Pairs

An interruption on the glowing grass,
a true basic reflection,
a hollow existence devoid of feeling.
And yet... How natural is seems.

For it is.

How unnecessary in the winter but useful
in the summer's sun.
It's always useful, this darkness.
When you can't yet look at the idea, see it through its shadow.
There's more there than you think.

Reaching out from below
laying down to say hello,
this is us.
Not our mirrors, our second selves
left to live unappreciated
in the dark.

Everything exists in pairs:
        Light and dark
        Day and night
        Girls and boys
        Land and sea

            My shadow and I

Pebbles

Tears stream from my eyes,
An obvious sign that something is not right.
I know they don't care.
I don't want my weakness, frustration,
or anxiety to show.

I am their rock.
They are my pebbles.

The tears speak the words I refuse to admit.
They evoke the sympathy I despise.

I'm crying more.

The pebbles have no idea
Just how useless they are.

I don't want to acknowledge what is going on.
For a different reason, neither does he.
The tears are a weakness
A renewal,
Not necessary, but needed

Postcard Project

Just before dawn, as the night is leaving, timeless and temporal meet.

I slip out to my balcony and down the fire escape softly, ever so softly, skipping the third rung that jangles, feet tapping snowy cobblestone at just the right moment.

No need to hurry through the streets. At this hour, swirling flakes and beating hearts are the only signs of existence. I wander, concealed in snowflakes, protected by their nonsense. The trees are barren, reaching skyward in an endless fashion. I’m tempted to climb one. Perhaps… 

Light starts to glitter across the cobblestone. I break into a run, challenging the approaching dawn.

Where to? Every quest needs a destination. The church. The church! Of course. The starting place. The ending place.

I glimpse my blurred reflection from darkened windows and grin; I’m not even real.

There it is, crowned in a light that is barely yet born. I pause to breathe before the heavy doors so as not to intrude on the magic. I inch my way in and tip toe up the stairs, careful not to disturb the tired stone. Quiet murmurs bounce around high ceilings.

Finally, I reach Zurich. The sun laughs and rises complacently over the new snow.

Wind bites my cheeks. The river glistens, untouched by the chill.

The heartbeat of the city is just as it has always been.

The sun seeps into closed windows and I relax into the old stonewall to watch time inch slowly forward.

Wave Hello Back

Falling falling falling
orange cramp
splay, contract, pull away
chairs times twenty
sleep would be nice
      (blink repeatedly to stay awake)
streaks of blue
rain spattered panes
wave hello back
     be polite
     he's almost dead.

Dip, sway East
and back and swish
onomatopoeia
twitch
somber feelings abound

breathe

lazy faces, hands, tunes
thumbs tap. softly

Cold spreading to the other side
Forget, just forget
     It's nothing
     Pretend it's nothing
         that's all it is anyways

Leftovers

watermelon rinds on a paper plate
sullenly sit in the sun.
laziness prohibits them from
being taken.
green rectangles with mangled edges
relax into the sunlight
regretting nothing.
apple seeds are sprinkled around the rim,
what a motley crew.

Leftovers of a snack gone by.

i welcome you.
for i am a Leftover too.

Wordshow Poem - Night

Dangerous was the night
That danced before me as a million stars
Nightmares hiding in wait behind the glassy quiet.
The air remains undisturbed in its glistening.

Sedgewick Randolph Speirling

A character developed from 20 traits of a tin of Rosebud Salve

I understand why poets use water as their inspiration. Matt Arnold is one I really remember, with his dissatisfaction in humanity compared to his lover, all found in the calmness of the sea and the shimmer of the moon. Tonight, despite the reflection of the moon shimmering more than it probably should, I too appreciate it as lovely.

I never came out to this bridge enough in my youth. Now I’m old and grouchy and don’t have a chick to make out with. I take another swig from my flask.

“Why did I never do THIS before?” I drunkenly groan at both of the moons, the real one above and her reflection below.

I’ve never been one for alcohol; my father was an alcoholic. He’s messed me up more than he knew. What’s funny is that I’m not even that drunk. One thing for sure, that old man could manage his liquor.

I’m observing myself from my mind’s eye as I take swig after swig, each one bringing me closer too…

Why did the war not take me? So very many others went but not I. The speakeasy doctor. The worthless piece of trash with no family of which to speak, past or present. The one operating behind the lines and yet keeping them going, moving forward. I should have died.

“Fucking government,” I hear myself mutter.

Down the hatch it goes. Watching, I realize just how fruitless this getting drunk thing is.

I squint and St. Louis is perfect, just the way I remembered it to have looked. Just the way it was before everything else. It’s practical for the end to be so much like the beginning.

The water rushes soundlessly below me. Only in these times of utter despair do I remember myself. So surrounded am I by the problems of others that I often forget who I am. Busted up cops, friends, Germans… This is who I am now. All of it and the contents of this tiny flax I’m putting down easily, calmly. I look around to realize that I’ve sat down.

With effort, my past pushes me up and over the polite wall I’ve created, but which is, in reality, a green and rust covered barrier.

I see myself falling from my mind’s eye.

Finally.

“The sea is calm tonight.”

Shut up Arnold.