Change in the Weather

Deep within the bones
Change whispers in my ear
The sly north wind
Has summoned
My attention to the sky
As mystical shenanigans
Dance out in the courtyard
And whirling twisters
Of intrigue
Illuminate the shadows

I have no hints
To what will soon become
Who will stay or who will go
Voices of the evenings
Turn to echos of the past
Warnings heeded or dismissed
Show themselves as fantasy
Or anticipation of another
Lonely poem

A working sketch of promises
Outline thoughts without
A dream
Until visions turn to ponder
Paintings of the scenery
And moving sculptures
Once admired
Crumble down without a death
Why everyone is speechless
Still remains unknown

Yet sadly I’m already dead
Walking casualty of life
Particles of dust float through
Dirty breezes of Gods whim
Not a sentence or reprieve
For the cell is never locked
The prison of existence
Is too subtle

Changes in the weather
Left me orphaned long ago
To a string of halfway houses
And single serving friends
Who fade long before
The midnight
And the calling of the master
A time to reconsider
All that prospered

Still I hear the heartbeats
Parents send the children
Off to bed
Who look with in the closets
Peek behind the curtains
Bending down
Beneath the floorboards
Before closing eyes to sleep

We are ghosts within the fabric
The boogieman are we
Uttering our holy prayers
To save us from ourselves
Slaves to our convictions
Lost to empty roads
Saints to those who need us
Prophets one and all

Timing is Everything

Half past dead
Broken cigarette
Coffee cold
Feelings left
In a rainswept gutter
Running only seems
Like cowardice
But what do they know

Ask anyone
Not buried in life’s
Instant coffee
Not plastered
In false responsibility
Not consumed
With five year plans

Ask the fool
Ask the drunkard
Ask the junkie
Ask the thief
Ask the liar

Poor examples?

Ask the poet…
Timing is everything
Best to catch one

Before they get drunk
Score more dope
Steal a lonely heart
And pen
To write down
What happened
In the soul
The way they see it

While the rest
Live in yesterday
And tomorrow

The Divorce Poem

Sometimes
I’m reminded of
The fiasco
In the late eighties

No, it wasn’t on the news
Or in the papers
The Internet
Wasn’t around
No, it only dwelled
In our souls

She looked at me
One day and said,

“Baby, why can’t you learn
To love brown grass?”

I looked her in the eye

“It’s just not in my nature”

There was nothing
Left to throw
Nothing
Left to cry
Nothing
More to say

I walked out
And never looked back
Years later
I see brown grass
And know
It just needs watering
Perhaps fertilizer
And a reason

What are reasons?
Love
Devotion
Lust
Comfort
Safety
The piece of paper

The paper read
I had to stick around
Until I was dead
But I was
Already dead
I just didn’t know it
Yet

I remembered
Keats… Again
How much I hated
His Grecian Urn
Ridiculous beauty
Touted in a fog
Of tuberculosis

Wandering the streets
Of a forlorn world
Verily wasted
From my own words
I saw a patch
Of green grass
Surrounded by
The brown

I stood upon it
As if somehow
I would feel that
Which others claimed
Only my own sadness
Spoke to me
In mysteries

I took a single blade
Of living hope
And swallowed it
Sitting down
I waited

Clouds arrived
In Nebulous design
Lifting my head
To catch the rain
With a weary tongue
It tasted bittersweet
An aftertaste
Of sorrow

I lit a cigarette
And walked
Throughout
The meadow
Cupping it
In my hand
To protect it
From the downpour

Eyes closed
I asked God to explain
His silence
Only offered me
What I’d already found
To be true

Inspired by Sara Fryd’s
“Seventh Commandment”