Home » Posts tagged 'life' (Page 52)
An idea
fosters questions.
And questions
raise ideas.
Picked like peaches,
pickled and peppered,
in sealed mason jars,
upon dusty wood shelf
buried in a garage that smells
of gasoline, and summer.
Where as kids playing nerf
we never raised such questions
not having any idea
of the hungry beast out there
waiting, sharpening its claws
using our parents as dental floss,
grooming its teeth, and ready
for the day
it too, could devour our peaches.
the living
make the dead
immortal
gods
are born
this way
where in
life, they
were men
in death
their spirit, like
shadow puppets
used
by many hands
to spread the word,
grave men and grave women
only hear in death
because they can’t
listen in life
unable to fathom, that
gods walk among us
all the time.
The fears of men
are as trivial as
children, picking children in gym,
they never change
they just get bigger.
I take off my shoes
to walk in the rain
through thunder & lightening
it’s a damn Good Friday.
This guy at the bar the other night
tells me my poetry aren’t poems
but rather songs
as he takes my phone
and begins singing them to himself.
These are great man, he says
really good stuff here,
as he sings, flipping back his hair.
And I don’t stop him, because why
would I stop someone
who’s turned my pain into pleasure
when I’ve tried so hard to do just that.
Hell! This guy’s voice ain’t half bad!
Time to sink back
to the far side of the moon?
Nah, this soil will do.
So it goes.
If you
can be
comfortable
with you’re ugly,
you can be
everything
they said
you weren’t.
Watch your soul.
I’d say tongue but I don’t harbor
the arrogance I once spewed.
Give me a break, like I dealt it
in cards, knowing you’d take the Ace.
I am only human, I have no other excuse.
I was scared of losing, most of all I was terrified that I could choose.
Does it feel good to see through me
like spotted glass, knowing your
windows are clean?
And why do I bother to even ask? It’s not you who hold the answer, I can see, it’s I who has stood
idle, waiting to turn the key.
So if you’re looking through the peephole, please don’t make a sound.
I can see your shadow quiver, mine quivers there too.
But I can’t turn that key with a lock full of gum.
Another way out then, ah, hum — there’s a pauper selling candy, eating pizza on 68th next to Sole — so I’m pretty sure we’ll meet again, like heroine and Burroughs.
Did you burn yourself out
like a flame wick under wax?
Or were you just here for the holiday?
Is that why you smelled vanilla?
I don’t have a match that’s long enough
to strike you from this far,
with another year upon us.
I just kind of smelled your dying.
If I could start over
it wouldn’t
make a difference.
This is it.
This is how
it was always
meant to be.
Like Greek Mythology,
three sisters
have spun, measured, and cut
my fate.
I no longer hum
those daytime dirges,
but in sleep hear brilliant concerto’s
covered by the night.
Words Of An Average White Male 