Category Archives: beginning
weather & time have spoken,
the day stretches into night.
hours now mapped with the new,
still i wait for a shift.
a different window to look out of,
keys that fit another lock.
paperwork & promise,
for a life i long to live.
degrees have dropped & people speak sparely about how it affected them. as a race we have a compulsion to list things. how many drinks were drunk, how long we braved an occasion, where we went next. i wonder about this desire to depict an order, is it simply to remember or rather to confirm our existence in light of others. what are we afraid of, forgetting or being forgotten? i’m not sure which is worse.
people love a holiday, it refreshes them. those that don’t make a show of things still get to return, make an entrance, come back with new stories. it’s an opportunity to experiment & change what wasn’t working. to take stock of self. rattle the cage a little. work makes people wild. it tames them to a point with routine & rhyme, but left too long it starts to reduce the sane ways we unravel things.
to be isolated for getting it wrong feels unfair. there are no rules, just people’s opinions and a want for warmth. to smile at someone is to understand a situation. from false grins to teeth baring photo faces – they all have their time & place. we carry too much information, too much advice. each time we try to move a hundred voices commence combat. falling isn’t failing & the best examples lead.
Through grey trees and dead wires. Lifting light over buildings. The promise of warmth raises eyes with hope like glasses at a wedding. The chance of more, a question answered right. An alternative to night.
Shifting shapes and restless limbs, bustle to position. A sword in my hands and a scarf around my neck. Inching closer, moving forward. Some might say the sky is falling. This time I’m getting it right.
all beginnings are applications
of some description
when you don’t know how long what you have been watching
has been the home shopping channel
morning tv fades out
midday lingers as the day is drawn from the deck
an all day agenda fades in
paperwork to make a home
jumping through hoops
we’re up to our hips
i think of everything i have to meet the criteria
remembering shreds of paper, lies & life
i contemplate every humane distraction
do i really need this machine?
am I insulted by the depiction of this demographic, namely me?
i’m too tired to tell &
i’ve spent too long on this couch
you don’t give up,
try not to lose the fight
to realise they’re not playing the same game
you’re ready to call checkmate.
when they play,
don’t call us, we’ll call you.
Alarm sounds as light filters into my dreaming eyes. The other half of the bed is already empty, the door drawing shadow from the life behind it. Feint calls gently echo through the upstairs & down. For this is how we choose to speak, insurance that the other is awake. The couch confession. We smile & assess. Mumbling about the meals we made & people pretending. Was last night better than the night before? It was for we were closer & close.
Our mouths are silenced by the cut up clouds that surround us. Light lifting, the traffic lights are eyes, peering through gathered trees. The cool air staves off the humidity as heavy heaves shift to steps. The edges of our eyes take in colour, mixing covered green with open grey at the horizon. Sun is raised, pushing through strands of white, both volcanic & baking. The only sound we hear are birds, our breath & muted horns running down rail beams.
This is our morning for a few minutes more.
it takes some distance to reflect,
to stop, think, process, wait.
admitting you are wrong is one thing,
what you do to address it is
another thing entirely.
some people talk a good game,
revealing little except results.
both playing cards close to the chest,
& from beneath the table.
what’s the point in just speaking,
about things you want to do.
when these things could already be removed
from the lists you’ll never write.
before the paper peels,
the train is missed,
& dreams are out of date.
time spent treading water,
isn’t wasted when,
you use it to survive.
the idea of escape is amazing.
encapsulated by the absence of light
a man tormented by the guilt of his past
feels he is owed beyond his own sentencing.
is he entitled to a second chance,
or just has nothing left to lose?
“the love i feel is not confused
i shouldn’t feel so good
its weird feeling guilty about your life
when it’s going so good
enjoy it while it lasts
there are still things i’d change in life
like where i went each day
& that i want to truly let the ideas i have inside me
to grow toward beauty.
in this cell.”
yesterday he lay dead on a hospital bed
cycling, swimming, running, relapse
these were the order of events
he wrote about them all
these are the stories to be told.
home to the holidays.
time to turn off engines & decide
to trust you have exactly what you need,
that you’ve cut enough wood for the winter.
there’s a beautiful humility in not wasting
the things that keep you alive.
arriving at the finish line on time.
in preserving those little things
that keep you warm at night,
you keep fires burning that people don’t see.
the story that we stay up late for,
a myth to make us mind our manners.
a painting of a photograph.
turning the wheel from high seas
to a surer path,
the needle spinning north.
by never cutting corners,
we never miss a beat.
he asked her once if she could be afraid,
“even an anchor needs a compass,
it’s hard talking about love. people always talk about how they can’t define it, it’s a noble feat to live your life trying to. i want to be well-respected & loved. i wanted to be famous but after the life i’ve lead i’d be happier just to be alive. when i stopped wanting to be famous i overcompensated with everything to try & pretend i didn’t care. all in a vain effort to conceal the reason for my decisions. when i lost people i didn’t live in a way that honoured them. at the time i bandied around the word “lukewarm” – it was a word i used a lot to decipher what i thought was weak. to be “lukewarm” was the worst thing imaginable to me at the time. to have failed. the truth is, i never really got over it. the reality, of what had happened that is. it’s prophetic when you start repeating things to yourself, to be become what you fear. we’re defined by our failures, just hopefully not remembered for them. we’ve done the things we do so many times before. to climb over the wall. to mean it. to take the time it takes. i fear for the few who were smart enough to see it but didn’t stick around long enough to change.
whenever i walk up a flight of stairs
if i do not concentrate completely,
at one point i fear falling & almost fall.
my brain miscalculates the distance & i
can’t seem to place my feet in the right position
i grab the hand rail & steady myself,
it haunts me & i can never seem to shake it.
it’s due to a recurring dream
i have about escalators.
my paranoia tricks my sleeping mind into believing
that hundreds of miles high above the world
on an escalator with no handrails,
that i’m trapped.
in the sky the steepest test
climbs up beyond the clouds
an ascent without end
on a moving staircase,
that i must remain upon to escape.
my fear is that by doing anything
other than standing still,
i’ll fall to my doom.
the height of the see-through platforms
on which my toes tremble,
just makes me freeze.
i’d drop to my knees
lowering my sense of gravity
clinging closer to the separated steps.
i used to have the dream when,
for some reason i’d been dizzy
during that day
i’d wake up sweating at night
trying to gasp fresh air from the gap
between the top of the window and the windowframe,
in an effort not to be sick.
as this trait is now a part of me,
where one could go to read it on my body.
imagine if fingerprints could give such
detailed information about
us as individuals
to those in the future or now,
about our fears.
i still have the dream
but more often than not
i wonder what sounds our fingerprints
& dna would make,
if we could record them.
the human mind can do anything
i truly believe that
we are inventors
we have to be
otherwise we’d still be playing with fire
& dreaming of wheels.
turning on the television i asked
“will i meet my dreams again
or bump into the ideas that build hope
a voice soon told me something like,
“you’ll meet them all again on a journey to the middle.”
but before i could write it down
to get the perfect wording
it escaped me.
i asked it the same question again later but,
all i heard was music.
I hope we keep our sites set high.
Get something out there with a name attached to it,
I hope we keep our sights up.
It’s time to close another door.
Still running low,
running low grade,
low grade temperature
to get someone’s attention.
However this will be just the beginning,
getting to the age where he knows whats going on.
Been up & down, about,
& I celebrate with pictures.
We have spent much of our week indoors.
There are hundred`s of us, fighting,
who were out & about getting into trouble.
I think we have a future,
from drying out.
Though it didn’t stand up great to handling — it’s really a stone,
I finally learned the following:
I’m not sure she really knew what she was getting into.
We really did not see this coming.
They are finding out a lot more
& some street fireworks
about to ride the train,
we caught not very popular seats.
I will share it with you when I can.
How far behind the times am I?
The next morning I was able to help
an active duty military member,
“I write about my everyday life with its ups and downs.
I’ve also made a serious
goal of developing an advanced
game with a rating system,
discovered something wrong.
But as you know I’m saving
a few features and impressions.
The ambition to do what has never been done before.”
I have always had & still have a funny, odd obsession
with their tanks & their cars, & their cars & their tanks.