Tag Archives: Prose

by

The Skirt

 

You laid your plaited skirt
on the foot of my bed,
neatly folded as though
in doing so you could somehow
retain your virtue.  In the midst
of our fleshy thrashings, I kicked
it to the floor, and you began
to cry, deep sobs that rattled
the mattress springs.  I moved,
too reluctantly, to retrieve it
but you said, “Why bother?”
Making love doesn’t always
mean making sense, and so
I threw my feet to the floor,
pulled on my jeans, and looked
back, although I would never be
able to see.
“So that’s it?” you sobbed.
In affirmation, I buttoned my
shirt and turned toward the door,
…as an afterthought, picked up
your once plaited skirt, tossed it
carelessly over my shoulder,
and left.

by

The Poet’s Lair

Whiskey sour. The most appropriately named
of all libations. It dances circles around “whiskey
neat,” because I’ve never been neat about my
drinking, but I’ve often been sour.
“If you’re going to be scribbling in that journal,
howse about you take that someplace else,”
barks Rudy, my corner bartender. I’ve been
a steady since before Rudy came to work
here, but there truly is no sanctuary for the poet.
“Kiss my flattened arse, you bastard, and pour me
another,” I reply without even looking up. He laughs,
flips me the finger, and grabs a near empty bottle
of Maker’s Mark. “You ever published any of that
shit?” he rejoins as he pours. “Listen,” says I, “stick to your
areas of expertise, which I believe is football (soccer)
and whores, and leave the writing to me. We’ve
both problem enough with our own curses.”
“You ever write about me..the bar?” he persists.
“Not until this very moment.” I concede and with
that I slam my notebook shut with profound defeat.

by

An Infinite Pain

And they will say, “At least he’s not in pain anymore.”

Really?

I have left this world just as I was beginning
to understand my role in it. I will never experience
the wonder of new lands, nor will I ever listen to the
crashing of a wave against the shore. I will never again
hike the wooded forests, or climb a lush green mountain.

I have widowed my wife and whisked away her best friend.
I will never feel the softness of her lips; hear the laughter in her voice.
I will never share with her my deepest secrets, nor will I receive hers.
I will never love again as I have loved.

I have taken my children’s father away
before they were even halfway home.
They will grow, and marry, and have children of their
own, children who will never be gathered into their
grandfather’s arms. In time, they will forget me
altogether.

I have ceased to be a friend, forever,
to those I held dearest. When my name is called, I will
not come. When I’m needed most, I will not come. I have
taken so much, and will never be there to return the favor.

I will never feel the warmth of the sun
upon my face, or smell another fall as it rustles in. I shall
never shower in a spring rainstorm, nor will I taste another
snowflake in winter.

In what alternate universe does any of this mean I am free of pain?

To spend eternity in certain knowledge that I have failed everybody
and everything that I hold close in this life? I would rather live racked
with the physical pain of cancer for the remainder of my life than to
steal away a single day from those I treasure most.

Do not say, “At least he is not in pain anymore.”

My pain is infinite. My sorrow will bleed through the ages.

by

Secrets

My shadow falls away.
No sun will touch this truth.
Wandering, cold and revealed
almost naked in my sin.
I have squandered the best of me,
descending now with the rest of me.
Secrets eat at my guts
and I am consumed completely.
Would that my lips could part
and exorcise that which I dare not speak.
I am taunted by courage beyond my reach.
My body is cleaved in two;
one side dead, the other living in fear of living.
My own hand betrays me,
and I cannot sleep eternal.
The truth is an acid
eating away any hope of resurrection.
I am undone, yet left standing.

by

Descent into Light

 

 

 

 

 

 

The windows of my existence
slam shut with profound resistance;
no light reflects my life’s regrets
dark thoughts are my subsistence.

I’ve lived a life most shattered,
redemption lay in tatters –
I close my eyes and realize
nothing really mattered.

My path was paved with sharp-edged stones;
each step cut deeply to the bone -
My blood revealed a fate long sealed,
No pleas were heard or crimes atoned.

Acceptance as the midnight falls,
my time has come, the hour calls-
Into the haze, beat down and dazed,
in darkness beats a heart, then stalls.

The final beat, a deeper cut,
the vein of life has no rebut;
spilling forth with little worth
the contents of my tortured gut

Beneath the lily and graven stone
The soul has fled, I’m all alone.
Now in the tomb I find some room;
My darkest fears are overthrown

The window opens, new hope descends
Now lifted up, my doubts rescind;
escape the grave, all pain is bathed
Into perfect light I walk again.

by

Writing for Hogs

Writing can oftentimes seem like
an exercise in slopping the pigs:
You throw your words into the mud
and hope they whet the appetite, but
even the most discerning hog will turn
up his snout if it stinks too much. Your
only hope is that a truffle or two will
sprout beneath all that filth; a sparkling, tasty jewel
in a sea of slop that sparks a feeding frenzy.

by

E = MCreativity

Einstein gave us relativity,
but failed to factor creativity;
His theorem’s certain, yet we are not,
and mankind therefore slips the knot.
While science deigns to draw the curtain;
the power of us is all but certain.
Quantum physics, both here and there?
Mankind can not be factored square.
String theory speaks to nature’s state,
while poets reveal our human grace.
Unification without the arts
is faulty from the very start.
There still remains the mystery
of how we simply came to be?
Big Bang theory explains the stars
but does not speak to why we are.
The paradigm begins to shift
When we factor in the artist’s gift.
Equations writ in bytes and bits
Cannot explain Beethoven’s fifth.
As so we argue with endless indignation:
It’s all little more than our imagination.

by

The Lantern

Do you see that lantern on the mantle?

Its light has shined on three generations of this family.

My grandfather learned to read under the tutelage of its glow;

Wrote love letters to my grandmother in verse reflecting

The warmth gathered from its flickering beam.

My mother found her way home through lost woods

To the arms of my Da, and on the night I was conceived

It lent its sexuality.

Bright and slightly hesitant, still it burns, weaving moonbeams

Like silver threads through the tapestry of our lives.

Illuminating through the years, it has lit my tears and

Calmed my fears; beneath its flame we all found ways to heal,

To bind up old wounds; to celebrate new beginnings, while keeping

Vigil as loved ones passed away.

One day I’ll pass it down to my children now crawling on the ground

And in its light they’ll learn to see within themselves, beyond themselves.

I take it down and light it whenever I am consumed by darkness; it watches

Over me and comforts me; reminds me that there are so many ways

To become illuminated.

by

These Bleeding Words

For every word written, a piece of the poet dies.
The quill might as well be filled with blood,
Leaking out upon the pages
Like a hemophiliac, prose flowing with little
Regard for the health of its father. Slowly,
Drained and deep in pain, awash in fear
And certain disdain, the task is finished,
As is the author. So many artists die
By their own hand, or at an age that attests
To the evil of this sport. Why, then, do we
Do it? Because to live without words flowing
Through our veins is to have already given
Up the ghost. It sometimes hurts more to live
Than to write your own obituary.

by

Rebirth

Stars descend on blackened veils
Guiding my steps to the ocean’s swell
Waves swallowed whole by gold sands porous
A symphony’s repeating chorus
As the moon reflects its softened light
The summer winds caress the night
My thoughts turn toward the heavenly spiral
Of shooting stars and earth’s denial
My eyes ascend to northern lights
While thoughts unformed take sudden flight
Carry me toward a heavenly vision
As my soul begins a new revision
Eyes once blind now clearly see
This single moment is lifting me
Beyond a life of imperfection
And giving me a new direction

by

Process

Words fall like polished stones

tumbling upon the page with a splash

and I take no credit

for how they configure

A wind blows through me

and emotions stir

My only job is to give the wind

a voice and to put a new page

down when the old is full

Writing is less me having something to say

and more something which must be said having me.

by

Snoqualimie

The ground beneath my feet rumbles. Softly at first
and then with each step increasing in its timbre
The air is damp and mossy with a gray light
filtering through the canopy of spruce and pine.

Wet thunder rises and my ears are muted
by the intensity of a river plummeting over
slick rock lips; a roiling, massive death
spiral. Half the volume swan dives elegantly
hundreds of feet into a pounding foaming white pool, while my
own heart matches the outpouring, beat for beat.
The other hangs mistily in the frigid air, gently
nourishing the brown-green algae with its spit.

I cannot help but marvel at the sheer anger of it all
wondering how many open-mouthed bass,
thrust forth into open space, gargolyed eyed as
the river disappears beneath them, recognize this,
the end of their swim? Death, anger, power…and yet
so serenely beautiful. Rage onward, Snoqualmie, before
the winter’s freeze deprives you of your liquid dance.

by

Silent and Eternal

I still love you; still need you every day
just to breath, to rise and be alive.
But you must not expect me to
ramble on about the world outside
or the pain inside; I am not wired that
way.
Take comfort in my silence and my nearness to you,
it’s all I can do with what is left within.
You need validation, and I can give you that
I just can’t give you insight; I have none.
“It’s a man thing!” you cry, but I
am as far from that as you are from my words.
It’s a sad thing, and I would wish it not so,
but it’s the one thing I don’t possess.
If you must embrace more than my face
then, please, take the time to read what I
write. It will inform you, though probably not
warm you. For that, fall into my spent arms.
They will always be there for you.
“You don’t love me, you don’t love me,” daily
goes the triad. I comb your hair and caress
your skin near the fire, and for hours my eyes
lock upon yours. We simply spell differently,
see?
I will live my life upon one knee, if in doing so
you could understand. What I know about love
I’ve gathered from your touch, your voice, your
grace.
I can only give you everything. Please don’t ask
for more.

by

The Love I Once Had…And Lost

I have no thought of future love –
That’s a bridge I’m not ready to cross…
I need time yet to heal
From the pain that I feel
For the love I once had…and lost.

It’s not that I don’t feel the need –
In truth, no need is greater;
But unless I survive
What I’m feeling inside
I’ll have no need for later.

Be patient with me, please understand –
I’m not a man who’s made of stone…
I’ll deal with tomorrow
When I’ve dealt with the sorrow
Of living today all alone.

I’m not giving up on the future –
I just have no time for the thought
Of loving again
While I’m still lost within
All the love I once had…and lost.

by

Do Not Be Afraid

Do not be afraid
to lose yourself in me.

My hands are strong,
yet gentle
and, if need be,
I shall carry you
within the calm shadows
of my love.

Do not be afraid
to laugh with me;
the warmth of my love for you
I gather from the
rainbows of your smile.

Do not be afraid to cry with me
when life overwhelms you;
I will gather your tears
within the well of my understanding
and pour them carefully
upon the fires of your fear.

Do not be afraid
to live with me;
I will build for you a home
with floors of tender mercy,
Walls of compassion,
ceilings of hope,
and windows of promise.

Do not be afraid
to die with me;
I will lead you through
the dark forests of your doubt
until the bright meadows
of forever rise beneath our feet
and the cool waters of eternity
swallows our souls, together.

by

False Start

The morning rises. Fingers of sunlight
Caress the sleep from my eyes; dew
Trickles on the windowpane, and beyond
A new day stretches awake. Stirring slowly,
As though each movement would shatter
The world, I slowly pull my feet from beneath
The woolen blanket and gently test the cold
Floorboards of possibility. I trip.