It is beyond me . . .
to think of how you know someone for so long yet
there are people we meet and in an instant,
the world changes
and it seems as if we’ve known each other
forever.
But more, it’s amazing how time passes
and people go their own ways,
only to circle back
as a means of fate:
to reconnect and to find each other again.
I swear, there’s something to this
Something deeper than say,
fate;
that is, if fate is what they say it is –
I think about small towns
and scenes of gymnasiums in public schools
with banners and flags and little streamers of school spirit.
I think of this in comparison
to one of those old Norman Rockwell photos,
taken and drawn from when life was safe
and all was presumed innocent before proven guilty.
More than the moments in late spring
or when the first few carnivals took to the town
like the one at St Raphael’s at the birth of summer,
and more than the summer nights,
more than the hot festivals
or the late night venues;
or more than the place where people danced
or swayed beneath flashing lights
and neon colors in places like The Limelight
or The Tunnel –
Both missions – Before and after
1)
Wintertime, 1990 (February, I believe)
I never thought that this would be me
here, living on a farm somewhere up north
short haired and disciplined or should I say “leashed”
or healed like a dog who ran too wildly.
I was north of everything I knew.
I was north of the only living that my young life could understand.
After all, this was supposed to be the time of my life.
I was young, which is for certain and yet,
I was lost in plain sight
For The Boys –
Tomorrow we grow another day older –
the Earth moves another turn around the sun
and this is life – one day at a time.
This is us, all day, every day.
We grow, we age, and, hopefully,
we live and we learn,
we laugh, and if we are lucky,
we get to love a little bit along the way.
Hopefully . . .
Waves move into sands,
which the shoreline inherits
but only after a long journey
This is not just a wave –
This is a wave that’s been years in the making.
1
It is a decade past your years of vengeance and yet still,
you hold onto the lies and catastrophes
like a lifeline to your soul,
as if for some reason, if you let go –
you would cease to exist
or slip away into something else.
All too often,
We romanticize these crazy acts,
which stand before us like crazy shields
and desperate measures –
just to feel good.
And all too often,
we celebrate the villain
or glorify the bad guy
or the “tough guy”
This is a short poem that was written to set a few things free. This was written on a white screen that was blank in the beginning with a white glow shining on my face and reflection in my eyes.
This was begun before the sun or before the hours when my alarm clock songs; but more importantly, this was written with the intention to purge the soul.
1)
One pole south –
This is the low point and where the hole seems bottomless
or endless
and therefore the fear of falling is real
and relevant – or therefore,
the understanding of gravity pulls too much weight,
which makes it hard to stand some times
The Written Addiction 