"heidelberg" poems
Sitting in a bar.
A beer with perspiration.
Its raining outside.
Hear the shuffleboard shuffle.
Intoxicated poetics.
Sober state of mind.
Stools shrouded in mystery.
Double doors leading in.
Bartender’s creations. (chemical concoctions)
Saloon of slumlords and hipsters
Open mic night.
Hippie Howls.
Don’t worry we got this under control.
Malboro reds, cowboy killers.
Don’t spend you life wishing,
Spend it living.
Better yet, spend it drinking.
Liquid courage. (men becoming beasts)
Awkward rages.
The best is coming.
Shielding secret shame in this scene.
Hidden in a pint of pilsner.
Free thinkers in a haze of hops.
Lets get drunk.
Make shift graveyards on the walls.
Honoring the dead.
Rest in peace.
Nothing less, nothing more.
Old Heidelberg.
Before my time.
The stalls scrawled with graffiti.
For a good time call.
Scratched onto the stall.
“Spread love like butter on a hot bun”
Sherlock and Watson.
Bromance.
This is a bar of friends.
What is this bar?
Drunk off this atmosphere.
Window panes with neon signs.
Disillusioned.
Concealed.
Unfinished.
The moves fast and goes right by.
Springing forward without a shadow of a doubt.
Members of the Great Unwashed.
The signs of our time.
I think we’re going to split.
Can I get another drink?
One for the road.
Don’t cut me off quite yet.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
As I stood,
on the wet street
in solitude, behind
the external lens
in my hands,
I could hear the passing
of painted, ticking clock hands
as they whispered and waved
through static noise
from precipitation
around me–
I wondered,
if a past soul
of mine, contributed
to a time of white flight,
when a financial crisis
sprawled like a crack
on a windshield, from a chip
in glass, created
by another battle
between politicians.
My present soul,
resides,
in Heidelberg,
where
stories of others
become painted dots
on buildings
climbing walls
like spiders,
their painted eyes
against the stark white,
doted house
seeing all.
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 2:49 PM UTC
On July 2nd, 2001
A baby is born in Heidelberg, Germany.
I was wrapped in a pink blanket laced with my first panic attack
As the ghosts of my ancestors finished giving me my first lessons
They told me tales of greatness
So I knew what I wouldn’t become
Bathed me in lies of happiness and comfort
While letting depression sneak its way into my first bottle
Cursing me the moment I took my first sip
As the nurses came to collect my fragile hope
And wipe away every smile that dripped off my face
I began my journey in a life that I wasn’t meant to make it out of.
The stars sent out prophecies of almost suicides and constellations that formed hospital bills instead of heroes
But my parents still pretended that they were given a healthy baby
It would have been the first in the family line
We kept diving in the same gene pool, though
And in the end, we all drowned in the hope that some of us would succeed.
On July 2nd, 2001
Another tragedy is born in the world
It’s name was _______________
But in a desperate attempt to erase all connections to my birth
And undo the curses my ancestors disguised as presents
I just go by Vic now.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC