poetry

Something

She was crying, crying so very hard, and it almost sounded the same as hysterical laughter——It was a sound steeped in deep emotions. Emotions are strange and uncontrollable but never wasted. She had the fading foundation of a woman who in her younger years was pretty, No, not pretty—-She had once been beautiful. She’s my Sad Autumn girl.
Getting older is rough, even more so for a woman. Losing ones attractiveness is a cruel trick of time. There’s no punch line, just laughter and tears——and we all live somewhere between the two?
Kindness is more attractive than beauty 
right there and then
I wanted to change my life
We all want to
We are all
Afraid to live
Afraid to die
some days leave us feeling like forever

Somedays will never be forgotten
somedays show us what we’re made of
It would take all my strength 
To beat back the darkness
When did it get to be so hard
Maybe nothing and no one changes
Or, maybe it’s only me who changes
I don’t really know anyone
Anymore

And no one knows me

I prefer it this way
I wanna figure it out
On my won
I miss everyone
Everything hurts
Nothings easy anymore
How do I carry on
I just want something
Something to hold on too
But something is so hard to find
I’m lost in the wonder of it all
and it makes me cry and laugh
living somewhere between the two

Soul Muscles

I wanted to be 
Understood
To be irreplaceable
But even the mightiest of loves
Is adrift between illusion and fantasy

The chasm too wide
The silence too deep

You wanted me to be whole
You wanted me to be confident
You wanted me to be stable
But I’m none of those things
I’m vulnerable, kind, sensitive
And there’s nothing worse then being gentle
In a world stilted on false bravado 

The world rewards 
Angry bitter people

Such people
Wear me out
Drain me
Suffocate me

I’d prefer my solitude

Ya see
To be a poet 
It requires that you have
Muscles in your soul

You told me to grow up
But I said why
The world’s full of fucked up grown ups

The road becomes too long
Time blurs
Love’s a vapor

I let it all go
I let you go
I was being dragged
So, I let it all go


Take the body, the mind will follow

Lately I’ve been thinking about tears. There’s a variety of tears.  There’s the garden variety sad tears. There’s angry tears, mad tears, frustrated tears, tears of laughter, broken hearted tears, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. But the worst of all tears is the ugly tears. They come at night when hopelessness surrounds. They come in the hollow hours of timeless time, like a collapsing bridge between being to late to be evening and yet to early to be called morning. It’s the hour of shadows creeping though darkness, black on black. 

Ugly tears come from a dark retched place deep within ones crumpled soul. These tears come out with this god awful sound of great despair and unspeakable sadness. It an ache that’s inescapable like a jagged knife ripping through bone and tissue. It’s a bad night that knows no end. It causes the face to contort, whence then wrinkle into a clenched fist. No words come out, just a high pitched sick whining sound, like a coyote with it’s leg caught in a trap. It’s the sound of someone choking on raw suffering. Everything is stifled and muted and of no use. All that remains is a wounded indescribable wailing.  Salty tears trace down your cheek, strings of slobber drool from your lips.  

It’s sick tears, its trying to not “let go tears”. Maybe it’s like puking your guts out. You heave and gag and feel your skin crawl. You feel yourself covered in a cold sweat. Why is it so hard to let go of the broken pieces?  

But after the dry heaves subside, suddenly you feel relieved. Ugly tears wash the hurt away. Sometimes you have to put your finger down the throat of your soul and empty yourself out. There’s a knowingness that things can change. But ya gotta hold on. The sun is peeking beneath the horizon. You’ve made it through another mortal night. No more waiting on the sunrise. They say take the body and the mind will follow. Make no mistake, we all must fight to preserve our sanity.

Take your body to places that nurture goodness, kindness, a place where smiles incubate.  Don’t be ashamed to shed your tears. To be alive is to touch all the emotional basis. Don’t be one of those who stifles laughter or hides their tears.  Feel, Feel Feel.  That is what it is be alive. Take your clothes off and sit in the sun and let it’s warmth and light replenish you. 

Buy a harmonica or a Kazoo. Learn to play a ukulele. Be a storyteller, who surprises you with an unexpected punch line. Cause life is a punch line. Roll down your car windows and play some John Prine on your car radio. Let it all go, the laughter, the tears the brokenness. Lean into the day and wake up slowly letting the day quietly unfold. Enjoy your own company, be your own best friend, Most importantly is find reasons to smile=====take the body the mind will follow. 

Your Memories I Borrowed—A Freak Like Me

I was always hanging and trying to fit it. Trying to belong to something or be pert of something. I was awkward and weird and a lonely outsider…….. Kinda like today, if ya know what I mean.

Sad Farewells

We leave little pieces of ourselves behind.  And it’s those little things that comprise a lifetime. The days seem slow but the years go by like a hurricane, sweeping the days away like a zephyr. Time is a train with it’s dark tunnels and clattering steel rails. It rattles and shakes over bridges suspended between then and now, here and there.  Leaves me wondering where am I going? Where am I meant to be?  I’m a weary traveler staring out my window as time flashes by in a blur. The whistle blows, new passengers climb aboard, while others suddenly depart, unexpectedly leaving us behind——mumbling sad farewells. 

Sweeping vistas lay across the countryside, cityscapes fall by the wayside.  The sun tight ropes the horizon. The scent of damp fields filters through the open window. Oh, to behold the beauty of life. There are those who sleep thru the entire sojourn, drowsy and uninterested. Some choose to complain the entire trip. For them, nothing is a miracle—-they’re in a constant hurry to get nowhere. 

We don’t always choose who is seated next to us, but be kind and considerate. This is how we make friends and find connections and compassion.  People come and people go, love is happenstance, so keep an open heart.

We never know when the conductor is going to come down the isle and ask for our ticket. We don’t know when we’ll be reaching our last stop, our final destination. It doesn’t matter if you’re in first class or riding coach, we’re all on the same train, we are all riding separate yet together.

Some believe that the train track is circular and goes on forever. But the train track is linear and goes forward on a straight line. It keeps going forward undeterred, it continues, with or without you. 

We are all passengers, moving through time and space. And the trip goes by oh so fast. Don’t waste a single moment. Before long the whistle may be calling you home. 

To Feel That Way Again

Come lay down beside me
I”m so tired of everything

So tired of feeling this way
I want to gather myself in your warmth
and feel part of you again

Midnight shadows swaying on the ceiling
outside the sound of rain
The breath of wind against my window pane

You’re so unordinary
You don’t care what others may think
That’s what I love about you

Why must we all grow old
And one day die

Will we miss everything and everyone

Is how we live
how we are remembered

Or are we all hiding beneath our own frightened secret masks

Between the Pity and shame
I’ll find you in the tall grass
Please Never forget what we once shared
I don’t dare say that word

I wish I could feel that way again
When you came and laid down beside me


Love Dump

Soundtrack Coyotes by Jason Muraz

I always wanted to be in love.  But maybe I am one of those who can’t be loved.  I try to hard to be funny, to be passionate—-to be lovable.  But maybe I always choose the wrong person to love or maybe they picked me by mistake.  Everyone needs love, to feel special to another in a world that leaves us all too often feeling ordinary and small.  I think I’ve spent to much time alone, I scare myself with all these crazy love thoughts.  Maybe I’m crazy and that’s why love alludes me—-I scare sane people off?

Maybe I expect too much of love. Maybe all that crap in poems, songs and stories is just fantasy.  I need someone to share my fantasies.  Maybe love is pretending, as in pretending to be what another wants and desires? I guess that’s fair enough.  Okay then–how about a yard love sale.  A half off on all the miscellaneous dreams, wishes,  promises and prayers that nobody else wants anymore——or even cares to barter for.  

Okay then, I’ll share half my fantasies with you if you share half of yours with me.   And all the undesirable junk no one wants we can take to the love dump and set it afire watch it burn to ash.  

The Weather

I’d once thought I could tell her everything, anything—– and she’d be interested in me, she’d look me straight in the eye, She knew me, finding our common connection, a peak beneath the flesh

I don’t know to much about love, but I believe it does have something to do with being interested in the other person—-and that’s something that’s hard to fake

She use to make my coffee in the morning, and remind me to wear my jacket when it was cold out, and I suppose that’s a version of love, caring for someone is in the little things, something we don’t realize until we get old—– getting old is non negotiable—-kindness is a spiritual thing

At the kitchen table we struggle to feign interest In what the other has to say, we give up and settle on commenting about the days weather, enjoying the simplicity of sitting with someone, knowing the rhythm of their footsteps as they make their way down the hall, mesmerized by the sound of a familiar voice, it felt as if these days would stretch on forever—–nothing is forever, so cherish the moment, she once said

mourning and morning sound the same but are completely different things, they’re called Homophones

How can something once so fresh devolve into foggy memories, it’s like the morning fog as it fades away, late afternoons clouds wrap themselves around us. The sound of a distant fog horn breaks my heart

You can’t change the weather, yet people still want to know what it’s going to be