Ruffled pillow case, Disheveled sheets
At night, Alone, He sleeps -
The pillow draped within his arms
The pillow draped within his heart
Of her he dreams.
He grew tired of all the sober scenes
So at night, alone, he sleeps -
A drink grasped within his palm
Reciting prayers, singing psalms
Of her he thinks.
In the morning, his eyelids lift
Off the mattress hangs a limb
His arm around the pillow’s waist
His lips are to the pillow’s face
If it were her.
The best love rap you’ll ever hear. Reblog and support!
A beam of light treads a path on the floor in the hallway from my father’s room. The door is left ajar and from inside, the echoes of rattling dice are heard. Five dice loaded into the cup, shaken, and then thrown onto the couch repeatedly. Bundles of loose-leaf scattered across the second cushion were stained with black sharpie, they divided the papers into a few columns. “Yahtzee!” he exclaims occasionally, marking his papers. His excitement so faint it’d seem someone stabbed a sentient creature and with it’s final dying breath it released a deluded call of victory, or perhaps a daring claim of freedom.
Two years retired from laboring with Verizon, a job that left him with bi-annual visits to the chiropractor and a bummed knee, now his nine to five is this game. (A union worker willing to depart his post? Here’s your pension, now get out). A familiar odor clings to his maroon carpet. Some blend of Marlboro (Menthol) paired with marker, and beer in the air and creeps through the crevice to his realm and beside him on his desk lies a Budweiser can like a memo. Freshly ashed cigarettes still smoke in the ash tray, and this mixture casts him into the past, shuffling through memories like shelved files.
Stories that he told my brother and I, anecdotes we passively listened to while our subtle thumbs increased the volume on our Ipods while inside the car, but I heard them (quite a few times). One instance (while in a fuzzy state) my father met a man who stacked three pool balls, one on top of the other two against the edge of the table, and bet he could hit the ball on top without touching the bottom two. From a comfortable lean on his pool stick, my father slammed a few dollars onto the edge of the pool table and nodded. With slight impact, this man hit the cue ball and it rolled slowly across the turf and just before it collided with the two bottom pool balls this man slammed his fist onto the table. At this instant, the two pool balls rolled away, the top ball fell into position, and the cue ball hit the top ball. A few dollars, all gone.
Sorted out on the arm of the couch were a few lottery tickets which flailed from the gentle winds conjured up by the ceiling fan. Some of the numbers scratched out while other pink slips had scribbled on them “free ticket”. Over head, the blades propelled a small tornado of smoke to encase the room. The smells pervaded in this strange cloudy mixture and the heat tends to fogs his glasses. Eventually he’ll remove them and hold whatever he is looking at from a further distance, squinting all the while. He’s far sighted but my Dad is getting old.
Paddling my meteorite canoe
Through the dense milky way
Led astray from the waning moon
Strafing through the bright array
One vibrant giant serves as guide
For sirius love uncrosses stars
Each romance, worlds away unite
Super nova’s ignite inside two hearts
The passion from two hearts;
Oxygen to flames,
Each ember soars through our eyes
Piercing each pupil -
Possessing each iris.
We exhale warm fronts
As humidity and perspiration accumulate,
We’re absorbed into a hurricane.
Weather the storm?
Rain fall and fierce winds
Render fire feeble,
Whether the storm subsides
Or not.
I
Freshly stacked wooden blocks
Unmoved by quakes -
Stand proudly and complete.
Each brick relies upon the other,
Cemented -
So even the most fragile piece
Can keep the structure erect.
II
We are Jenga towers.
Life picks and prods at us -
Brick by brick,
Removing our stability.
Broken walls and holey floors
Make the tower feeble,
What could not be moved by force
Collapses with a gentle breeze.
Rain drops pounce into puddles,
Ripples disperse and surge the curbs as
Swift winds blow and disrupt their ebb,
They flow along side the gale’s whims
Ephemeral as earthly desire’s;
Ever changing, transforming, transgressing.
Puddles form rivers on the street side
Swept into the sewage pipes -
On the river side, waiting on a bus
A young man flicks his cigarette butt
Into the stream.
We pollute the smallest things
Hurricanes have winds gentler
Than the hearts of man
They gust with much more passion
Move me where I stand
Tsunami’s drown less victims
Than men who seek revenge
Toxins taint the spirits
Who drive for lives to end
Who’s subservient to what master?
Of man and nature, which is disaster?
The Sun and The Moon
A celestial orb refracting the beams
Of an ever radiant star. The star illuminates
The earth brilliantly and paints the waters
In lighter more lucid hues of blue.
Stirring the sylphs who dance blindly,
Without caution or concern for the leaves
They disturb, and firm tree trunks.
Grass blades sway by the breeze,
In turn they slowly part each wind
Into two. Casting shadows of clouds onto
Flower beds and shield tiny creatures
From the suns merciless heat.
A celestial orb refracting the beams
Of an ever radiant star. It too illuminates
The earth from the darkest of shade,
Enlightening the nightscape.
Glimmering off of the cataracts so that
Moonlight poured into the receiving pool
Giving faint glows onto surrounding flowers.
Stars like spritzers of water droplets
Seem to absorb some essence of this
Light to shine with it. Clouds all but cease,
As shadows fall over the sleeping grass blades
Grazing over the earth in slow motion.
The sun shines brilliantly and gives us vision
The moon a gentle touch of light
The sun gives the greens a marvelous description;
The moon, ambiguous curiosity on life.
Unrest possesses me -
Some Norton anthology introduces Shelley
And professor Wang reads with great interest,
But my eyes hone into the distance
Peering through two columns at a collage of colors.
The trees perched below a pale blue sky
Yellow, orange, red, green, and dull brown
Clashed with the shade of the sky
Clouds obscuring the true hue that lies above
And force UV rays to bend and weaken.
The breeze flows through an open window
Caressing a dusty chalk board,
Pages flipping sporadically
And hands slapped down onto their books
To prevent this.
This same breeze that mesmerized my unrest
And wrought some vision of the distant trees.
How this sylph dances with the trunks of these
Thousand year old giants, shaking hands with
Browning leaves and their fragile stems snap -
And they slide down her hair like it were a gyre.
Bushes and flowers sway when she runs
And as she skips acorns and berries roll slightly
Until they wedge between sod and root.
