Our Corner

A man hangs his hat in that corner

where once we slept together

an ignorant or discontent foreigner

to our dislocated nether.

No one knows what happened

to the images our jury pardoned.

 

It was not always rainy when you came.

There were moments, tucked into our night

we found shelter in our tender shame

knowing neither would ever fight

for all the stories Donne read within

that little corner of our skin.

 

No one forgets—

not even the man, uncapped, in grey

strolling through space time bid offset

frustrated and sweating through the summer decay

praying for the breath that weaves

through the door, but out the window leaves.

A father’s love

Staring out the window

the old man sees the picture:

laughter and smiles, these bodies still they

tackle and break and the ball

it floats between, less a joy than a symbol

of a father’s love–

he young, to full of life and love

for dearest son–

he still the younger, laughing, adoration still

he sees this game, a day, a week

and weeps upon the broken knees,

this weary flesh–oh time, time

has rotted;

there is no game for he, this is

Life, life he shall not have, nor give,

but still he looks to the growing faces

of the life beside,

and to this image can but smile–

in that child’s eyes

a word, a look are all he needs

to know the love, the deed–

he cannot do, but love can show

in other ways–

sometimes he just needs the reminder.

Oh these regrets, such bitter things–

thank God, thank God, that child

still smiles at me.

My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well– they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another.  Enjoy!

Draft Notice

Inconspicuous paper,

deceive and demand–

a boy brings in the mail

to find a life in green,

dark script bares

far darker words–

what are my options

as the ink dries on his fingers,

like blood run down,

or casings raining black against the dawn.

Fields in the words

hold bodies broken,

but in the silent flight,

the flickering light–

a slower demise of

loneliness and stripes

surrounded yet

by wagging fingers; scathing scowls.

The smell of ashes

does not abate in breathing–

burn the scraps away

but your dearest Uncle has to say

you still have got to show.

Arctic Road

Downtrodden disaster

Dragging destitute through dirty drives,

The ice has broken through

And the hole is widening

As the whole is dividing

This trek, all too familiar

Along this arctic road

Is better left to

Colder men than I.

It’s breaking—

Broken, gone

Everything is cracking

At the seams—

Deep diving through the murk.

Heavy breaths hang

A crystallized admission

But no matter the passing

These burdens never lighten.

My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well– they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another.  Enjoy!