Posts for June 23, 2024 (page 7)

I know it’s cheesy or cliche to say

but you were

a special part of my childhood

and my teenage years,

someone whose movies

I enjoyed and sought out.

As a sensitive, intelligent child

it was probably easy for me

to identify with the characters you played,

gentle, nerdy men

who were often underdogs.

Little Shop Of Horrors

was probably

the first scary

(for me)

movie

that I fell in love with,

paving the way

for my later enjoyment

of horror comedies like Scream.

I wore that soundtrack out.

It’s still a favorite.

You serenading your wife

with the song “Close To You”

in Parenthood

was vulnerable and romantic.

When I discovered SCTV,

I fell in love with Bob and Doug McKenzie.

It’s funny how

the actors we watch as children

feel like friends.

And though I don’t know you,

that is what you were to me.

Someone who could make me smile and laugh.

Someone I felt safe with.

I understand why you stopped making movies.

I think it’s beautiful you chose

to prioritize your loved ones.

I know you’ve been having fun making music.

I know you may never return to acting.

And I understand that too.

I’ve just been thinking about you lately.

Like great actors we have lost to death

or old age,

you’re someone I miss seeing on the screen.

I just wanted to say thank you for all the laughter

and to let you know

you are still beloved.

If you ever decide to return to acting,

there are many of us

waiting to embrace you.

Either way,

I hope you are happy

and I wish you the best.

elucidate the stoic

controlled emotions not a lack there of

inure the clouds, brighter sun

sweat beads slide from forehead to chin
drip from jawline to shoulder
trace a trajectory from upper arm to wrist
dive from fingers to splash on toes

this glistening body shines in lunar light
slumbers with interruption as fans whirr and hum
desperate to slice into the thick night

The blinking cursor blinks with great expectation.

But the blank page remains blank.

I write and then delete.

I do that often.

I send a message and then unsend it.

I say something and then I wish I could un-say it.

I think a thought and then shake my head to erase that same thought.

I reflect on my social interactions with others and wish I could revise them.

It always could be better, and nothing is ever good enough to let it be as it is.

If it weren’t for deadlines, pressure of ticking clocks,

I’m not sure I’d ever get anything done, because I want perfection.

It is impossible.

I know.

I’ll drive myself insane at this rate.

I know that, too, and it may be too late.

Okay, fine, I give up.

Here is my imperfect string of thoughts.

Do what you will with it.

Say what you will.

Read into it what you will.

I know that I will want to delete this later.

But for now, I’ll let it sit as is.

aphid crawl against my wrist
first time my cousins
have felt like my cousins

we want the funeral to be a celebration
of life

slip hand below rusty shawl
on waist are you doing okay
yes                                     you?

wandering piano chords that night
for lotion             for trying to girl           
for afterlife         for beforelife
for black with a pop of color
for knowing just enough

cheers
with this buggy sparkling juice

They’ll want a lamp
they can turn on by clapping

when the night comes in 
or the day is dark with rain.

They’ll use it more in winter,
the crypt where fears fester, 

and they hear their mortality
clearing its throat in the corner

In the room where they’d love you
to stay and stave off the shadows

they’ll want a lamp 
they can turn on by clapping

but you are the light of the sun.

I

Apples, carrots, and oats

I believe it’s going to rain
here in a bit
both the sky and the forecast predict
     my thoughts drift to realism
the fact that life can take a turn
or two or three and perhaps
it’s perfectly acceptable to look forward to the rain
to anticipate with open hands, ready to splash about
march through puddles, watch through a window
allow what seems an inconvenience to morph into a blessing
and sometimes we choose, don’t we
     how it will all turn out, whether we’re saturated and changed
or left simply standing in the downpour

Wings all a flutter 
 floating your tiny body
midair, hovering  
as you pull sweet nectar through 
your efficient siphoned beak.