Sunday, August 26, 2012

On the coincident of listening to a song of moon on the night of a Full...


Grown
grass,

green
glass,

same
color,

such
a different
feel under foot.

Like yesterday
and today.

Lost
last
find.

What
was I
waiting for?

When was
the last time
buying something
changed my whole mood?

Fast forward back to now
out my back door,

moon beams,

and in house
a song of the same
in title and refrain.

What the hell
are they--
but bad poetry,

lines in music,
so much
better off without them.

Not what I always
thought
but now so overused.

But here
I am
under the full bare ass
of a bright moon,

mushing away
under one too many hours awake
or maybe not enough,

something
isn't working
the same as it used to.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

We


You speak
like we are talking of gold;
like our hands are glowing with energy.

Yet
we are lead,

not alchemists,
barely even dreamers

any
anymore.

Full of forgets
and light on
I'll remember long from nows

Love I still have
but stating it is falling
farther into a soup of qualifiers
like
    I think..
    or I hope..
    or still..
Not firm, straight answers
of few words
that should say it all.

Living here in this place


Life
so much
slower
getting there now.

Here
from this place.

Still running still.
Falling a slow slide
the pace of rotting wood
with a few bugs helping along the way.

So much happens
but there is really no measure of time
that I can tell you of.

The ground never freezes here
but I still get cold
and never quite as warm as I'd rather
save-- a few
        rare-- summer afternoons.

This place
I choose

yet choice
was not enough
for contentment.

Mostly I smile
to this never an extreme,
but lately these cold foggy days
and my wish to grow something more than mold
have me longing.

Longing like we all do
one time or another
or always.

Still running still
a slow slide
to what I'll be
anyway,

or for best of all
always where I really wanted to be
despite what I failed to bring with me.

Still running
a slow slide to still
to stillness
to a final act of contentment

Yes
still running strong
but a little slower
and more rested now.

Looking to be warm and happy
empty on complaint
and no more looking for what I missed over one shoulder or another.

But again that's what keeps me going for better
loving this place but wanting to build
into it
whatever better
I can.

The fog will never leave this coast
but I can find
all the good
it has
and be.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Where to go


One beer
past inspiration.

One day
and a full night
past caring
about your loneliness.

Self absorbed,
sponge
in hand,
head, and heart

I mop
up.

One day
and a full night
past caring
about our loneliness,

where
to go
next?

Dull as that thumb
or these two
here.

One day.
One week.
One year.

Too soon
one lifetime
past inspiration.

Past caring
for you,
or for me,
each of us in either each way around

Where to go
last,
if not next.

So much less concern
doesn't make this
feel any less
like my last chance
to make this,
or any part of it
right.


After Leaving the Office

Losing
my life
in concrete
and organization.

I make a laugh,
but we all know
we are dying
or passing time
but nothing else that remakes this world.

Here
goes
my foot

holding the carpet
that otherwise
would have pulled us over long ago.

I help
make money sweep this way
or not

or make a something say
something meaningful

and yet
it is
all never good enough

as when two faces
and bones connected
had to reconcile
ability,
excess,
and need;
just the two of them
there standing in the road.

No one to come and save them.
No one to come and combine them.
No one to come and separate them.
No one to come sell
a way out,

just them,
souls,
with no option but to live
and cast a bigger darker shadow
for the sun to part.

Our own bad situations
are the most fertile ground
in which to plant the seeds
of a way up.




Wednesday, August 1, 2012

My Sunny Days of May

Where was I
when I was still
and you were kind?

Where were you
when the lights
went on

and we
were
t0o far apart to undo
or redo
any of it?

Where are
my sunny days of May?

Those days when life
was all out in front of me
all waiting to be lived

Every day free-er than the last
where are my sunny days of May?

Young enough to live and love and love to live
but old enough to feel and taste the lure of new power

no knowledge of naiveté
at least not outside a thick book

Oh to be sure of each step
no matter the reality

Oh on to my sunny days of May,
well past any chance of frost
and yet no wilting heat.

I long
to come around
again

to such swelling
of potential

or great wonder.

Oh come
my sunny days of May.

In My Backyard


In my
backyard

burmese honeysuckle
and passion vine
intertwine.

Round and round
and round,
they dance.

But not--
for love,
rather
like too much,
it is survival--
  and a common pursuit
that drives them on

then
again

is that any different
or less
than the ingredients
in everything more