Category: Poetry

To be nostalgic is to look at a photo

And see a particular face.

The curse of the calendar may loom on us all

But their radiance looms in place.

Is it momentous now that I’ve seen them

Or is their existence theirs to emit?

In images or memories reflected,

No life ever seems to submit.

Some people seem like a moment in time:

Forever a force of nature.

Not endlessly massive in life,

But endlessly spirited in portraiture. 

I always think that I’ll look back and see

Their glowing wonderful presence,

But I can’t look back, I can only look now

And feel wistful of their hold on the present.

I am not who I am forever 

And nor will I ever be. 

Neither are they, and yet, 

A footprint spared of time’s debris.

Though I love you now, 

I would’ve loved you then:

Face full of light

Poetic again and again.

I was dealt a bad hand, this much remains true.

The bare, cupped hands of the wind gently caught my death

As the gloved hand of the clock turned, I turned blue

A spare hand of the air kindly caught my breath

I’d asked for your hand in marriage, our favorite park aglow

An ambidextrous lover, a ring in the palm of my hand.

Illuminated aura, a vision of betrayal in the spotlight of snow

All hands on deck for unrequite to refuse the band

It wasn’t quite a refusal, more so a goodbye

On one hand, you’d made up your mind

And I suppose in an ironic way, so had I

But on the other hand, I believe it was you that cried

I know you don’t like when the tip of your nose is cold

And though you deconstructed an invisible miracle by hand

In the moment you left the ice to cover my shoes into winter’s glassy hold

I wanted to lend a hand and pinch your nose so that you’d understand

You said I had no hand in the wintery cataclysm

The situation at hand wasn’t mine to cause

That my only hand in this god forsaken schism

Was to relinquish my devotion to locked jaws

It’s been hours since you left me to imbue my body with shock

The sun gives a thunderous hand to the show we both performed

Orange applause dances on the heartbreak frozen upon rocks

The sun tries its hand at thawing the still blood, unwarmed

The soaked grass laughs at my stillness, it threatens to crawl up my leg

“This is getting out of hand,” it says, as it prepares to eat me alive

Forever a facet of the place my offer unwillingly desecrated, a temple for me to beg

Ring in hand eternally, unmovable by time and undone by the word I despise

The skin beneath my feet is as soft as my hands

And all four are ready for a distant land

That can bristle, that can callus, that can burn and bruise

That can whisk me off the sands on a lifelong cruise

Western now, western now we ride

More west, till the ocean dries

I’ll chase these sands till I find a place

Where the sun no longer curses my face

My face, now my face, its softness is gone

It’s wrinkled and it’s tanned, it’s thick with brawn

As I dream of this heaven, I only think

It wouldn’t be heaven without a drink

Western now, western now we ride

More west, till the ocean dries

I’ll chase these sands till I find a place

Where the sun no longer curses my face

Waves lap the beach and I look on through

To the bottom, to the fish, to the murky blue

But I slap my head, and I laugh out loud

The ocean, yes the ocean could save me now

Straight down, straight down we dive

Far down, farther from the skies

I’ll chase these sands till I find a place

Where the sun no longer curses my face

I live at the bottom, yes it’s really quite nice

To live with the fish in paradise

My tank needs some filling, or I might see black

My lungs can’t take water, but my heart stays back

Back and forth, back and forth I go

Down the shores, living to and fro

The shores are my love just as much as the sea

For they let me return to my water with glee

I’m old now, and the sea floor is my home

I greet all the fish, they treat me as their own

For all the sands of the desert and the shine of the sun

Could never make me leave my heart’s only one.

I don’t feel sixteen, and I don’t think I look it

I look tired, I look worn, stooped and ruined

I turn 17 next month, you might not know it

Some reasons of my inability to outgrow it:

*

I have stretch marks on every inch of my body

My cholesterol is simply too high

My posture is that of a scythe

I have duffels under my eyes

*

If you talk to me now, I still don’t seem it

I’m sixteen, it’s never felt so young

How beautiful these black hearts are

Until the hornet’s spike has stung

*

I feel like my face is different than then

I simply don’t want to be older

I still have baby fat in my ears

It feels like my face is colder

*

I feel like a child in so many ways,

But how is there more I don’t know?

There’s so much I can’t begin imagine

But I’m surprised by newness even so

*

On the cursed coatrack of the calendar

Sixteen will hang like an old, battered coat

I don’t feel old until I do

How is there more I don’t know?

My hand swings back behind me and 

There’s raindrops on my fingertips,

The light can’t seem to find me

But the fractals from the sky just drip.

The water touches gently and

They kiss the soft ends of my hands.

Softer still the skin beneath and

Light reflects like grains of sand.

Lazy sunlight seeps down slow and

Foggy daylight paints a dream.

Footsteps echo as they fall and

Dewy grass glades cut and gleam.

During a “Pummel Party” stream with some of my favorite creators, FoolishGamers said an offhand exclamation that I thought would be hilarious if I turned it into a really dramatic and emotional poem. I personally think it’s kinda funny >: ) Here’s the link: https://clips.twitch.tv/ThankfulBetterHerringArsonNoSexy-UULNkakpOQYHCuke

I’m desperate to escape the light.

It calls far beyond what the eye catches.

I exhale as my tears bleed into darkness.

Beacons beckon briskly in snatches.

Is it worth all the running just to stay in the dark?

I’d leave a part of myself rotting in the shadows…

Who am I, a stranger in these different forms?

A new identity from these well-lit hallows.

If I don’t run now, then I’ll never run now again.

I feel so small; how can the world not stop for me?

The lights approach me all, I’m unable to flee—

The opposite of motion sickness settles quickly.

Light, at last, but it’s not so warm…

It’s as cold as the dark, only it’s electrifying…

A lonely dance it may be, but a dance all the same.

The feeling of your eyes on me, it’s terrifying.

A dance by myself, to a rhythm whispered just to my ears.

The feeling of the light is beyond what words accrue.

Shakespeare’s but a colleague as I linger in the light.

I’m dancing in the spotlight for you.

I have witnessed the death of the teenage dream,

And it goes a little something like this:

The coastlines are starting to flood 

(And it’s really taking the piss!).

Demons were placed on this earth,

And now they’re begging for control.

I know they’ve always existed

But they’re continuing to evolve.

Some things are ahead of the game;

Just look at antibiotic bacteria!

Adapted complex insecurities

Irrigate downwards like wisteria.

I barely notice them often;

I’m too old and too tired to care.

Notice I said old and not wise;

Notice and notice but don’t stare.

Who cares if I’m a little behind

When everything is out of control?

What’s left for the world to uncover?

Why must everything have a toll.

Featured image found at: Arlington National Cemetery. Wisteria arbor, vertical in Arlington National Cemetery – PICRYL Public Domain Search

A moment in time that felt completely undisturbed by time itself

I think it would have lasted forever, but I was the only one who could end it 

So I knew it would

Spinning spirals of warm air, uninsulated walls, uncovered and soaked in shuttered sunlight

I wished I would be found, thousands of years later, moss covering my cracked-concrete sleep

I knew I wouldn’t

I might as well have been turning to stone, the weight of my stony softened limbs pushing me deeper into the mattress

I’d give myself up to be corrupted by nature, never to be preserved but to be returned

A moment meant for eternity

I have a conversation with my door,

Whether we want to have it or not.

It is one we have had before,

And it’s one we will have a lot.

I really never start it,

The door always does.

Every time, it asks me to quit

The staring at it because

I let a giggle loose,

Or maybe a sound of despair.

And I am no social recluse,

But I like to be alone, to be fair.

So when I’m watching kitsch things,

Or maybe looking at a book,

My ears create footsteps coming

And I tense for the door to unhook.

I don’t know why I feel this way

(And neither does the door).

But it asks me to look away

And avert my eyes to the floor

Who knows why I’m embarrassed

To emote in my own room

Because at the very barest

It’s a safe place, not a tomb.

I’d like to make a vow

From starting this day on:

I promise to laugh allowed

And sigh the sighs forgone.

For there are only things as small to fear

Behind the face of my door

Than a blush that warms my ears

Or losing what was felt before.