Posts tagged Life

” I want to be a poet!”

“Well you can want all you like

that’s now how the universe works—-“

“I will be a poet!”

“Well call yourself what you will

That’s not how the universe works—-“

“I am a poet!”

All consciousness flows out from

the universal mind,

The cosmic wheel turns slowly and all

parts of the machine with it,

And self actualization forms like foam

on ocean waves. 

Three generations of open hands sit and reflect—-

two part time jobs split

amongst themselves, 

with seven kids to feed( some with

a few kids themselves all living under

one roof)

car payments to make

the mortgage stack getting taller

the check book shrinking

too many things bought on credit (with

too little of an income to combat it)

the rising inflation of the economy (with 

the decreased value of the dollar)—-

What happened to our American Dream?

It’s like when your knees give out and you fall
flat on your face,
Or when you car stalls for the tenth time that
morning and you’re
already thirty minutes late for work.
It doesn’t wait for the
most convenient time for you, but likewise it
doesn’t seem to strike
at your most vulnerable time either.
It’s just the way of the 
world. Random events causing havoc and chaos
driving you so far down
into a depression that only alcohol and drugs can wake 
you from it, but even then
you’re left with a dependency that can’t be stopped.
The cosmic wheel spins
and only skips a beat when you take the punches square
in the nose and can still walk
away smiling.

Today I was thinking of death again.
Of the bleakest winter that befalls the years—
Of the sunburn that bubbles and poisons the skin—
Of all the conversations whispered as the clock ticks down,
with your mouth drying out but still spitting syllables by the dozen.
I thought of the individual colors in any piece of art,
and the movement of grass dancing in the wind—
I thought of flowers that have since died finally pushing
their way up through the gravel to kiss the sun for the
first time this year.
I thought of love, coming and going, just as quickly as
the seasons. 
Today, I was thinking of death—
But more importantly I was thinking of life.

It is here that I find myself once again:
Sitting on a bench 
under a beech tree
Hanging on the edge of Spring 
and looking ominously 
toward the oncoming heat of Summer.

I catch your scent on the wind:
honeydew melons and
wild flowers shaking hands 
with freshly cut grass.
Somewhere close the asphalt screams until
someone’s garden hose quenches it’s thirst.
I take a drink of
lemonade from my Styrofoam cup
and wipe the sweat from
my brow.

I want to be in touch with the world,
to hear the mountains and the oceans
speak,
to see the winking of stars and the sun
smiling.
I want to feel the arms of trees wrapped 
around me like a blanket,
and the clouds beneath my head when I sleep.
There are few things I have wanted in my
lifetime,
and now that I have reached this age,
I wish to feel them all at once,
flooding my senses,
so I can die at once,
peacefully, happily, and in love.

I’ve given up on getting up,

life always seems to pass me by

on days like today,

when it’s raining hard

and the week has just begun.

My hands hang heavy by my side

and my shoulders feel like cinder blocks

atop my spine.

My eyes refuse to work right,

and my mouth might as well

be sewn shut.

My room is cold and the air is stale,

I’ve left my lamp on from last night,

so the glow is unwelcoming and 

close to burning out.

I pull a sweater over my head,

and put on sweatpants and socks;

This is how I’ll start my day.

I sit at the kitchen table,

pour a glass of milk

and wait

for something good to happen.

It is April and I am dying.
My mind is the center of the book,
It is the climax, the rising and falling actions.
I awoke today to see bile flowing from my mouth
like the proverbs of any religion. 
And I am not sorry to view it this way.
My neck needs to crack in seven places and my
back is made of sheet rock this morning.
My hands are ice and my eyes are drooping,
Thank goodness for the Resurrection.

People find it funny when I tell them
that I am going to live forever.
Not in the wilting flesh clinging to my
bones like icicles to trees in winter,
No, that will fall from me soon after
I leave here physically.
Not in the small fingerprints left in the
fabrics of the people I have encountered,
No, they too will die and leave behind nothing
but dust and ashes.
But you here, reading me know, would you be
so quick to forget me if I told you all of life’s answers?
I should hope not, but I’ll keep you guessing anyway.

All the money in the tip jar

Staying home on a Tuesday night

Raking the fallen leaves in Autumn

Getting cravings and going grocery shopping at midnight

Tissue boxes, cough drops, and cold tablets

Overdue charges for movies and books

A long shower after the work day ends

Empty bottles and cans and stacks of dirty dishes

Rearranging the furniture

Stepping in puddles and slipping in mud

Folding laundry and feeling lonely

Love

And all of those who go out every night

to feel young and alive 

You have all missed the point.