21 posts tagged “52project”

invitation.

i wanted to welcome her with a safe embrace; trying to quiet her down
by smothering her freedom. she would not fall for my tricks. i held out
my arms, palms facing upwards, fingers stretched and flat, awaiting
some equal weight and form. i tried and tried again, but as quickly as
i would reach out to her, she would fly away and i would drop my hands
to my side. all the while i thought she was going to be an embarassment,
but after the third or fourth failed attempt to quell her i was the one abashed.
i was scared of being found out,
but i suppose thats the risk of sabotage.

deep knowledge

on some days,
i think id like to lay on the bottom of the ocean;
watch the crabs and creatures of depth
scurry and slither from crack to crevasse.

but the full consciousness
of those that swim and swirl down below
keep me at bay
far above.

while i float on the surface,
i dream through the opaque blue and green
and dip my limbs into the mystery.
usually the disappearance has no effect,

but there are some days
when i am contacted by some local life
like a fin waving between crests
that keep my strokes shallow
as i head back to shore.

so i went surfing today, and was just lying around on my board during high tide, and a pack of dolphins popped up really close. like within 15 feet. scared the crap out of me. dolphins may not be known as manhunters, but you always wonder: if theyre here, what is it theyre chasing or running from? i mean, fins are just generally a creepy thing when youre out in the open water.

i heard you were out to break my heart
so i faced up to the challenge and met you.
there were no weapons, which turned out to be
the worst mistake either of us could make.
so when it came down to noon
and we paced from back to back
we came face to face
with all the distance between us
and all we could do was hold out our hands
and point.

watching the light

have you seen a light die?
the way it begins to flicker
how it goes on for a few days,
slow flicks, mostly on

and then one day
it begins to sputter
it goes on for a few minutes

longer than you would expect,
but then it just fades out.

last night as i was driving down your street
through your neighborhood with houses familiar and crouched
behind the trees lining the road
and as i passed your house i kept my gaze forward
the trees stopped obscuring my view
breaking apart to reveal the sky, still blue with twilight
and as i came to the end
i began to realize i was beginning to see
everything as if it were new

(we are) monsters

we used to put them under beds;
tucked them tight behind the headboard.
we threw them in the closet
amid the hand-me-down suits and winter sweaters.
we slipped them under closed doors
to rooms we werent allowed in.
we dropped them on the roof
under cover of the storm.
we put them behind the shower curtain
after we saw those movies.
but its when we woke up in the morning
and washed our faces in front of the mirror;

the sunlight showed all the corners empty
and left our imaginations to devour what we could finally see.

this sounds like something i would have written in high school -which is kind of funny, but also sort of sad. in any case, im actually on time with this writing! im glad i started this project, even if i only make crappy poems, it forces me to not completely lose all of my basic writing skills.

here and now

we can only be in one place at one time, and i wasnt there when i wanted to be.
i was here, which is the only place i can be, could be, at the time.
and you were there, at the wrong place -well, right place- but still, the wrong time.
and so now youre not here, and youre not there, but im still here, and its a bit troublesome both there and here,
and well, its all sort of making me both here and there.

i think this is also late. but i like it.

drop me a line.

theres a line between any two points
   (a point for you, a point for me)
and this line is the shortest distance between us.
but geographically, its still too far.
   when you call my name, i cant hear it.
   when i reach for your hand, i fall short.
me here, you there, all this space between us;
on paper it all makes sense, we are, in fact, connected.
but oh, the interference, the obstacles
that intersect our short, straight line.
   the oceans, the mountains, the cities,
   even those doors, gates, and opened bridges;
they make the path so much longer, stretching it around,
   over, and
       through.

sometimes i feel like theseus
            standing in the middle of the maze,
                        holding the final end of his string,
    becoming entangled with every step
                and snagging on every branch.
i think its time we started anew.
ill cut myself free and drop you a line,
then pull us together and tie us tight.
although we may never find the way out,
we can be lost with each other.

i think i should have stopped with the first stanza. late.

alone on a friday. some would measure a man by his deeds, others by his money. most would determine his worth by the company he keeps. by what then, can you measure a man who sits alone at his leisure? perhaps how he handles his loneliness, how he sits, his posture and attitude towards those who pass him by as though he were the homeless man begging for change with sallowed eyes. perhaps how he reads his book in the corner, how fast he flips through the pages, pretending not to pay attention to the group whispering condemning remarks as they skirt out of earshot. perhaps how he sips his coffee; judging his sexuality by the grip of his hands or the purse of his lips. or perhaps, by how he holds his pen as he writes self destructive thoughts into the book no one will read, let alone publish. yes, the measure of a man can be taken from multiple angles. there is no good rule to which a comparison should be made, but a taste of his character can be seen through every action or inaction. and a man sitting alone on a friday night is the easiest read.

this is late. i spent two hours wandering around blacksburg on friday last weekend before anyone was free. i wrote this during that time. there are other thoughts i wrote out, but seem insensitive to publish at the current time.

within my grasp

three days ago, i trudged with heavy shoulders.
i thought it might be a lack of sleep, so i spent the next day in bed.
yesterday i woke up lighter, but wound up with my head in the clouds.
i searched high and low for something i couldnt identify, doing my best not to fly away.
it was only when i noticed that my hands were clenched, that i realized what was missing;
    i unfolded my fingers and stretched them apart, but it was no help.
so i trapped them in my pockets to submerge any reminders.

today, i pulled my hands from their imprisonment.
they were wrinkled and imprinted with lines from folded material.
i shook them out to put the feeling back in,
    and when the blood finally settled, they still retained their shape;
    the curved grasp with splayed fingers, waiting for a mate to intertwine with it.
the weave of our extremities forming a basket to keep us united.

maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, ill get the strength back in my hands and they will lie straight.
i often wonder though, if they cheat on me while i sleep.
huddled, curling together under my pillow trying to hold on.

i had this idea a long time ago. like a week before i saw the otter video. i was struck by the idea of missing something when i swam for an hour with paddles and took them off. ill end up reworking this until that first passage doesnt sound quite so familar.