"reconciliations" poems
Circle's intentions.
Time's intentions.
Solace. Unity.
A record of movement.
How? Blood. Solidified.
Shared separation, soon to shake hands,
but in the mean time...
scratching.
clacking.
crumbling.
melting.
Stories to tell, stories told. Ears to fill in the verbose silence.
Science. Colors.
Origins and reconciliations.
And still, be still.
The rocks will whisper
Circle's intentions.
Time's intentions.
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
No light or air touches this broad chasm
And few have been known to ascend from it
Reconciliations to phantasms
All sensation and love you will omit
Why try and claw your way to the surface?
The darkness embraces you like no other
You become addicted to the abyss
So you spiral down further and further
It is feasible for one to break through
To take that solitude expedition
I know the specifics of this deep blue
For I have risen to behold the sun
Keep kicking your feet and reach for above
Exhaling your gloom and inhaling love
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Live your life
though it's not an easy thing to do
especially for those who are not born with inheritances
every step of the way is rampant with imbalances
it's also because the world is riddled with contrived rules
everywhere it's still primeval law of the jungle
sometimes we're not strong enough
but at all times we need to think for ourselves
protecting ourselves is the only way
making it possible for us
to live a life
many choose to conform to the practices of the society
some choose to stay true to their humanity
the two choices often find themselves in conflict
not saying there's no reconciliations
staying true to yourself
is not preordained to be a confrontation to the world
sometimes it can be more of an integration
because when you know yourself
you become tolerant of the world
because the more you love yourself
you have to learn to love the world
and slowly you'll be able to live out
your own life
the process is never easy
but it's the only way to understanding life
to loving it most of the time.
Jul 19, 2023
Jul 19, 2023 at 4:34 AM UTC
A trowel and an infinite supply of spackle. Leave me to work, friends. I perceive your cracks, everyone, every one. Canyons, hairline crevices, they trace your backs like rain down windowsills. I've never quite been able to predict where the fissure will turn.
A trowel and an infinite supply of patience. Leave me to my duty, friends. Let me fill in your fractures, I can saturate them to their basin with reparations, reconciliations. I will breathe forgiveness, companionship, love, whatever you need onto my mendings, they will harden. Paint over them what shades you will, I’ll hold your hand as you hold the brush.
A trowel and an infinite supply of compassion. Leave me to my compulsion, friends. Maintain my repairs, I beg of you. You let them become brittle and they flake off of your faces like paper Mache masks. You, let the paint fade. Your work, our work, to fix the fissures, it’s crumbling through your fingers, outstretched, dumbfounded you stare. Pick up the trowel and spackle your own canyons. Spread the fleeting putty across your faces till your eyes cry dust when you blink.
Oh look, upon your left eyelid. A fracture. A trowel. Leave me to my love, friends.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
The song played-- muffled, hesitant,
As if the tabletop jukebox
Seemed unsure of the tune’s suitability,
As out of place and time as ourselves,
It being Wednesday morning three A.M.
At the all-night diner on the Klondike Road
(The mills, going full-bore down the road in Montmorenci Falls
Making such a place viable, indeed necessary),
But we laughed loudly and nonchalantly
Between bites of nearly adequate cheeseburger,
Ostensibly unaware of all those inevitabilities
Which were tangible but unspoken, indeed unspeakable,
This being the last of the last summer not careworn,
Textbooks to be exchanged for neckties,
Plastic sandals swapped for sensible flats,
Other lives to take flight in other places,
A mere handful of evenings remaining
Before the clumsy process of untying
All that which had been loose ends from the beginning.
Would I go back? In a sense, it does not matter.
There was always a laundry list of reasons
That it could not be, cannot be, will not be:
Irreparably meshed gears of relocations and reconciliations,
Gordian knots of logic and desire.
Still, in my dreams, I often run like a madman,
Chest burning as my sneakers slap the pavement in the darkness,
Back toward the diner, but it has been razed to the ground
(Likely the case, for all I know,
What with the mills silent and padlocked all these years)
And I paw madly, feverishly through the rubble
In search of some remains of those vinyl chanteuses of love songs,
Those epitaphs of our failures,
Those three-minute odes
To our compromised and conditional successes.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
How can life begin when you fall on a cliff?
sat on a ledge for as long as the rain remains
waving for the meandering unforgivable miracles
of allowable hesitation and tensional destitution
When you look at a face do you see in the beyond?
areas and layers that regardless appease to angels
the marvels of the new coming unstormy parables
ushered at the lengthy table of debatable ideology
Whom do we pledge the crooked ways of the men?
aisles of mean and immeasurable consequential regrets
of when the summer unfolded and winter melted
beneath the flow of the lakes in the unseen caves
Where do we bow our untold perceived reconciliations?
kneel at the pebbled mast of an eventful aftermath
till the grounds little one, sift the fertile from gravel
start again, nurture the soils and bloom to fertility
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 7:32 AM UTC
We're like burning bridges, baby.
Fast and for real.
Feeling a fire that is fueled by
arguments and reconciliations.
We're like the fall of an empire,
so subtle and so pure.
Collapsing into each others arms
like the Walls of Troy.
We're like Bonnie and Clyde,
rampaging through life without
a care for anyone or anything
but us.
Needing only us, to set us free.
Whispering words beneath the
shade of trees, hearing you ask me
if I shall love you always.
And I always answer, 'til the end
of the world, angel.
Needing only us, to set us free.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 9:54 AM UTC
Along the journey
Along the laughs and the tears
Along the sleepless nights and restless days
Along the fights and the makeups
Along the fake smiles and hurtful words
Along the reconciliations and comprises
Along the backstabbing and heartbreaking
Along the hidden phone calls and texts
Along the long breaks and short conversations
Along the doubted trust and vile behavior
Along the alcohol shots and cigar smokes...
...I forgot love was supposed to be beautiful
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 12:32 PM UTC
He is my defiance.
He is the reason for my lack of control
and yet he seems to have it all.
Soft ribbons wrap themselves around my body
pulling me back in to his grasp
which grows stronger now than ever before
- he grows stronger now.
Apologies and reconciliations
are now all too apparent
but each time I fool myself.
I let my heart lead with lead-lined boots
and stead-fast ambition,
and each time I am trapped.
I hope for change
or remorse
but still what he does is wrong.
And each time
I love him.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC