Poetry In Progress

Poem Written Week of 9/2

She was old and tired with a broken leg,
Grey muzzle, and a pleading look in her eye.
Harassed by the other dog and left in the yard,
We shook our heads and asked,
	“Why don’t they help her?”
And so, it went. Sun and moon passed over
As calendars flipped to new pages.
Then came Irene. A force of nature
Tossing thick trunks onto wire fences
And drowning the hills with the creek.
Left alone, she knew to take shelter.
Hobbling to the door, she whined but
Our family had already left.
Except for my father, who stayed
Behind to watch over the treasured
Memories of house and home.
He saw her on the step, and let her into
The house under siege from the sky.
Irene came and went, its wrath
Never landing at the house.
Our family returned to a lightless home,
As did the neighbors. We told them,
        “We’re keeping her.”

Poem Written Week of 9/9

I know this is wrong
Yet I still keep the world
At arm’s length.

I decry injustices brought
Upon the disenfranchised
While actively benefitting
From the unpaid labor of
Starving children on the 
Other side of the globe.
I wear patches that declare
Myself a rebel, patches
Sewn by hands that have
Never worked a real day.
My heart bleeds for the
Images of the dead and dying
I see on the internet
While I continue to scroll
Without paying a second glance.

I know this is wrong
Yet still I keep the world
At arm’s length.

Is this vicarious pain
Just a performance to
Convince others - 
No, not others,
Myself
That I am more than just
A coward?

I am a cardboard peacock.
See my bright colors,
See my declarations,
And know there is nothing 
else behind me.

Poem Written Week of 9/12

The pipes throw a mix
Of hot and cold at me,
A gradient of ouch-too-hot!
and instant-sober-cold.
Everything must be done
Under the shower head.
What remains of my hair
Must be smothered in foam,
My teeth given a good and 
Long minty brush,
My razor must glide across
My face for a shave
Smoother than the sink.
Now I am awake, and
Now I am presentable.

Poem written 9/12

At the buoy
The captain and his son
Lower linen sails.
Clouds kiss the waters
As the waves
Rock the men
In their cradle.
Ashy skies above
Reflect on the dark sea below.

From the fog comes
A deep rumbling,
An alarm to warn of
A giant's approach.
The son holds tight
The spyglass to his eye
As a metal behemoth
Emerges through the fog,
Filling the air with
The stench of coal smoke.
"It's just a ship," the captain sighs.
The pair drift quietly,
Huddled around the cherry buoy
Staring at the floating steel
Passing by.

Poem Written 9/16 – “Does God Care?”

Our home rots
Under the setting sun.
Iron turns red
And brown like dried blood.
Our sweat and our tears
Built the tracks upon which
Powerful engines propelled us
Into an industrial future.
And now those engines are silent,
Dead on the tracks.
We cry out for relief,
And the powerful avert their eyes.

Poem Written 9/16 – Dancing

Positively electric
Two star-souls in motion
Weaving in and around and 
Through the space between us.
We can do naught but
Giggle and sing each other’s names
Until we run out of steam
And fall once more into each other’s arms.

So come now, let us
Move harmoniously.

Poem Written 9/22 – Theme Parks

Everybody says I’m missing out,
but I just don’t understand.
All of my friends spend their day
at the park standing in line,
waiting for something that
might be fun for a short time.
When they’re done with the ride,
I watch them scamper to the
nearest trash can as they
puke out their guts.

That’s not to say I don’t see the appeal.
Sitting next to some other ignorant soul,
growing tension as you rise together into the sky
until there’s a great, fast moment as you
rocket down the hill screaming as loud as you can.
It sounds exhilarating.
When I watch my friends as they pair off
desperate to reach the peak,
they seem so excited, those adrenaline junkies.
I sit and watch alone on the park bench
waiting for them to finish.
I feel like I do miss out on something I can’t feel.

When I try to get in line,
I get bored and run off
before I even reach the car.
The seats are uncomfortable,
the speed is enough to make me sick,
and I abhor physical touch.
They tell me those don’t matter, that
being that close to someone is special.
What they don’t seem to get
through their speed demon heads,
is that maybe I just don’t like roller coasters.

Poem Written 9/23

I am holding you across thousands of miles
My hands grip your arms as we sit, 
forehead touching forehead
Please, release your anger, your sorrow
Let me hear you cry, let me hear your pain
Please just let me know that you are there
and that you can hear these words.
Please respond.
Please.

Poem Written 9/26

“Everything I know 
 about shaving I learned
 from movies and TV.”

“Did your father teach 
  you anything?”

 “No, not much.
  Just who not to be.”

Poem Written 9/26 – I’m Sorry, Mom

This time last year
we began to shift apart.
The election loomed,
You started your third job,
and Addie had just turned 5.
My disillusion began to take root
when you said 5 words
when I was most vulnerable.

            “Why are you a woman?”

I don’t think you wore a mask.
I was just blind to the ways
we, or maybe just I, changed.
I don’t want this play to end
yet here we sit, with the curtain
making its final call.
I want to believe you love me,
but you make it so hard.

Poem Written 9/29

Arm in arm like otters
we drift across the sea
with a keen eye for predators
and any oysters we could eat.
This great exchange of letters
and the emotions they result in
have kept me all the better
though the world seemed to cave in.
So, keep in check those urchins,
they’ll get you tangled in the weeds.
As we sail to new horizons,
I’m glad you’ll share this raft with me.

Poem Written 10/9 – Maddie

I hold you like a man
overboard clings to a life ring.
Your soft, golden hair remains
just as I remember, almost white
in the light of the summer morning.
I cradle you as if you were the last
match in the box during the dead
of winter. Your warmth seeps into me,
wrapping around me like a blanket
over the child that has gone far,
far too long without good night’s
rest.

When I wake, my bed is as empty
and cold as ever. I grasp at a pillow
in the hopes to rekindle you.

Poem written 10/14 – Missing Link

I look down
at my hands
and I feel
like a monkey.

Hairs growing
out like a
weed in the
garden’s bounty.

Rough enough
to tear and
forget real,
present danger

to the self
these sausa-
ges can cause
with five fingers.

I repeat,
“These aren’t mine.
  These aren’t mine.
  These are not mine.”

Poem written 10/16

Suppose that you are walking
down the street. It’s night,
the blackness envelopes you
from all sides. The sky is 
a maw of void. The street-
lamps are your guide,
light weakly bouncing off
the asphalt.

Suppose you hear footsteps
behind you. You can’t turn
and look at who it is. That
would be weird and off-
putting, now, wouldn’t it?
The dull footfalls echo
in your head like a miner
stabbing into your skull
with a pickaxe.

Suppose the man behind you,
for it is always a man,
is following you. He’s 
taken the same turns,
he’s kept at your pace.
There’s a panic in your chest
tearing your heart apart
as the bpm starts to climb.
Does he want to know where
you live, where you sleep?
You take longer strides,
you walk ever so slightly
faster. Can’t let him know.

Suppose you hear him speed
up as well. Is he making his
move now? You start to run.
You can’t let him catch you,
you’ve seen the news!
Then
you turn the final corner and
there is your door! Light,
home, rest! The door clicks
behind you as you breathe
harshly and deeply. You are
safe. The iron locks hold
steadfast as you attempt to
steal a glance at your pursuer.

Suppose there was never
a man to begin with.

Poem Written 10/21 – Ode to the Bass

The lower ranges of our
hearing are places that 
few dare to tread. Yet
you thrive in that space,
the deeper, the better.

The guitars screech out
their flashy solos while
the singers try to hog
the spotlight. Even the 
drummers get some time
for themselves, the animals.

You are ignored despite
being the glue that binds
the guitars and drums
into a full unit, a band.

Oh! Let the thunderous
rumbling deep within my soul
escape out into the wider world
so that it may join with another’s
harmony and our hearts may,
for once in this tumult, beat
in perfect rhythm with one
another. May this song play
forever!

More people ought to be like
the bass: a unifying presence
unafraid to sit back and chug
along at their own pleasure.

Poem Written 10/24

Hydrurga,
Thin-clawed water worker,
I see your eyes, almost human.
White sclera peeks out from
behind inky pupils and stunning
irises.

“Come,” they say to me.
“Come and play along the 
pack ice with me while we
wait for the parade of penguins.
Come and swim just under the
surface of the water, silent
grace be our motto.
Come to me.”

Your siren trills serve to make
you more inviting and congenial
as they float across the water’s
mirror sheen.

And yet I know you, Hydrurga,
thin-clawed water worker,
fatal hunter of the frigid southern
reaches. I know your danger,
and that’s why my heart aches
to see you.

Poem Written 10/26

Dear Adam,

Oh, how I wish you were dead.
Your mere existence reminds
me of the worst parts
of life. The strained smiles,
suits that fit a tad too tight,
and muffled songs that never
escape the bedroom.

I don’t know why I thought I could
erase you from my life.
You were a marker of an
embarrassing past, a
mistake to be corrected,
and yet you continue to haunt me.

But now I think you’re in hospice,
and I’m scared. Scared of what
life without you, without family,
is like. At one point in time,
I hated you but now I feel like
you’re the family dog. I look back
at photos of us and I see that I’m
not happy but I don’t think you were
either. It’s for the best, I think, but
I’m not quite able to let go yet.

Maybe after I move out West,
maybe after mom dies,
I can finally put you to rest.
But for now, we still have 
a few years in us yet.

Poem Written 11/3

Crows can recognize specific people.

Looking back, I realize
you said “I love you”
like “goodbye.”
Between where you were and where I am
there’s 700 miles
as the crow flies,
yet I feel your absence like
a stone in my stomach.

In them, I see you.
Black feathers stark against
grey bark and blue sky.
I see the pictures you took of
flat woods,
nice flowers,
fun bugs,
pretty sunsets,
and dark train tracks.

Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t
have stopped you when you tried
to skip your meds and take that bus
to Portland. 

Maybe then, I would have
been able to hug you at least once.
Maybe then, I would have
been able to calm the fury inside for at least a moment.
Maybe then, I would have
gotten some sort of closure.

When I hear them cry at me,
I don’t know if it’s a cruel mockery
or if it’s you trying to tell me
you’re okay now.

Poem Written 11/7

If you’ve driven along
the Outer Banks, you are 
more than familiar with
the turtle hatchlings.
They crawl out from nowhere,
dark against the sand
and awkward in their movements.
Hundreds – God, maybe even
thousands – make a mad dash
for the surf. They bob and weave
between crabs and gulls,
cars and sharks.

Of course, they don’t all
make it. In fact, very dew
of them do. But when those
lucky few have finally cleared
the disaster zone, they are
truly free in that big, blue world
that once seemed an eternity away.