Poetry

Selective Memory

I forgot that rain
could come down
by the bucket full
upon my head
just like I forgot about
the extreme heat
of a summer day
or the piercing cold
of a winter one.
For a moment I forgot
I was growing older
and forgot the many
memories I had
before this point in time.
I forgot to remember ,
I forgot to forget.
For a moment I forgot
about the lack of perfection
in this brief lifetime
and I had a perfect
day with you.

Poetry

The Eyes Have It

The eyes have it.
Yours didn’t.
Do I stay
or do I go?
I didn’t know.
Now we both exist,
we live our lives–good lives!–
but we cross paths
with passing glances.
I don’t need to know
but I sure want to.
Do we course correct,
do we connect, do we
throw all caution without care,
do we carry on
as two unpaired?
What’s the story
hidden there?
Is it one
you want to share?

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Poetry

Elastic Abandon

Between one dream and another

the tightrope snapped,

whipping reality with elastic abandon.

Stars fell in quick succession

as wayward eyes wished with woe

that they would fall straight down instead.

When all the dreams met that day

the night took its time arriving,

gallant and dark but just in time.

“No balance,” he wept with whimpering wails

while his trusty mare snorted fire

at the naysayers.

Poetry

At the End of the World, Turn Left

Nowhere has to be somewhere

but somewhere between here and there

we lost our way again.

You joked that you “know where”

this nowhere was

and I smiled with a bloody lip.

We didn’t know where we were

or where we would end up

and the map we drew

cut off the roads to Rome.

Was this the beginning or the end?

No, where was this going?

Know where this was going.

The path lay straight ahead

but the ditches looked like fun.

Poetry

A Bit of Light

I marvel at the first words

ever spoken, words that brought

existence to the the nonexistent:

“Let there be light.”

Yet we all saw fit to hide

eventually, eventually embracing

the absence of light,

content to watch shadows

on cave walls

rather than acknowledge

the sun.

That great and stalwart star

shines down with unequalled radiance

while this little rock we’re on

plays favorites.

We, the heliocentric, still espouse

the sunrise and the sunset.

Countless stars just like it

or greater

stand their ground

but even then we pick and choose

the ones we like best,

the ones that still seem

small in the illuminated darkness.

We may not number the stars

but if one goes missing,

it’s still missing.

The moon need not worry when there’s

nothing to reflect–

like a sky full of emptiness

that’s devoid of a star or two–

yet the moon does.

It circles this circling rock,

dimmer and every bit as stalwart

as the stars.

The pitch dark, the black holes–

they absorb the sounds

of bitter weeping

with vague pretenses of false security.

I stand in awe, blinded by a flickering flame.

What is there to say of

one little bit of light

like that? Like the sun? Like the stars?

Like the moon? Like a mere flicker of flame?

No matter how faded or far,

it

is

still

light.

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There is a poem called “Light”, written by Joy at the Yellow Brick Ave. You should read it! This waning piece of poetry was inspired by that waxing one, and though I would not call this a “response” poem, I would say that even a little light helps when everything is dark.

So let your light shine.

Go check out the Yellow Brick Ave and the excellent work posted there.

Poetry

The Coin Landed on its Side (haikus)

Flipping coins to see

who will win this light dispute

but they land sideways

* * * * *

You have written words

that challenge mine every time–

please do not stop this

* * * * *

In the end it takes

many heads to make many

tales of common themes

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There are numerous reasons to love poetry but my favorite will always be the changing and different perspectives. As I was reading posts the last few days, I noticed that some almost seem to be written as the antithesis of what I just wrote. I know that is most likely not the case but it is still fascinating how poetry goes back to the same subjects time and time again and few ever have the same opinion on it.

It’s a beautiful testament of individuality within a worldwide community. Community will always be important for humanity but not at the cost of the individual. We need people to ask questions. We need people to counter others. We need different viewpoints. We can agree and disagree or even agree to disagree at times. It’s still a community, it’s still poetry, and I am grateful for that.

Poetry

Well

“You’ll never miss the water

’til the well runs dry”

Well,

I hoped that’d be true

’cause there sure ain’t nothing

good ’bout stagnant,

poisoned water either,

a well refreshed by acid rain

and bitter tears

but maybe we’ll get by.

Maybe, just maybe. Well,

it’s like an ocean ’round here:

surrounded by water

but we’ll still die

from a lack of it . . .

Just don’t. Or do. But really

don’t . . .

Arms folding in the distance

as if to say

Well, well, well.

Nothing deep, nothing to draw

from it? Well,

maybe I do miss

the water after all.

Maybe, just maybe,

we’ll float away on dry land

to safer waters.

I said “I will” but

it had ill effects

but we?

“We will”? Will do what?

Will go where? Well,

we’ll know full well what,

we’ll get where we need

to be