Pieces Written Here & There
Absence
The essence of you
lay softly on my pillow,
though the case
had grown cold.
**
A Poem Goes Here
a poem goes here
but i had to take it down
cuz it made even me blush
and i’m the one that wrote it!
it still makes me smirk though
and you can just about imagine
what was here before these words appeared.
ha!
just think about that for a while.
**
Can’t Sleep
Street lights soak the city
in a lemon-orange haze.
Sirens on the boulevard
and the clock in the next room
mock my restlessness.
**
Spite
The tiny Japanese woman
secretly hoped
the thought of her plagued him –
torturing him
and eroding his defenses
like water
dripping on a smooth rock.
**
Life
The endless quest
for meaning,
inspiration
and transcendence.
**
Kandinsky
a soft swirl of thick paint
from a dry fan brush
against a coarse canvas
**
Like Rain
It’s like rain,
she said.
Sometime warm
and soft
and a bit exhilarating.
I’ve never felt
warm rain,
he replied.
It’s only ever
icy and biting –
reminding me of
everything I’ve lost,
the mistakes I’ve made.
I’m sorry,
she said quietly,
feeling his isolation.
He was looking into her eyes
with a gaze like a man caged,
trapped behind bars.
What he wanted was freedom
from the intense gray
that plagued him like a
heartless stalker.
Even on the days it wasn’t present,
there was the fear of it.
It was a burden chained to
his heart –
a torture that
filled his mind
like rain.
**
Fundamental Questions
If the feeling is so strong,
how can it be wrong?
It is possible to move on
without letting go?
Possible to push one’s life forward
but be willing to drop it
in an instant?
**
One great summer
“Let’s make it a good summer,”
she said to me,
staring at the snow on the sidewalk
and looked up to gauge my reaction.
Every reason in the world
told me I shouldn’t
but I did it anyway,
I kissed her.
- Those were the last words
scrawled across the back page
of his journal,
and I haven’t seen him since.
Haven’t seen him since he
walked out the back screen door
with that guitar strapped to his back
and a helmet under his arm.
I didn’t even go to the window
to see the dust roll up behind him
as that bike roared away.
I didn’t have to.
**
Have you ever?
Have you ever wanted to know
a highway that never ends?
Have you ever wanted to sit
at the edge of the Grand Canyon
in silence
and watch the sun go down?
Have you ever wanted to lay
the seats back in your convertible
and listen to power ballads,
staring at the stars
and holding hands?
**
“That’s how you know you’ve found someone special –
when you can just shut the fuck up for a minute
and enjoy the silence.” – Mia, Pulp Fiction
**
Wouldn’t Make My Feelings End
If I had to say goodbye tonight,
I would.
If you walked through that door
and told me she’s stolen your heart
and you’ve asked for her hand,
I wouldn’t scream.
I’d smile through my tears
and give you a hug.
Say I’m happy for you
and die a million times inside.
I’d open that door
and hope the pain
would follow you out.
**
Truth
every song
reminds me
of you
**
Since Spring
A million words have jettisoned
across my brain,
but few were captured.
**
Old Man: If Life Could Be Rewound
If life could be rewound
he said,
I’d do it all again.
I’d hold back no reserve
and then
I’d take back all was said –
in hatred, anger and the rest –
and learn to bow my head.
I’d run and swing
and jump and love
and never fear again.
I’d cherish every moment
and dwell not in the past;
I’d stop to smell the flowers more
and cherish things that last.
**
Pulp
Sometime around August
I gave in,
dropped my heart in a blender
and set it to puree
until nothing was left
but pulp.
**
Sweet Scent of Spring
the daffodils cupped the sunshine
like gold or honey
and stood peacefully in a snowy blanket
of pink petals –
blossoms that drifted down
from the boughs above
the day held promise
and freely offered
the sunshine
growing on rooftops to the East
and dancing in the clouds above
**
London
There was a bench
in Bloomsbury Square
where I sat
next to the ghost of Virginia Woolfe
as she smoked
a long,
thin
cigarette.
**
untitled
Illusions are,
by their nature,
sweet.
**
Hilton Head
Here, with the sun
setting on the ocean,
and palmettos quieted
by the din of the ocean...
**
Savannah Slave Memorial
The ghosts of struggle,
of sacrifice,
of sanctity.
**
On the Horizon
The stars,
gazing at one another,
spy on the secrets
of ships on the horizon.
**
Disappointment
She was
angry at the world
and craving
relief.
**
Moving On
It’s like the phone number you dialed
every day for six years
and now can’t even remember.
It doesn’t matter to you anymore
and you question
how it ever did.
**
Where’s that leave you?
Rationality falls away,
melts,
and slides down
a drain.
**
Frustration
She haunts you
and you hate it,
this lyrical enigma -
the spirit of you
you didn’t know was missing
until she stole a friend from your life.
**
Hopeless
You hate him for it –
for making you feel this way,
like you’re never good enough.
**
Inside
There are a million
subtleties I want to know
about you, but am too
afraid to ask.
**
Separate Ways
Get the hell out of my life,
he hissed through gritted teeth.
It was all he could do
to keep from slapping her.
**
What is it
I want us to
blow up this thing
between us,
the horrible awkwardness.
**
Face It
Just because
you’ve gotten good
at hiding it,
doesn’t mean
it’s not there.
**
Searching For Utopia
Utopia is not here –
it’s where you are,
the terrain of little
consequence –
stands beyond my
windowpane –
a void and desolate
expanse of wasteland.
**
Unintentional
You hurt me
like a million jagged arrows,
piercing my heart
until my soul seeps out
forming a puddle at your feet.
**
Hiding
You were crying inside,
but the others couldn’t see.
I wanted to reach out to you
but the one you wanted wasn’t me.
The cool facade gave little indication
except the eyes that could not hide
the torrents of torment that
stormed you without mercy
until all you wanted
was to give in.
**
Haven
The thin skin of sanity – stretched to its max
beneath its translucence throbs a tangle of songs,
lyrics knowable, but muffled.
**
Elephant in the Room
You worry me.
There is something in your eyes
that begs for help –
a fear perhaps
or pain,
a worry of your own.
Forgive me if I’m wrong,
but it feels sad,
not light.
I didn’t want to pry,
grill you with questions –
and so, let the silence linger
praying you’d offer up
a small window
voluntarily.
The undisclosed topics
hung heavy on air –
an awkward unspoken giant.
The small allusions that bubbled up
confused me
and left only enough clues
to make interpretation dangerous.
Are you okay?
Your family? Career?
Do you have a child on the way?
Is your roommate more than a roommate?
I want to be supportive
but am unsure what you need.
The only thing I can hope
is you know I support you.
If there is something I can do
for you, I pray you will ask
because no matter what it is,
I would do it.
**
Reaching Out
Maybe you wanted to turn and tell me,
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m lost,” you’d say and turn away
anticipating what would follow,
the look of surprise and adoration
I could not hide.
Time would move in slow motion
as I wondered what to say –
a million different options
would cross my mind.
At last your voice would
draw me back,
still not knowing what to say.
Should I tell you the truth –
tell you you’ll be loved
no matter what you choose –
or ask what you want to do?
**
Rage
Fuck you.
You made a mistake.
You.
I had the guts.
I went back in.
Nothing. Nothing.
You fucked up.
**
Not Complicated
You want a fluffy twit?
An inch-deep puddle?
Go elsewhere.
Enigmatic,
eclectic
and challenging?
I am here.
**
In the Subway at 2am
“You follow your heart. That’s a dangerous way to live.” – Salvatorre
**
You’re Still You
Are you
trying to tell me
you’re gay?
That you need
my support
and I’ve just
complicated everything
and made it impossible
for you to tell me?
If that’s the case,
I want you to know
that I support you
no matter what.
You’re still you,
and you still
mean the world to me.
**
your love for her
like a
small secret
held close
and
rarely spoken of
**
Shut Up
Yea, I used to listen to your stuff too,
but put it on the shelf
after Dallou got shot.
Shit’s gotta stop.
Sit down,
close your eyes
and reflect.
The anger of your music is trite,
like teenagers who hate the world –
you provide hopeless tracks
for those who lash out,
powerless.
Now soak in the layers
of the album I just handed you.
Appreciate it for its technicality,
get underneath your prejudice
and feel its honesty, its energy,
the movement.
Posted by Amanda at May 22, 2004 12:44 AM
