Time Sensuality; buds in our hearts--the ****** soil has been sown yes O this new Spring is coming and a rite of passage passing finally we have made it past restriction and now a new Spring has finally come! the foggy marches of April lose track and pace, and my exuberance comes swiftly but my prayers and wishes for a beautiful quiet life come with the best intentions of grace; hopefully, surely, wonderfully. Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis.
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 7:42 PM UTC
My heart sleeve is tattooed and scattered
Four wind corner scars
Crisscrossing like battle lines
I've drawn in this sand of mine
The roar of your cannon's memory
Explodes loud and clear
Over the muffled cries of those that marked before you
Their leaving was more like a land mind
Blasting craters in my giving soil
That have since filled back in
Where as you hurt as Namazu would
Without Kashima to guard
Ripping my earth apart
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Evening darkens upon the moors,
Forgiveness—a hairless thing
skirting the headlamps, fugitive.
Why have we come,
traversing the long miles
and extremities of solitude,
worriedly crisscrossing the wrong maps
with directions
obtained from passing strangers?
Why do we sit,
frantically retracing
love’s long-forgotten signal points
with cramping, ink-stained fingers?
Why the preemptive frowns,
the litigious silences,
when only yesterday we watched
as, out of an autumn sky this vast,
over an orchard or an onion field,
wild Vs of distressed geese
sped across the moon’s face,
the sound of their panicked wings
like our alarmed hearts
pounding in unison?
My family did get lost in an English moor on a dark moonless night. It happened when I was a boy. My mother was driving and seemed to have no idea where we were, or which direction to head. I wondered if we would ever find civilization again. It was a very spooky experience that I drew on for my poem. Keywords/Tags: England, Devon, moor, car, headlamps, headlights, directions, maps, points, routes, strangers, signals, orchard, field, geese, hearts, relationships, parting, separation, divorce, loneliness, alienation, free verse
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 2:10 AM UTC
in the hush of the moment
there is much to cherish --
a child at play
with his imaginary friend
a shimmering glimmer
in almond-brown eyes
the dance above town
of birds in flight --
rising
falling
crisscrossing the sky
a winter’s eve
and a hot, deep bath
candlelight flicker
the moon and the stars
a rainy day
spent snug in my bed
the sun that smiles
and kisses my head --
peaceful
soothing
my soul well fed
those sleepy eyes
from sweet dreams wake
a hug he gives
my day he makes
and you, my love
you fill my heart
the gift of you
my world thou art
I close my eyes
my prayers I send
in the hush of the moment
these things never ...
Sep 20, 2011
Sep 20, 2011 at 9:11 PM UTC
One mans' salvation
Is another mans' torment
The things we move to and from
And though it may seem chaotic
Everyone fleeing and racing,
their paths crisscrossing
It is simple, only purpose decides
In which direction
We turn and run
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC