So it’s your last day, aye!
Then you’re off the hook,
sayonara! ur revoir!
c’est la vie!
365 days of poetry
is no minor feat, especially
the third time around, Geez—
to say your daily musing will be missed
would be an understatement, I admit
I’m guilty of my daily dose, except—
Char, you’ve got moxie.
(“and that’s what I appreciates most about you”)
So when the clock strikes twelve
full of champagne cheer, Hark!
Hear, Hear! That firework’s for you
and a happy, Happy New Year!
it’s really nothing
and no one in particular,
just lately I’ve been
agitated, frowning on the inside
and trying not to go where
I know I can’t return
what’s crazy about
Hollywood is
that when you get there
it’s all so normal—
it’s dreadful.
It struck me as odd
walking through
the neighborhood quiet
how Christmas lights
after Christmas
go back to being
just lights, and how
meaningless
a New Year’s resolution is
except to the one who’s boxing away
last years tangled dreams
in an effort to make room for another
string of lights.
when there’s no one left to listen
but the silence of your heart
it’s there you learn the lessons
for later to impart—
The mountain was funny that way
how you could spend
all day thinking
of all those little steps you’d lost,
how right before calling it quits
you’d remember
all those little steps you’d gained,
smiling at the peak—
perhaps the hardest climb
won’t be a mountain at all, but
will be this mountain of me.
It helps to know
you didn’t erase me,
and that these
pictures
of us goofing
were never meant
in vain—
cigarettes on a balcony
when the world was young,
when we were younger
and our love had yet to spoil.
now dazzling light
explores my vision
with daylight eyes
i see
just when it seems to get a little easier
I see an old, old man hardly able to walk
who cannot understand the restroom sign
whose daughter struggles to explain
and whose wife knows less than he—
watching this I realize how very easy I have it
and how very able I should be.
just when it seems to get a little easier
I sit here aimless as an empty hand
begging for tomorrow, just to forget today—
but I’ve seen enough to know
my drama’s just a traveler’s thought
wasted (but not wasted) at the airport
I had nowhere to go
yet everywhere to be
and I could see absolutely nothing,
nothing but her vibrance
shrouded by a golden stream of light
that I penciled by the sea—
where there was but one absolute,
that one of us kept their promise.
There was one absolute
I claimed but couldn’t believe.
Words Of An Average White Male 