We reach for the sun
yet our boughs burn before its touch
hundreds withering at the notion
of honestly having our desires.
Only in shadows do we dance
chasing love out of our hands
chasing ourselves into
another winter’s night.
Regret
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!
The Waking Den 