Posts for June 1, 2019 (page 8)

The road named for a village in France,

Where a soldier boy crept from hedges

To battle the Kraut, with fear mixed bravery.

His black bordered-death letter told his kin.

Colville, his renamed road became, a memorial far

From the shriek of tank and gun. Tribute to a blood

Soaked field that drained each tender dream from

An ashen boy close beside a village thus named.

Across foam flecked expanse of sea, with span

His mother could not fathom, there stood his place,

A dusty mile of thirty houses, a store, quarry pond  

From slave cabin and fields to covered bridge,

Once he hid in bridge’s shadow to kiss a girl, begged

Cider drink at the cabin and daily walked to school. .

Fitting it should now carry the name from where death

Snatched his last full breaths and rang the angelus bell.

Follow with me as my shaky pen scratches tales

Found down Colville road, of stories he did not live

to know along a path named because this boy died

Alone under boom of guns a world away in France.

it’s summertime again

sweat running down foreheads
friends quickly licking ice cream cones before they melt
forcing laughs between ancient relations
near midnight
they take off their clothes
and jump into the creek
the slimy water somehow refreshing
it being hard to distinguish their laughs from their tears

everything seemed to be baked in sex
but i took off my clothes
and climed into bed
alone
and waited
until the heat became too unbearable
and they all stayed inside
and there they cuddled themselves alone
and breathed
and their nostrils noticed the lack of their scent
and their eyes saw the subtle changes in their appearance
it had only been a week
and more was to come

the heat’s still too hot
and i stay inside
watching everything unfold
waiting for summertime to end
waiting for the end
waiting to start afresh
waiting
i try to remember that nothing lasts
still regretting every decision

Delusions
I indulge in:
Rain is courage
Thunder makes you free
Fables are my secret history
Stories never end
Gardens become magic mazes
Ghosts make a difference
Words open new realms

Reality remains being
one bowl of cereal
away from a homicide

The church bell rings, echoing down the holler.
It beckons all to come and join a verse of
Amazing Grace or one of the other cherished hymns.
Everyone gathers, all avoiding that front pew.
The preacher opens his King James echoing 
a 2,000 year old call to repent. He warns of the
fires of Hell and tells of that Holy City built by
God’s own hand. He tells how you should love
your neighbor but keep your nose out of their
business all the while. He tells about that man
named Jesus and the blood stained cross. He 
recounts it like he had been the one who drove
the nails in his hands. He delivers it with such 
passion even the old woman who hasn’t smiled 
in 50 years can’t help but clap her hands and shout
amen. He gives out one final echo asking all to rise
and begs for a sinner to become a saint on a tear
stained alter. After a while he slowly bows his head
hiding a tear for the lost soul that didn’t come and 
quietly says a closing prayer ending with a loud
Amen.

my Jabberwock
cold, black, hollow inside
I named it, it only seemed right
so much time spent together

whiiirrr vvrap vvrap whiiirrr
the refuse of my daily life
neatly and viciously handled
food for the otherwise silent

whiiirrr whiiirrr vvrap vvrap
one sheet, two sheet, plastic card
I’ve been pre-approved
enough to cover the national debt

released from cardboard confinement
its reward for steel teeth
my bubble wrap desire
to shred the world

If I’m willing to drive 2 hours in the dark for it

Get lost on a dirt road (thanks, Maps)

Use 4WD and pray I don’t get shot at

(I didn’t, but apparently you did, when you made the same mistake)…

The least you could do is text me back, dick. 

And I howl unto you,
the back breaking over a glass of cold water.
Within seconds, my teeth are lost
in a sea of ivory and sunburnt cells;
the waves stop crashing and give up the fight.

And I howl unto you, the confused beast sleeping in the afternoon.
You are forgotten by the outside world, a mere
byproduct of nocturnal neon lights and the neverending noise.
You don’t cry anymore, for no one will listen.

And I howl unto you,
the pathetic ghost that finally wakes up.
The sun has already set, the world has left you behind.
And so in the dim glow of your phone set against
the cerulean walls that birthed me, I watch you howl
into the night.

i sit and stare

at the hole in the hallway

where my fist busted through

the drywall back in 2009

it reminds me of you

it reminds me of us

a deep-rooted puncture

through a seemingly sturdy

yet fragile barricade

fueled by frustration

and empathy

a mesh screen holding the mud

and crumbs together

to pretend the wall

was nothing but a mere fragment

paint and cement

to hide the blemishes

like a slight knock

wouldnt cause the crater

to crumble into ashes

thats how you looked at me;

like you had watched the men

work for hours

patching the hole

that was forever left unfilled

but you talked to me

like my fist slamming

against the wall caused

every single beam that held

your house in tact, to disintegrate

and instead of patching me up,

you left. you moved into a better house

with modern design,

where the word “demolished”

rolled off the tongue

like a word you couldn’t pronounce.

you are the reason

i find it foolish to believe the saying

“everything that’s broken, can easily be fixed”

because this hole in the wall

we’ve been stitching up for years,

will always be soft

and we will sit here, broken together

looking at the hole in the hallway

where my fist busted through

the drywall in 2009

and see its nothing more

than a dent hidden behind

an excuse of why we’ll never make it.

You stand

toes curled

on the threshold

my heart

in your back pocket