standing on my backporch at eleven pm after a snow storm
January 31, 2014 § Leave a comment
silence and a soft cold
the yellow landscape
tricks eyes into thinking
it’s dusk, highlighting objects
that go unnoticed most nights
at eleven pm
and a whispering echo
moving from north to south
gently lifts moisture from the ground
glittering
and moving quickly
like a school of frozen
fish in a pond
of yellowy light
it sends ice on a journey
of purposeful patterns
of bending and swirling
and pieces too small to see
touch your face
their cold surface pricking you
for only a second
before melting away
to another place.
Beginning
January 30, 2014 § Leave a comment
did it start at Genesis
at the ABC
or at the very beginning
of the end
with hope
on the right foot
stepping from number one
or a countdown
from ten did it start
at first-things-first
or slow and steady wins
and second is the best
when the good guys
finish last or was it
the chicken or the egg
a Big Bang that cut
the ribbon
at the line
signaling a small start
with a sunrise
in a new chapter
breaking the ground
of a page turn
at the omniscient alpha
just before the fresh tomorrow
that’s dancing
like there isn’t one
was that exactly and precisely
where it started
and where
it all began
first date conversation
January 29, 2014 § Leave a comment
thoughts and words
spewing
responding
considerations
and emotions
one after another
breathless
urgent
hurried
and then
an ended phrase
a breath taken
and exhaled
stillness
then silence
a blank stare
a closed mouth
a blink
a smile
empty space
red face
no match of phrase
legs shift
hands cross
ears burn
a yawn
brain searching
signals crossing
words lost
in an over-trodden
forest of the universal
awkward silence
Unknown
January 27, 2014 § Leave a comment
the unknown is incredible
and mystery is remarkable
and should be embraced as unequivocal
for if everything were explainable
then love would be too logical
and the stars wouldn’t be as magical
dreams might become impossible
and new life wouldn’t be so wonderful
while wishes may turn improbable
and who would want to live in a world
so completely rational?
the chaos is to be embraced
lets celebrate the implausible.
Existence
January 26, 2014 § Leave a comment
Standing with your forehead facing west
your feet sinking slowly
into the watery sand
and your eyes trained on the brightest star
falling lazily from the sky
sinking slowly like your toes
into the shimmering mouth of the sea
that awaits hungrily below to swallow the day,
it’s at that moment, when the star seems to rest,
for just a bit, on horizon’s edge
and a line of light traces where the silky pool
meets the sky,
and earth’s edge,
perfectly curved and round, appears
and for a second
you remember
you’re standing on a planet
floating in a galaxy of rocks
among a vast confusion
of time and light
in a foreign universe of matter
dark and violent
enigmatic
and miraculous
and then you blink again,
and it’s nighttime
and you’re back on earth.
To-Do List
January 25, 2014 § 2 Comments
Our decade is floating upward
toward a precipitous cloud
encouraging the worship of wisdom
spilling from the fingers of intangible spectators,
who, again and again,
proclaim that the expanse of time
before death, before thirty
even, should be filled with experiences
from a shiny checklist, floating
on a flashing screen
guaranteed to render you more fulfilled
and sculpt your life journey to match
expectations of apathetic crowds,
those digital souls with hands ready to lend
affirmative praise to each picture posted
that fulfills the pre-defined checklist
of necessary accomplishments
and stringent guidelines of precisely
what it takes
to live a perfect life.
Seven stamps in your passport, at least,
before you become real, and old, and settled.
Skydiving naked, is a must
in order to truly live
you must break all the rules, as well
and simultaneously become
successful, noteworthy, wealthy.
New York on New Years, gambling in Vegas
skiing in the Rockies, sailing on the Gulf Coast
must all be done within the next five years,
at least, to ensure no regrets.
Don’t you want to be happy?
Expectations from an anonymous author
behind the guise of a piece of glass
becomes the Bible for the 20-something
dreamer, wishing to see, and hope, and do,
but what happened
to that dog-eared piece of lined paper
scrawled when you were seventeen
in a blue notebook, amongst science notes
and doodles of clouds, the cumulus kind,
a list that was carefully composed
before the world became enamored
with digital scripts of how best to live
when you were able to dream, entirely
in your own mind
of all the wonderful things you would do
someday, that would give you
your own version,
of a perfect life.
History
January 24, 2014 § Leave a comment
With weathered hands and downcast eyes
he carefully collects the days, weeks,
years and decades, balancing
this unbearable expanse of time
atop his hunched shoulders, his task unrelenting
it grows with each passing day
a burden taken with vigilance and care
for if small pieces should slip from his grasp
he is chided by those who remember
and punished by those who forget
but he is only one and we are many, and as his accounts
of the facts and stories and lifetimes and fictions and lies of millions
become blurred and inky with time
he must let the insignificant, sodden bits
float to the ground, for his muscles tire
and his mind becomes cluttered
and he worries for his sanity, because what he has seen
is far too much for any one man to bear himself
and those small pieces, released from his steadfast hold
become dusty and yellowed and torn
as the weight of days and weeks and eras
trample them underfoot, until they are forgotten
and erased from pages of timeworn tomes
indistinguishable to even the spirits
who still wander the earth
unrecognized and foreign to all
except to the man with the weathered hands and downcast eyes
for History never forgets.
Song
January 24, 2014 § 2 Comments
A melody singing
again and again
a sweet, faint tune
that rings between ears
but sounds different
each time it plays, perhaps
the very same notes
but melancholy
at times
or gloriously ecstatic
perhaps
red with anger
at moments
and painful sadness
in others
and then blind passion
flooding emotion
or just
perfect peace,
all fantastically interesting,
though.
A melody that speaks
everything
you cannot say,
a tune that plays
between your ears
day-in, day-out
a hymn that sings a prayer
when words don’t suffice,
the melody of a spirit
that wonders
how life is any different
than a song.
Futures
January 22, 2014 § Leave a comment
where will you be five years from today?
cooking in a food truck on the streets of LA?
or singing a song at the foot of Big Ben?
or writing a letter to a far-away friend?
on a road trip south to avoid the cold?
or on a couch with your cat in a crown of gold?
will you be in a park in France enjoying a Baguette?
or in Vegas betting it all on Russian Roulette?
will you be doing a dance in the streets of Rome?
or sitting on a subway writing a poem?
will you have three kids and a corporate career?
or will you be in a bar playing pool and drinking a beer?
can you see yourself sailing across the Mediterranian Sea?
but most importantly, do you see yourself sailing with me?
The Walker
January 20, 2014 § Leave a comment
Her eyes are always fixed ahead
on some unseen ghost
after which she is chasing.
She travels the earth, it seems,
circling and circling,
walking past my window
three times a day
maybe more.
She moves with purpose
pushing her way into the open space
just beyond the tip of her worm out
tennis shoe, but she never seems
to be able to fill the space,
it’s always just out of her reach.
Her hand is always stuck
perhaps by glue, or force, or need
to her cell phone
which is stuck on the other side
to her ear.
She talks loudly
but its strange,
we never know what she is saying.
Her face is serious and downcast
as if she has life-changing conversations
on every walk she takes
with whoever sits patiently
on the other side of the phone.
Sometime I imagine it’s her son
who hears his phone ring every day at ten
diligently answers
places it on speaker
sets it on his desk
and prepares himself for his mother’s
five hour walk.
rosepoems 