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C S Cizek Dec 2014
Write everyday.
Write everyday no matter what.
Write even at a loss for words.
Write down the sounds.

I make notes of the plane crashes
I've never heard, the brook trout
that never shook pond water
onto the brittle grass when I didn't
catch it, or the thunder cup coil
I keep kneeing trying to give the overcast
over the mountain something to compete
with.

And I'm not sorry.
       I'm not.      I'm not sorry that my
reborn Christian best    friend    has   seen the    light,
and I still scoff when people pray over potatoes.
And I only believe in plastic Polaroid postcards
from last decade timestamped in the white space
with Bic black ink.
I'm not sorry for that.

And truth is, I've never washed this black shirt;
just hung it hoping that moths' would ****
the sweat spots and leave
the fabric.

I clenched the gold cap beneath
my ring finger from the glass green
bottle occupying my lips driving
down the Marsh Creek bridge.
I wanted to relate / to be relatable /
relative to the sedans, and seatbelts
too tight to breathe, passing me.

At the end of the bridge, where there was no chance
of drowning and the road color changed, I parked
in the driveway of a wooden house. Its blinds
were up, shades pulled apart with two hands
like gas station freezer doors, leaving them
vulnerable to the hiss of semi truck tractor
trailer high beams slicing through fifty +
raindrops per second going a few miles shy
of sixty-five, yet the people inside moved so freely.
I  sat Indian-style—a term I learned at four
then learned it to be racist at fourteen—
in their driveway, and ate the gravel
they walked on trying to taste security
because all I'd had in the last few hours
were plates of refried fear.

Fear of audit, of my teeth breaking off,
and of ending up like Eric Garner
when I heard that wailing
Voice of Justice
coming for me in the distance.
DieingEmbers Nov 2012
My heart timestamped
signed
simply me

says

I miss you.

Your status says
you are engaged

and yet

you're single.

I sit waiting
hoping
just to see
your smiling face
Messages are time coded and status are engaged busy invisible and a smiling face for online
Desiree Jul 2018
Flowing footsteps from skytrain to street
Trying to stay calm, but I'm so excited to meet
You, here, under the changing glow
Of signs, of places, hoping we slow our
Pace and enter. But we are in search
Of another establishment, on the whim
Of a word, a nudge in the right direction.
The winds blow us into the red glow
Of ambiance, of elegance, the right selection
Portobello perfection, Mezcal gin,
Beautiful soul sitting close with a grin,
We can't help but laugh "this is how you win!"

Foggy to recall the way that we went
Home on the bus, or the money we spent.
None of that matters much when you are lost
In the depth of another being, intriguing
To find kin where you are not used to seeing them.
Laughing up the stairs in the corridor,
Knowing in this moment, this is your life,
It is beautiful, you are not needing more.
Both of us feeling this as we reach the door,
"Welcome to Buzzer 2" let's see what's in store.

Waking up cuddling, always a delight.
So much accomplished already, but you might
Have to run out quickly and buy some beans
For the bullet coffee that will be our means
Of mobilization, into the street,
Rubber soles on our feet, ready to meet
The pavement outside which will guide
Our path from delicious morning smoothie
Over bridges, through the downtown core,
Both realizing we would make a great movie
If film could ever capture the way that we soar.

Hats tilted slightly sideways, we even get work done.
Painting quickly so we may continue our run,
Over the Granville bridge, lilac in the air.
And there is no hiding the way that you stare
At my ***, and the mountains, a beauty so fair.

Rangoli's is next, fine dining, the best chai!
Decadently treated to Portobello twice.
Sweaty in our running gear, we are here
Trying to avoid timestamped bills and clock chimes
But you give me your best guess, lately spot on!
I glance at the sun to figure how much day is gone.
Even though there are so many moments left
To unravel, I embody the feelings - being
Ever present to crystallize the memory of our travels.

We turn towards the sinking sun, and I run
My fingers through windblown lion-locks.
Basking in the energy we emanate, we stun
Onlookers with our badassery and good looks.

Granville island is next on the docket
Searching for elusive sumac, in the spice shop
It is tucked away on a shelf, among rarities.
You light up at the till, and guarantee
The next place we head to is going to be
The crown of the afternoon - The Distillery

In shorts and tanks we stroll in with class,
Walk up to the bar and order a glass
Of the finest and most signature gin,
But just a taste, not enough to make the head spin.
A nectar so pure, so incredibly smooth
We continue our stroll, we continue to lose
Sight of places you were expected to be,
Apparently easy to do when you hang out with me.

Crossing under the bridge, sunset rays shine
Through the city canopy, it is nearly time
For the moon to transition us into the night,
But I pull you aside for a moment, while its still light
And kiss you with passion, with fever, with might.
That gin in the afternoon has increased our delight.

And it's not over yet, we play for a while.
Horsing around at the bus stop, we smile
And pose on the blue wall, gangster-style.
Moments in snapshots, spirit of the child
Creating our reality, embracing our WILD.
wordsandwhatnot Sep 2021
Conversations with you, they continue
You timestamped yourself to my life
I remember before
and then after
I never had a chance to say bye

Conversations with you, they’re not lost
They get louder when I’m feeling lost
They’re wrapped up in your words
some I’ve never heard
They’re your colours and shapes behind glass

Conversations with you didn’t stop
These conversations with you make me strong
It’s all paper and pen or it’s your words in my head
But the comments from you
they’re not gone

Conversations with you, they continue
So I don’t think I’ll need to say bye
Through every word that I heard
your memory lives on
And when it’s quiet you live on through mine
Eva Rushton Jun 2019
Wilted
           Weathered
Soul
         Tattered
                        Timestamped
Heart
           Confused
                             Confiscated
Mind
          Exhausted
                            Enfeebled
Body
         And yet when
                                  Laughter
        And
                                   Joy
Walk in all of life’s hardships
Disappear instantly
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2021
Lost in today,
found in tomorrow
tears roll like silver
lace beaded swans
Chasteness wanton,
timestamped forever
music absolving
—calling beyond

(Dreamsleep: November, 2021)

— The End —