Sunday, March 17, 2013

live again (Connor's song)

carried on high, the news
of you was a welcome circumstance,
not expected but certainly
not to be denied, for it had been
only years since we'd had anything worth being
remotely elated over.

though you were to be the first of your kind, you
had potential to be the greatest,
or at least unique;
maybe you'd bring some sort of
a new outlook on this life,
something worth hanging around for.

but even the most hyped expectations would
undermine the value you bestowed, and
right on time;
mostly we were just grateful you
arrived and renewed a long-lost zest for life that must have
needed your charms to live again.


Friday, March 15, 2013

something there

hidden from view, her heart was evolving;
what was this feeling here and now?

she didn't believe she could let love in
like this: what else was she to do?

she thieved a glance, peering out at him
unawares: was it supposed to feel so invigorating?

the heart she possessed she knew she could not fool;
how was she to betray it now?

she returned to the comfort of sheltering tree
musing, intrigued; was it she who'd learned to love him?


Monday, March 11, 2013

i could get lost


i could get lost in a graveyard,
in the company of
stone sentinels, markers to set each place aside
so that God can distinguish them later
when He summons His souls for their reckoning.
the names carved in
stand for mortal remembrance,
a name, a legacy, a life;
recognition among a sea of thousands,
tombs tumbling and tumbling
into the folly that death affords.
the paths winding through lay themselves out
for me attentively,
enhancing the trance
induced by
such diverse history,
still life upkept
in marbled cherubs and crucifixes
preaching epitaphs
only heard
by those who stop
to care for a stranger
for a minute or so,
breath offered up where it hasn't existed
for years.

i talk to them sometimes,
the graves, the dead,
when no one's around;
less to communicate with a ghost
than just to acknowledge a presence,
to eliminate the eeriness of fatal silence
and to reiterate to myself
that life is short and finite.

it may sound gruesome but
cemeteries are one of my favorite things.


i could get lost in a library
where ink-stained pages beckon,
portals to places that have
in one way or another
from some sort of thought in time
that stuck around long enough
to warrant a permanent remembrance.

a story for the masses, a story for the fantasies,
one for me and one for the next
and always right where i left it;
like the finest of feasts
i sample the menu
and absorb the pages bursting with flavor,
pen strokes washed down
like wine.

it is the most reciprocal relationship,
trading time for a tale or two,
oils from skin transferring into page turns
and dog-eared placeholders.
i'd not dream of defacing
the sacred marginal meadows
as some in academia would advise;
the only words worth their salt
were set, neat with justification,
ordered by author
to remain
so each that comes after me
might have the same fair offering.

in their categorical home
they are so many enigmas
shelved for whenever;
i kidnap a desolate corner
and begin one
without a look back at the world
that's already abandoned me once or twice.

it may sound childish but
libraries are one of my favorite things.


i could get lost in a trainyard,
down on the rails
that make no clickety-clack sound
without an engine to caress them.
my shoes are left to forgotten dirt piles
as bare toes meet iron,
and i could teeter all the way
into the next town
following the one predestined route,
balance beam calisthenics
only for me.

and should a resonating whistle
warn of an oncoming traffic jam
i'd gladly return to rocky terrain,
broken up by wooden planks at intervals
exact and unchanging,
neither threatening speed of passing train
nor conductor's shouts of disapproval
could shake me from gravely ground there alongside;
magnetic, majestic, mine.
i'd watch for the patient panorama at the end --
the serenity of far-off horizon,
steam bellowing from the front,
caboose growing smaller with distance,
postcard perfect
though less chaotic in such regard;
in closer perspective:
hair being tossed about from such velocity,
that old clickety-clack returning
but much louder than remembered,
paired with the roar of engine and wheel,
car after car after car.

then it's long gone
and it's back to
my juvenile reverie,
lonely track welcoming me again,
glad for some in-between company
to pass the time --
both of us there
to pass the time
not doing much of anything.

i hum the rails an easy tune,
a serenade for myself
in a moment when thought gets lost
in reality
as i get lost in dreams.

it may sound lonesome but
railroads are one of my favorite things.

i could get lost.


Sunday, March 3, 2013

exhale my own

muddy-sensed, i try
breathing in through undead eyes;
exhale my own breeze


[written in response to the prompt "Breeze" over at Haiku Heights.]

heart's too big

heart's too big
can't love you
too often stolen
too often held
it's betrayed me
i follow it
knowing it's wrong
can't help that
heart's my life
i'm not bold
just another idiot
caged-up bomb
possibly i'm jaded
self-destruct button
still in tact
do not press
red red red
red blinking red
capital letter words
do not press
but of course
you will press
yes you will
ignore the warning
you'll ignore me
you will press