You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The

...a diary of the falling dominoes chapter

invisibly dying from the inside out
no one is looking into unseen eyes
no one can hear a muted voice fading
no one is close enough to be near

the deafening thrums echo
anxieties’ racing heartbeat
within morphing flesh shell ,
gasping for new breath
in a hovering stale silence

from a distance
the broken mirror ricochets a subdued light ;
much closer the reflection reveals
someone I once knew by heart

now an unrecognizable mask
enshrouds a terminal emptiness
inconspicuous at a fleeting glance ,
impossible to discern what storms rage
from the inside out ,... unnoticed  

an uncontained wildfire
smoldering within,  lies in wait
for the imminent winds of change
to fan the flames into the final
eternal silent ashes

a poet reaches out demurely
offering a candid look
into the window
of the imperfect human soul

there is no poetry
met by indifference
just gathered unread words scribbled,

squandered time
dripped slowly on an empty page ;
moments turn into days
days turned into years

invisibly dying from the inside out
an unfinished life trickles out
like seeping blood evanescing
from a bottomless puncture
wounding ... penetrating the heart,
leaching out the slow death of a poet

for poetry is only words unless they touch someone ...

befallen to indifference is poetic death
by salted paper cuts ...

a muting suffocation
that hiddenly erodes away,
silencing the passion
of a musing soul
one unread word at a time ...


© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved

Hums of swinging blades and axes,
Wailing of voices,
Ricochets of guns.
Secrets whispered in private,
Declamation exclaimed in public,
Hymns sung,
Words spoken.
People are the weapon.
We must not doubt ourselves.
All conflict,
No matter the position,
Comes from a common source.
People are the weapons.
All else, extensions-
Of the arm,
Of the leg,
Of the mind,
Of the heart;
All extensions of the person.
By extension,
A person is an extension
Of the people.
Let the power of the individual
Never lie unknown,
For in one person
Is the concentrated power
Of everyone.

i saw the greater part of creation succumb to the piracy of numbness-
the nimbus rage of torpedo cigars blowing blue-grey smoke into the dark lashes of love-struck little *****-
thirsty angels with tangled curls of hair bashing their heads against bathroom walls
screaming under their breath,  not enough.
i saw the green plastic- and her orange eyes
and the soap-bubbles on the sidewalk
and the soap frothing all over the sidewalk
and the glass that took off like pristine bullets in every direction
and-
blood running over the ***-covered lip of the curb, flowing into the street-
down to the drain, dripping into the hungry orifices of the big metal grate
into sewer pipe salvation-
destination unhindered by your humanity.
god, this must be insanity
and not even the good kind.
but
let's go watch the fire-works up on the roof-
crawl out the attic window
i let you go first to watch the electric calico
trickle down your legs like a promise.
i like the birds that fly in and out of your hair-
the handkerchief at your hip,
i like the crazy and the cool-
the too cute for comfort
and the fake angsty danger of your darkside.
like morphine-
the band or the drug?
you're ironically detached
with your semi-satanic languidity-
and overdue serenity
[i got a few overdue books at the library.]
[they closed the library a long time ago.]
i like to play catch with your presence-
our eyes with the back-and-forth,
the half-sent glances when we think the other isn't looking.
but we were always looking-
or at least i was always looking at you.
i could see half inside of you.
you were always half-naked-
in the scanty rags of the latest fashion.
when you breathed it was like nectarine noises-
and muffled yelps of love.
i watched your shirt move up and down on your chest
and told you about "never knows best"
it seems
i've seen the greater part of creation succumb to the supreme softness
and the best laid plans of motorcycles and mini-vans fall to pieces in my palms.
and you were the greatest creation i saw on the roof that day.
don't bat another pretty little eyelash at those tiny flashing pieces that go past like ricochets
it's just one more night of strangeness
and then you can be free again.

Her hands are shaking.
Trembling, trembling as the box moves closer to her reach.
Her heart is racing just as fast as she used to everyday after school when she ran from the school bullies.
Her heart is pumping blood just as her wrists do after she introduces them to a blade.
Her heart is slowly being mended just like the reconciliation of her relationship with her psychotic sister.
Her hands are shaking so bad she can't make out the outline of them in this dimly-lit room.
The candle light ricochets off the walls.
All she can think about is how he has stood beside her this whole time.
The room smells of cigarettes, which reminds her of the first time she met him.
That night at the corner liquor store where she went after her grandad died.
Trying to drown the pain by drowning herself in
pills and alcohol.
She was approached by a man who smelt of death who tried to steal her money, and if he got any further, her virginity.
Just as the man went to put his hands on her, the boy stepped up and protected her.
That trend continued for years as he protected not only her, but their love as well.
She knew she had finally found something worth loving truly for.
No more hiding who she truly was behind drugs, lies, and a noose hung ready in her closet.
She realized that he made her complete.
She'd walk to the end of the earth for him and he'd crawl with broken legs all the world around to see her.
But as the bills piled high and the eviction notices multiplied by the hundreds, they didn't know how to move on.
She turned back to the drugs and the pills as she knew she was drowning,
Drowning deeper and deeper.
Waiting to feel his hand plunge deep in the water to save her life.
And he'd do it every time.
She realized that he took her sky high with his love.
This would soon overcome all her addictions, leaving her only addicted to his love.
She could barely breathe as her hands touched the box.
By now she was surprised they hadn't fallen off from trembling,
Trembling so much.
As she opened the box, her breath rapidly started to leave her body.
She could feel herself going numb.
She couldn't speak.
As he pulled the ring from the box, her body shook more and more from excitement and shock.
He asked for her hand in marriage, and she started to cry with joy.
After they kissed he whispered, "You've always been my addiction."

It takes this boy three words to figuratively melt all my literal progress, to turn my thoughts right back into the whirlwind of memories I've spent the past twelve months trying to silence. At last, I stopped hearing his voice in the howling wind but two missed calls and a couple 2AM texts later and I can't think straight. I see his smile in the spaces between my fingers and LOOK ALIVE, SUNSHINE ricochets around my skull, firing my synapses sharply while his hurricane laughter echoes between my neurons.

Three words to rip all of my unexpressed feelings from their neatly-packed shoe boxes and send them swirling around my head in that violent vortex that took a year to subdue.

Three words to unleash the chaos I had finally repressed.

You think the night

is beautiful,

with her endless

cascade of stars and

the way she wears the clouds

so seductively--

billowing wisps of froth

that adhere to her frame

like a silk negligee,

their mere existence

dependent solely upon

the curves of her body.



She's the girl next door;

the one who keeps you up at night,

the woman you want to undress.



You admire her

for her quiet,

for her stillness.



You worship her,

for she is the keeper

of both dreams and wishes



But I am afraid

you have mistaken her mournings

for loveliness.



What you thought were stars

are really tears,

molten pearls of silver

whose painful scorches

have blemished the

velveteen shadows

of the night.



And the clouds are not truly clouds

but ringlets of cigarette smoke

that arise from her

chapped, wine-stained lips,

imposing onto the air a heavy smog that

sputters throughout the blackness.



Sometimes,

she will sing,

her symphonies chaperoned by

the melancholy of Ursa Minor.



"I heard that you like 

the bad girls, honey. 

Is that true?"



The vibrato of her voice

ricochets off the

planes of the universe.

"A fine performance!"

they cheer.

(for someone who is

so unfathomably sad).



The Gods

say she is a warped record,

a label that is dictated,

not by her pitch,

but by her broken heart.



And you will listen

to her anyway;

for she will put you

to sleep with her lullabies

whose sorrow you have

failed to acknowledge--

a sorrow you have mistaken

for beauty.



But, then, perhaps you had known

of her sorrow all along.



Perhaps that was what

had captivated

you in the first place.



After all,

dark minds think alike.

His silence screams like a searching wind
a death-hungry spirit painted in
pallette-knived smears of
grey and fear and crimson
streaking across the night sky of his heart,
lightning-bolt ricochets striking, incinerating
the solitary oak tree of his soul,
scattering his acorns down the hill where they
are lost among the weeds,
shocked into infertility,
But he is a seascape pine,
weather-worn but razor-straight,
Gargantua in wood and steel
establishes his personal space
like a rabid porcupine,
And he is a tower,
hiding his soap bubble dream
while she brushes her hair
one hundred times
one thousand times
one million times
until the dream is
lifeless, breathless, armless
and tucked neatly in a refrigerated drawer,
As his silence screams like a searching wind.

i see your swift current grasping waterfalls

flow

you make me melt

you are the bean bag chair to my acid trip

i want to feel deserving,

lack of purity on my mind

was it that difficult, a burden, to simply visit me for once?

i'd travel mountains but you can't travel on a simple streetcar

ya ....

the only ricochets of this waterfall are not your eye based ones to mine

but me leaping headfirst down your current led waterfall

hit the bottom

splat

i ricochet

yes of course
i noticed you yes
you sitting on a park bench watching
the tail-wagging hunting dog you bought to charm
us into loving you

and if you really want one of us why
challenge me to this game of
mixed doubles badminton i can't possibly win
some lose some

how can i trust you if you
have to put my plants out in the rain to
catch a chirping cricket or if you
can’t make me cry with laughter when you
make fun of my religion

you are not
the kind of person who would
tell me the rugs make your body itch so much you have to
take a shower & steal my clothes while i let the
tetrahydrocannabinol go to my
mouth (and you think
god she's beautiful and
god i'm such a handsome *******) you are not
the kind of person who would
wish people took care of you as well as i
(do or die trying) and

i have severed the hand that fed me
with these flesh-sharpened canines
of mine
and i have not had seconds yet i have not
said grace i have not
eaten the porridge from your
outstretched hands cupped
as if to catch the hail that
stings my skin and
ricochets from yours as if it were
leather and the sheath of your knife
concentrated in the firelight and the
scent of burning cedar i am not
the one with a wrung-out neck and a
doll-eyed stare if you could
pluck the feathers one by one from my
frozen flesh i would not
bat an eyelid swing
low closed and animal finish
your story and in the dewy
morning the dead pine
will crawl with the beetles you brought in mason jars

how can you look me in the eyes when
dinner & wine always ends with a
checkmate

it's three months later
and the tune of our love
still echoes through the labyrinth
of my prozac-poisoned cerebrum

it's the sound of rainy evenings
in whitewashed suburban neighborhoods
overwhelming me
as it ricochets off the cold stone

it's the ghost of your hand
holding mine so tight
and it feels like home
as I stand here alone

even as the symphony changes key
to red hair and bright blue eyes
the cadence of you
still rings in my mind

I wanna drown in a bottle of bourbon
just to numb the pain of the grenade you left in my heart
each fragment ricochets whispers of  your voice.

Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling where
our memories are scribbled but i just can't seem to shield my eyes
maybe it's because im still hoping to hold your hand or is it because
my heart is too heavy that i need both hands to carry it.


Your laughter used to fill every crevice of this shackled place with a glimmer of hope.
But after our altercation and throwing our memories down the drain where bits of my heart lay,
I must accept the fact that you will never be a part of my equation.

How can i even keep my emotions from flowing out?!
when the stars and the moon come crashing down while shouting your name,  the splash of the waves contains your tears, and the wind which carries  your scent  makes me nostalgic of the day that we first met.

I yearn for a coconut to hit me on the head just to forget the agony.

The ball goes down the lane
it clinks on pins
and down they go,
the shoes fit just right
and everyone you know is in sight,
being taught how to spell the letter R
of your name by your great aunt Vi,
seeing your funny aunt Marlene,
being with your grandma Ross,
and going to Sammy's Restaurant
for grilled cheese,
and the pharmacy for pink Trident gum,
all this under one roof.
I run to the lane
the ball goes down the lane
I run to the counter in time
shut off the lane
and CRASH!
no pins fall
the sound of the ball ricochets
from one end to the other;
my mischievous ways fulfilled,
and God I loved the Fanta pop
which my dad, the manager I was
proud of, readily supplied,
the place is now gone
but it's life still goes on
the pins crash even louder,
the disinfectant shoe spray still as smelly,
the oil of the lane still slippery,
and the grilled cheese still as good;
and carried on to the current day...
Georgina would have been proud!


http://www.robross.ca

Three days.

Its been Three days,
As I force my eyes shut.
My heart beats fast,
My heart aches to its soul.

Memories of good and old floods my being. Your smile, your smell, your touch.
I remember them all, crisp and clear.

You were my best,
You were my closest,
Together, we dreamed about life.
From here, there and till forever,
We promised to stay together.

One day, fear etched in,
because of fear you doubted,
Because of fear, you ran.
Your eyes which was once shining,
Is now trembling with fear.

I held on but you shrugged me,
I Grabbed but you slapped.

At one moment you were here,
And another you were gone.
You flew without looking back,
But a red string bounded my heart to yours.

You stretched, you pulled and I endured. But when you snapped, it ricochets like an arrow that pierces my heart.

How did this happen?
What did I do wrong?
In the name of Love,
All I did was love.

With my resolve firm and secure,
I choose the path set before me,
I choose the path of love.
To pursue you,
To win you  over from fear.

But questions lurk beneth me,
Questions that wants the pain to go away.
for i do not know how much longer I can bear.

And so, my eyes are unable
they are unable to close.
For when they close
Pain drifts beneth my heart.

Three days, four days,

then there was a miracle from heaven no one saw.

God touched your  heart,
like how he calmed the storm,
He calmed your heart.

Four days,

Four sleepless days and no more.
For you have returned.

My warm breath ricochets off the surface in front of me, back onto the skin of my jowls.  I see darkness, but within that darkness, an infinite amount of possibilities.  I'm on the road, the warm summer air is heating the cool frames of my sunglasses as I travel to somewhere far away.  Destination unknown, just traveling, always traveling.  Every time I take a different path with fluctuating experiences, utilizing varying transportation methods.  I begin to float, but I am not actually moving.  It is as if the ground beneath me is simply sinking away.  The wind picks up, the sun sets as the moon lapses into being, and suddenly, I am above a city.  The bright ambient lights are off-setting at first , but I grow used to them quickly. The cacophony of car horns, metallic scraping, pounding footsteps, and atrocities being committed complete the atmosphere. Sometimes I am that atrocity.  I soar down to the streets below and my ankles absorb the shock of the landing.  It's never as painful as one would anticipate. I wander through the dark alleys, dragging my hand across the damp, rigid, bricks.  I hear whispers from the walls telling me where to go next.  I have a calling, a civil duty to uphold.  The collective conscious of the city is screaming to me, asking me to do what they do not have the courage to do.  After the deed is done I melt back into the shadows from whence I came, and wait patiently for the next task.  With no warning and no control I transcend to another setting.  I move on to another life, with no recollection of the past world.
I am five years old.  I stare up at an amusement park, bewildered by all that is going on around me. The noisy gears of the machines grind and whir, drowned out only by the carnival medleys shrieking from the loud speakers implanted in the various coasters and carousels.  It is too much to take in at once and I begin to feel anxious, something does not seem right.  A sense of familiarity kicks in, but never has anything so familiar felt so uncanny.  Swarms of people flash by as though they are images imprinted on film reeling swiftly through a projector. Amongst the multitude of scurrying figures, one woman stands still, like a figurine mounted inside a snow globe surrounded by thousands of  free falling flakes. She turns to face me, and as I stare into the pale blue puddles of her eyes, I begin to weep. Electric impulses speed through my nervous system, my vision blurs, heart skips a beat. They're letting me know that somewhere, somewhere else, a bell is ringing.  I feel the breath again and there is a blinding light.  An orchestra of zippers, Velcro, and papers crumpling reverberates against the cold cement walls.  Not completely aware of what's going on, I follow the crowd and scuffle through the corridors, my footsteps acting as a sort of metronome against the linoleum floors. It is then that I am finally aware of where I am. I am back in the real world, back in the school, out of the comfort of my dreams.  My destination in this world is predicable, the journey  not so immense, nor as intriguing.  My legs begin to tingle as the blood rushes back into the tired muscles.  The woman from my dreams is now just a pale shadow in the banks of my memory.  
While the environments of my imagination tend to differ, there is  a catalogue of fairly constant variables.  There is usually the girl.  Not always the same girl in a  physical sense, but one that provokes the same types of feeling whether she's there or she's missing.  Except for this one.  This one always leaves an ominous, almost haunting, feeling.  She is not visually disconcerting.  It is not her sandy-blonde hair, porcelain skin, or even her murky blue eyes that frighten me, but rather the way she looks at me with them.  Her eyes cry for help that I can not provide, and it seems that she knows this, and for that she resents me.  I have no knowledge of who this woman is, or what she is meant to symbolize, but she makes my blood run cold.

Please understand
This is out of my control
Slipping though my fingers like the wholeness I had before he ransacked my temple
and shattered my only jewel.
Nauseating shame
Embarrassment at the failure to hide such weakness
Whilst knowing none of this is a reflection of my lack of strength
A triumphant survivor, a warrior, stripped to a feeble state...

Victim.

Not again.
Lacking empowerment and support, I shrivel
Violently collapsing upon myself.
Self destruction.
That glow in my eyes resembles a star
Imploding
Until my blank stare into the expanse of the past ricochets back the flashback
With more hold on the light in me than a black hole could ever achieve.
I'd rather fake lightness
Than feel the weight I bear compress you too.
This is my burden
I never want it to be yours,
But need so desperately
For you to feel it too.
Please understand
I cannot carry this on my own
Knowing this panic is irrational according to the present setting
Yet is so real to me otherwise.
Still broken, I flinch at anything resembling a threat
Even if yesterday it was neutral
Or even pleasant.

He lays in his bed
under a thin layer of dust
and ash from his cigarette after cigarette.

The sheets tremble above his breath.
His chest cracks and crumbles.
His heart's an inferno.

He ricochets between
anger and self-pity
and denial.

Two days ago
she left without a word;
slipped from underneath
the covers and buried herself in
bottles of *****
before crossing the street
to the vineyard.

She weaved together
the branches
and kicked the stool from underneath
her bare feet.

as he watched from the window.

He knows she will come back.
She will untie herself from those
grapes of wrath
and rest her head
against the pillow next to his own.

"The population is expected to level off at around nine billion," says my father
A nearly full plate of Thanksgiving feast food in front of him
but he has been asked to pontificate which is what he does best
and I hear a tremor in his voice like I have when I teach
I know he is in the throws of excitement about what he's saying
planning for his keynote in Brazil, and what plant scientists can do
to help save us from global warming and the lack of water since there isn't
even two liters of fresh water for every person on the planet for use every day at seven billion
I gesture as to what two liters looks like  and my mother snaps "I know what two liters is!"

It's cold in here, in this large Oakland short sale house that fits my cousin's family
and my Aunt downstairs, where I like it better because the children aren't there
Like two houses put together and there are no carpets just hard wood floors and
open windows that make it cold and it is anything but warm and fuzzy
My Aunt is angry with me that I shop at Walmart but that's what I can afford
Tomorrow she's holding a strike at a Walmart with her daughter which makes them superior to me
She's also mad because I don't like my "Union" which does nothing for me since I'm not tenured
"You have to organize" she condescends, like that is a reasonable thing with my one and two year stints at schools but she is the big Union Head for CSU so she should know
She was on TV with Jerry Brown after all, so what do I know
The kids are noisy since they all have their own phone and can play anything they
want at any time in addition to turning on the myriad of TVs and radios and stereos in the house
and the noise ricochets off he hard cold floors and walls that have pictures on them
of people from the family, but they don't look quite like they belong
and they hang there uncomfortably and self consciously
There is every skin tone except deep black at the table
My family--all that is left

Childhood: I loved going to my mother's family in Idaho
It was hot in summer or cozy warm inside in winter and
a wonder land outside for snow shoeing and skiing
It was quiet and they always had wall to wall carpet
I rolled from one end of the room to another in it the first time I felt it
It was warm and fuzzy.  
People listened and there were breaks from noise and chaos

Here, every conversation is disjointed like we are going
in and out of different time periods and different petty rivalries and
fierce competitions under it all and families are blending and being
torn apart and the latest one has formed from "OK Cupid" online
and my Aunt has to be right, the smart one, the good one, the one of the people
and it is so cold, so very cold, and the windows are opened to let in more
cold Oakland air as if there isn't enough of it and all the sounds of
kids and electronics are driving me slowly insane

What can plant scientists do to help nine billion people
without water?  Not a whole lot, except invent crops that
survive like camels, or can live underwater like fish
since everything will be either dry or deluged with water
and I wish there was carpeting, warm carpeting and less
noise and more harmony
and this is the family I have now
the old one is gone, like the glaciers that will melt all at last
and the rivers that will run dry forever.
And I think: what we need to do is invent a way to make water
Make enough water for everyone, maybe from recycled bags or used Nike shoes
and if we can do that, maybe the air in this house will warm
and it will become quieter and the hard wood floors will become soft and warm and fuzzy
and I will feel at home here, with my family

Shallow,
but a rumble,
that scratches at the surfaces,
growing, growling, rumbling,
till trembling,
ricochets around the cavity,
building up,
bursting through,
up, out, everywhere,
outside shaking,
heart quakes.

Like a twenty-two pound hummingbird,
is beating, flitting,
inside.
Thrumming wings,
sending vibrations,
shuddering.

The flower,
once filled with sweet nectar,
drained dry,
sickly sticky,
a vivid hue,
turned grey.

As the bear hibernates,
it's snores echo,
sending rattles,
starting clatter,
shatter.
My heart thrashes inside my chest.

I’m bleeding tremendously down my face
I almost escaped.

It’s 5am, we walked the streets and had a cigarette
You tell me about yourself, “God”
It seemed so innocent, only walking

We left with no words
Such harmless individuals with no intentions
We were just happy and free

That’s not my name- I lied.
Cause you pigs are just trying to make bank  
at the end of the month.
So close to making it.
I’ve got dirt grinding between my teeth
And my face is
soaked a crimson red
pooling under my eye
dripping into my mouth
“Call paramedics!”
“but I’m fine, I’m fine.”
I’m trying to cooperate now.
You must think I’m ******* insane

There’s no panic in me
only sorrow.
Up against the car
ambulance head lights
******* blinding me.
You’re already in the back of the car
the overhead light casting onto your face
you mouthed the words so calmly
“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay”
I tried to believe, I tried to cry.

Back up arrives
******* ******* are having
a ******* fiesta.
But the paramedics are nice
just stop taking pictures of me, please.

I collapse onto the ground
against the vehicle
with my vision spotted
so close to passing out.

They decide we can ride in the same vehicle.
“You like to swim, God?” you asked.
“When I was a kid.” he’s blunt.
“Why not now? It feels just as good as it did
when you were 10.”
But he didn’t answer.
And the sun is lighting the city that I love

There’s massive sliding doors
they crash so loudly
the sound ricochets off the cement walls.

We’re escorted inside
I still haven’t shed any tears.
We remove all jewelry
un-weave  all that’s tangled in our dreads
“They want everything in this ******* bag.”
the policeman said.
they cut the strings from my ******
christmas tree shorts

I’m given beige sandals
my soiled feet are too small.
I take a seat on the cement bench
filthy old ***** eyeing me up and down
grinning freakishly.
I look ******* haggard.

I see the counselor
then attempt to use the bathroom
to open the door on
some old **** ****
taking a ****.

Infomercials drone
obnoxiously.
I hate television.

You take a seat next to me
wearing the hideous sandals as well.
So cold, the alcohol is wearing off
you hand me your paisley flannel.
I bleed on it.

If only we had stayed behind that building
smoking our cigarettes
sharing our minds.
Only 4 more minutes till
the paper would have burned to the filter
would have made all the difference.

I see the nurse.
I’m re-bandaged trying to hold back
my shutters of pain.
His kind words and soft speak
bring me to my first tears
“I’m not like this, I just want to sleep…
in my bed… with my cat.
And my family… Oh my Godddd!”
I’m bellowing as quietly as I can.
And he tells me stories.

I’m allowed to make my phone call
and it’s your turn with the nurse.
Mother.
I’m wallowing into the phone to her
I’m frantic and self-loathing
And she’s coming to save me.

Escorted to your waiting cell
I’m alone now
I feel completely alone.
I’ve lost myself somewhere
between bottles and spent cigarettes.

Taken to the waiting cell
it smells putrid like a public bathroom
which jolts me.
I take my seat on the repulsive floor.

There’s an older obese woman
curled into a ball in the back corner
sobbing.
And everyone looks ******.

The clock is creeping to 8am
******* let me out.
I watch the lazy pigs
******* cackle and stand so proudly
like they earned another
notch in their belts.

Close to 10am I receive my “blues”
and yet another photograph
You in your cell,
give me comforting smiles.
******* **** hollers,
“Awh **** baby! You tried to run!
I’ll bond you out!
I gotcha baby!”
****. Off.

The blond woman takes us upstairs
through metal detectors, crashing doors,
coded rooms, surveillance cameras.
And I’ll never forget
her spidery eyelashes.

I drag my mesh bag on the floor
it contains my blankets and toothbrush…
#36.

I’m lost, everyone there
has been there before.

I just disappeared
no one knows
what happened to me
when they awake.
I let everyone down,
including myself.

The lunch food is served
I want to *****
I’ve been awake for
23hrs and the alcohol is
wearing off completely
I feel like a walking corpse.

#36…
Through the slit of window
I can see you, mother
oh, mother.
please don’t leave me here

I try not to fall asleep
because I could miss the intercom
announcement to release me.

That steel door clicked
and opened
my mother and father stood up
and I had never been happier to see them
It was silent other than my sobbing
and everyone stared
wild-eyed and confused
as I exited to false freedom
and sunshine

Every story I write
has a quiet boy who loves words
and a girl he doesn’t quite understand.
She has a laugh that ricochets
and she makes the quiet boy smile.
She looks like algebra but is more like calculus.
She is deceptively hard to solve.
You don’t see her fault lines until you think you already know her,
but her plate tectonics only cause aftershocks,
never full earthquakes.

I always thought she was me,
always thought I wanted to be
that kind of captivating.
Enough to make the quiet boy happy.
But then I met you
and your quarter moon smile.

I always thought the girl was from some coast
but the first time I saw you in a bikini
I realized you don’t have to be from California
to have drops of seawater glow like individual suns on your skin.
I want you to drip dry
on my clothesline arms.
I’ll hold you up to the sunlight,
let your bare legs dangle in the wind.
I want to straddle your fault lines
and hold you through the tremors.

I always thought I wanted the spotlight
but I’m content
being the quiet one beside you.
I thought I loved the boy who loved words
and I wanted to be enough to inspire him to write
but you make me want to get published just to share you
with the world because
something so beautiful should not be kept secret.
You said you wanted to make the history books
and you will, but for now
I hope my poems are enough.
You are rainy day inspiration.
I thought I was the girl
but it turns out I’m just a quiet boy
who needed someone to
inspire me.

The cold comes in,
ricochets like a
tennis ball
off every
corner, crevice
pore, stormy
gusts of wind
I breathe in,
skin is no
barrier I am
the elements
carrier, organs
coastal &
lungs tidal sea,
I am nature
& nature is me.

The sea is a disaster of churning
LCU's buck like horses
From behind is heard the guns of destroyers
run aground in the shallow channel
Sixteen men shiver though the air is humid
Fifteen men know
they die today
Guns erupt from the cliffside
geysers of flame and water erupt all around
Craft is tossed
moving at snail speed
As death slowly approaches
Tongues of flame flash from pillboxs
the first man falls
Useless helmet fatally flawed
The boy begins to giggle
he tries to light a cigarette
his thumb refuses to flip the wheel
The ringing ping of ricochets off the hull
a rhythm of massacre
tears of a soldier singing his deathknell
Bow meets beach
gate goes down
Into the surf the soldiers leap
Clothing and gear turns to wet suits of armor
that do not protect from anything
Everything is screaming
****** bits blasted back into the sea
from ruptured flamethrower
Waves crash crimson and ******
pink foam forms
sickly **** of slaughter
Men cut down like wheat
the horror not complete
until Kraiss and Goth
order retreat
By then
three thousand men
lie dead in the waters
To the victor the spoils
blood and death like no other
The end begins
on the red shore of Omaha.

And when I knew the passage
I knew no fear
No bitter taste
The rainfall paved ricochets of bootheels saw to that

I knew no smell
Of losing my breath, nor
A shiver of cold down
My spine bared.

Coming out the other side,
The street felt the same
But I
No, I did not.

The lights shine on
The chatter ricochets off the walls
The wind hits me in my face
And makes me alive.

The curving path leads somewhere else
Those people who leave, with no explanation.
The heart aches to comprehend
Aches to go back, back again to the straight path.

What is beyond -  it does not know
Like the candle that remains in darkness
Even though it lights all the rest.

The shadows remain, the stone walls stand
As I stand to answer the call of my soul.
Illuminate me.

And I think I'll call these the lost nights.

The nights where the silence is all consuming. Shapeshifting into black holes.

The only light at the end of this tunnel used to be the sound of your voice.

But now I'm stuck between the four walls of my mind that taunt me with the secrets they hold in the form of my memories.

The most prevalent one says that you'll never call.

So far it's been right. Sometimes I ignore it.. But nights like these, it ricochets like gunshots. Screaming to be more than heard..

Screaming to be felt.

And once again I'm reminded that I'd rather it be your voice that broke the silence instead of my memory of it.

I think I'll call these the lost nights.

Shells wash up on shallow shores
Sure and unashamed

Ancient treasures shed by shadows
The ocean ricochets

Patiently musicians wish
To share imaginations

Champagne fish and visions of the
Starfish constellations

They shout their cache of consciousness
Shivering vibrations

Sugaring the fishermen
With ocean incantations