"slaloming" poems
To A&O / Danny Itkin
Saw two birds flying in Prague
Heralding warm summer's winds
Whoever sees them feels at home
You might even think that they're twins
Two birds enjoying cheese and strawberries
Slaloming clouds and city lights
Sharing experiences from overseas
Wondering what's next and what's right
If you meet them send my regards
Send my deepest love and sympathy
Tell them both that I'm right here
Curious about what will be
4.7.2019
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 6:08 PM UTC
my mind stirs
as the sun rises and my dreams set
forgetting the unicorns and fairies
instead reminiscent with yesterday's regret
i set sail down the slaloming road
another day, that daily grind
where each bend is an opportunity
to map the mess which is my mangled mind
placing the ifs, buts and maybes
with the whats, hows and whys
where the tears drip off the steering wheel
and into my drowning thighs
my mind is clouded now
tainted with disdain
i don't remember anything
except a construct of pain
it is in this lonely place
between A and B
where i have no strength to conquer
the perpetual melancholy
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 2:35 AM UTC
The covers cried out
as I break free of their greedy,
jealous grasp. First small victory…
I’m supposed to count those you know?
To remind myself to keep moving.
I still cut out my heart today
and sat it on the kitchen table.
The knife smiled at me,
small victory for it I guess.
I felt the air slaloming
between my ribs
on its way to my spine,
where it grabbed hold.
Cold, unforgiving.
I should be used to the cold,
it’s the same every today.
My needle pierces the scars
as I sew the thick flesh back in place,
to keep the cold out, of course.
Reminding me of the days
the victories weren’t enough.
I stand and put on my sweater,
grab the heart, and throw it in the trash
on my way to the covers
to ask their forgiveness for thinking
I would be strong enough today.
The victories can wait until tomorrow
after all.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC
wildly winding mountain road
descending elevation blurs
careening towards freedom
the darkness seems to follow ~
white knuckled and madly steering
screeching wheels struggle to grip
gaskets swell with petroleum pressure
radiator coolant hisses and spits ~
a long exhale on a straight stretch
a droplet of harsh mortality
leaves the temple
and travels its own downhill journey
twisting along the neck
banking on the pectoral incline
picking up speed slaloming belly hair ~
slamming the transmission into first
engine whine echoes
howling moan bounces off canyon walls
as the cramp in my colon reaches
maximum ache
I drop the metaphor and head to the toilet /
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
In Café Welling,
musicians are slaloming --
around each other.
Oct 24, 2021
Oct 24, 2021 at 2:57 AM UTC