Today,
the telephone wires connect us.
Across the road
sit obelisks of cement,
casting shadows and casting lines:
Those cables travel across
a phantasmagoria of forests
and fields
and factories.
Beneath the earth
—amidst the burrows of
little-seen critters—
they extend their tendrils,
traveling onwards.
Across the floor
of a trillion tons of tepid water
—the ocean offers no obstacle—
electricity has flown
for over fifty years.
They sprint across a continent
to reach where you now sit.
And when you look at that bit of cable
—suspended seemingly insignificantly—
I look at the same bit of cable
right here.
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
19 August, 2017
23 July, 2017
#0125 - We will dance
through fires,
and frostbite;
‘neath sunlight
and starlight.
We will leave footsteps
—pellucid relics
of spirits lifted high
and worries hung to dry.
There’ll be paths where we’ve been:
Waltzes in the frost of snow,
Polka ‘pon the coals of fire,
Charleston in the sands of time.
The world will tell
a simple tale:
Entranced,
we danced.
And everyone will wonder
how, in darkness immured,
we laughed in the night
as we kept our sights centred
on the light of our gaze
and our endless embrace.
and frostbite;
‘neath sunlight
and starlight.
We will leave footsteps
—pellucid relics
of spirits lifted high
and worries hung to dry.
There’ll be paths where we’ve been:
Waltzes in the frost of snow,
Polka ‘pon the coals of fire,
Charleston in the sands of time.
The world will tell
a simple tale:
Entranced,
we danced.
And everyone will wonder
how, in darkness immured,
we laughed in the night
as we kept our sights centred
on the light of our gaze
and our endless embrace.
18 July, 2017
#0123 - "My bed without you"
A little too cold,
a little too small,
a little too quiet,
a little too empty.
No one to steal the covers,
No one to steal the pillows,
No one to approach,
No one to accompany.
Nothing but inanimate covers
laying like forgotten rags.
Nothing but inanimate cushions—
fabric instead of skin.
That's my bed without you.
But I'll think of your company
and maybe you'll think of mine:
I'll make do for the night,
'til we're again side by side.
a little too small,
a little too quiet,
a little too empty.
No one to steal the covers,
No one to steal the pillows,
No one to approach,
No one to accompany.
Nothing but inanimate covers
laying like forgotten rags.
Nothing but inanimate cushions—
fabric instead of skin.
That's my bed without you.
But I'll think of your company
and maybe you'll think of mine:
I'll make do for the night,
'til we're again side by side.
21 May, 2017
11 May, 2017
#0114 - Child's Play
It wasn’t as if you could call it child’s play.
I didn't think it was haphazard.
I didn't think it was spontaneous.
I didn't think it was usual.
I didn't think it was that in-the-moment grace
that, yes, I love
but that kind of depends on how you interpret it,
and on the context.
This situation didn't need that in-the-moment grace—
it should have lasted longer than a moment.
I didn't think it was haphazard.
I didn't think it was spontaneous.
I didn't think it was usual.
I didn't think it was that in-the-moment grace
that, yes, I love
but that kind of depends on how you interpret it,
and on the context.
This situation didn't need that in-the-moment grace—
it should have lasted longer than a moment.
10 May, 2016
13 April, 2016
#0026 - "Costs are naught when time is set aside"
With time, the nightly hours spent alone
Gave eager way to conscious, lawless trysts.
Returning nightly to my dreams' abode,
Following moonlit hug, embrace and kiss.
Dust gathers, slowly coats leather-bound books
Sitting neglected on my wooden shelves -
For them my thoughts no longer long or ache,
But rather seek to with my other dwell.
Strings pegged on a guitar, strung tight as coils,
Are tense, but not as are my longing whims.
Like snapping strings my mind fast bursts with joy
When they I near, and hold as close as gems.
But costs are naught when time is set aside
For those who dearly in your heart reside.
Gave eager way to conscious, lawless trysts.
Returning nightly to my dreams' abode,
Following moonlit hug, embrace and kiss.
Dust gathers, slowly coats leather-bound books
Sitting neglected on my wooden shelves -
For them my thoughts no longer long or ache,
But rather seek to with my other dwell.
Strings pegged on a guitar, strung tight as coils,
Are tense, but not as are my longing whims.
Like snapping strings my mind fast bursts with joy
When they I near, and hold as close as gems.
But costs are naught when time is set aside
For those who dearly in your heart reside.
14 March, 2016
#0010 - "It seems like people talk and hug and kiss"
It seems like people talk and hug and kiss and lay together
not because they've earned the right to do so
but because they can,
and if they can then why shouldn't they?
It's all a game, and they're just there to play it through:
Meet,
talk,
hug,
kiss,
sex.
Finish it all like a campaign in Call of Duty:
Hunt,
stalk,
shoot,
kill,
endgame.
Finish it all like a play, like a broadway show:
Curtains rise,
they talk,
they sing,
they dance,
then you let the curtains fall back down.
Finish it all like a movie:
Titles,
introductions,
the tempers rise,
the climax appears in an explosion of meaningless color,
and once the conflict is resolved everyone lives happily as the credits roll
along the blackened screen.
Movies are the best, though,
because you can skip past the dull parts and flip to the exciting ones
- why bother with formalities
when the exciting parts are a button press away?
And it gets boring.
You've finished the game,
so you throw it in your dumpster or return it to Gamestop for $5 or leave it
under the crap in your closet to collect more dust than the sweater you got
from grandma that's always been two sizes too small.
You've experienced the show,
so you leave the theatre and throw out the ticket stub as you do; don't bother
keeping it, because it's not a memory - you just needed that extra credit
in your english class because you didn't feel like reading up in first semester.
You've experienced the movie,
so you return it to Redbox or look at what similar titles Netflix is offering you;
you tell your friends about the exciting parts but forget the slower parts
because you weren't paying attention or because you were busy holding
"fast forward" on your black, plastic remote.
I won't ever finish you like a game.
I won't ever throw out memories of you like ticket stubs.
I won't ever give you back like a borrowed disk
and forget the parts I could have skipped over.
not because they've earned the right to do so
but because they can,
and if they can then why shouldn't they?
It's all a game, and they're just there to play it through:
Meet,
talk,
hug,
kiss,
sex.
Finish it all like a campaign in Call of Duty:
Hunt,
stalk,
shoot,
kill,
endgame.
Finish it all like a play, like a broadway show:
Curtains rise,
they talk,
they sing,
they dance,
then you let the curtains fall back down.
Finish it all like a movie:
Titles,
introductions,
the tempers rise,
the climax appears in an explosion of meaningless color,
and once the conflict is resolved everyone lives happily as the credits roll
along the blackened screen.
Movies are the best, though,
because you can skip past the dull parts and flip to the exciting ones
- why bother with formalities
when the exciting parts are a button press away?
And it gets boring.
You've finished the game,
so you throw it in your dumpster or return it to Gamestop for $5 or leave it
under the crap in your closet to collect more dust than the sweater you got
from grandma that's always been two sizes too small.
You've experienced the show,
so you leave the theatre and throw out the ticket stub as you do; don't bother
keeping it, because it's not a memory - you just needed that extra credit
in your english class because you didn't feel like reading up in first semester.
You've experienced the movie,
so you return it to Redbox or look at what similar titles Netflix is offering you;
you tell your friends about the exciting parts but forget the slower parts
because you weren't paying attention or because you were busy holding
"fast forward" on your black, plastic remote.
I won't ever finish you like a game.
I won't ever throw out memories of you like ticket stubs.
I won't ever give you back like a borrowed disk
and forget the parts I could have skipped over.
09 March, 2016
#0005 - "Where is your love"
Where is your love when you're staring down death?
Where is it when you're sick?
When you're hurt?
When you're lost?
Does your love keep you afloat when the dam breaks and the city drowns;
when the water flows above your legs, above your neck, above your head and
flailing arms?
Does it save you then?
Does it bring air to your lungs when the concrete keeps you down?
Does your love keep you sane when your voices speak and scream;
when you look but cannot see, and when you scream but your voice you can't
perceive?
Does it save you then?
Does it tame your thoughts when they run like rabid dogs across the landscape
of your mind?
Does your love keep you alive when you're laying in your bed;
white tape and casts on arms and legs, your bones aching and your muscles dead?
Does it save you then?
Does it get you out of bed when your heart refuses to produce the beat
that proves that you're alive?
Yes, it does.
The dam may break and the city may drown,
but even if I cannot keep from going under,
my love will be the reason I can disappear into the murky blue with a smile on my face.
The voices may speak and scream and sing and yell,
but even if I cannot keep them silent,
my love will be the reason I can still hear her voice when all I hear is noise.
The bones may shatter and muscles tear,
but even if my bed becomes my home,
my love will be the reason I can lay there still without a need or want to move.
My love may not save me like foreign blood and sturdy splints,
it may not dull my mind like Aspirin and Clozaril,
it may not keep me breathing air like rubber mask and metal tank,
But it can make the broken bones go away,
it can make the voices silent,
and it can make me lose the need for lungs.
My love won't solve my problems,
but it will make them go away
in the same way that my soul is taken away
when she grips my hand and holds me close.
Where is it when you're sick?
When you're hurt?
When you're lost?
Does your love keep you afloat when the dam breaks and the city drowns;
when the water flows above your legs, above your neck, above your head and
flailing arms?
Does it save you then?
Does it bring air to your lungs when the concrete keeps you down?
Does your love keep you sane when your voices speak and scream;
when you look but cannot see, and when you scream but your voice you can't
perceive?
Does it save you then?
Does it tame your thoughts when they run like rabid dogs across the landscape
of your mind?
Does your love keep you alive when you're laying in your bed;
white tape and casts on arms and legs, your bones aching and your muscles dead?
Does it save you then?
Does it get you out of bed when your heart refuses to produce the beat
that proves that you're alive?
Yes, it does.
The dam may break and the city may drown,
but even if I cannot keep from going under,
my love will be the reason I can disappear into the murky blue with a smile on my face.
The voices may speak and scream and sing and yell,
but even if I cannot keep them silent,
my love will be the reason I can still hear her voice when all I hear is noise.
The bones may shatter and muscles tear,
but even if my bed becomes my home,
my love will be the reason I can lay there still without a need or want to move.
My love may not save me like foreign blood and sturdy splints,
it may not dull my mind like Aspirin and Clozaril,
it may not keep me breathing air like rubber mask and metal tank,
But it can make the broken bones go away,
it can make the voices silent,
and it can make me lose the need for lungs.
My love won't solve my problems,
but it will make them go away
in the same way that my soul is taken away
when she grips my hand and holds me close.