And Until We Meet Again

The setting: A porch on a pavillion on the edge of the ocean. An overhead light encases the porch in a dim lit dream. An old man sits silently smoking his cigarette next to a much younger man. Both are sitting on white rocking chairs with tall bars in back, and a gentle rocker to them. For a moment or a lifetime, they stare into the dark ocean and both are encased in the serenity and timelessness of the ancient sea that has watched man bustle out and explode onto their shores. Our camera slowly pans in and a faint resemblance is obvious. Cut to a close up of the old mans face as he stares out again with a quiet smile. His deep wrinkles and loosened skin seem to give him a kind natured impression at first glance, in your next glance you notice his eyes. His striking blue eyes echo clear waters with an ever growing sense of depth to be explored. As the camera slides back we notice a dark haired young man sitting and rocking at the same pace as his elder next to him. He has light brown eyes with golden speckles and a stern brow. Dark lines under his eyes give an impression of worry. We cut to a shot of them from past the breakers, encased in the dim golden light. Cut to a profile whose focus fades from the young man to old. Now we see them both center shot and an exchange takes place between them. The audio track is all breeze and blowing hard. After they both take a long glance at each other, the old man puts his left hand on the younger's shoulder. He stands, the shot panning out to hold his figure framed perfectly as he extends and turns to look at his grandchild. The violent ocean clashed with his proud Irish soul and he walked away into the darkness and wind. His figure disappearing into the fog. We cut to the young man deep in thought and then a smile breaks his worried face open into a look of real hope. A shit-eating grin that beam, and eyes full of fire. His laugh carries on the wind clear down the shoreline and out, to the horizon.

Cold

Are you the devil, dressed as a woman with dark eyes and a beautiful smile?
Are you here to remind me that my heart would freeze an icicle?
No matter how fast I rub my hands together, there is no warmth or static energy in them.
Nor is the world. The world I promised would be ours isn't sitting quietly in my palms,
but dragging me kicking and screaming in space and time.
Will you make me weep again?
Are you not satisfied with the mushroom cloud drowning out my stars?
I get one mid December breath in and am warmed.
Please leave me alone to freeze in silence.

Brush with Disaster

When the accident happened I was asked to describe the pain on a scale of none to ten, ten being the worst pain I've ever felt. All of the ribs on my left side were fractured, one popped my left lung and had collapsed it, and my arm was sprained. The doctor said that I must have hit the asphalt at 40 miles an hour and could have easily died. I stopped when they asked me about the pain, and my first thought was of you. I dont think that would even fit on a scale. I lied. I stared straight into his eyes and said ten. Maybe morphine can drip your memory away.

Lie to me

Just let my love lie.
Let me believe that angels conspire to write our storybook ending.
That we are growing everyday in some way to lie close again.
Sometimes your brazen and pretend that love, like the songbird,
wont fall to the ground in the first frost.
Other times you grow shy and drop clues that I'm the one in love with you.
We are a seesaw and I'm just falling down into the pit beaten by godless children before me,
while you are flung towards the sunset and the great Apollo smiles.
Just come back to Earth someday.
Tell me you've always loved me.
Lie to me.

Ghost Stories

Yes, I'm gone. I'm a ghost, a distant memory. There is no more warmth left to my touch. My eyes smolder as the tears put the fire in them out. The smoke collects in a cloud that is ever trailing me, and trailing to the heavens. This must be purgatory, I must be dead. I try to speak but cant commit to volume and mumble my words. I laugh at funerals and cry for lovers. At least at a funeral some progress is made. Lovers are doomed to tragedy and pain, both from within their hearts and the growing problems of age. Welcome to my world, where communication becomes a puzzle to solve that consumes life. How can I speak? My mind races through underground tunnels searching for my grave robbed heart. I have unfinished business to do. I have to find an angel to restore my heart to me. I swear I'm a good spirit, I just want to feel again. I'll keep my eyes locked on the stars and constellations and pray that I stumble blindly into you. Wrap me in your wings and show me how to love again. Miracles only happen when they dont matter, so for now I'm somewhere looking for something else. If you cant believe in love you start to fade away like me. Things stop feeling good or bad. People drift in and out of life like leaves down a river. Love is about finding someone to fall apart with. To destroy your mask and stand bravely face to face. I miss the warmth in my cheeks when I would smile at you. I miss feeling like everyone that saw us was inspired by how strongly our love shone. I miss laying in bed cuddled together to stay off the cold of the winter. But for now I'm just a friendly ghost. Cold, dead, and cowardly. Terrified of the shadows that cast themselves onto me.

A Look at a Trees Life

The trees are waving their branches at me.
Their tops are filled with shadows and flames.
I've never seen a tree uproot and flee from drought or a monsoon.
We call you deciduous, but you don't grow any differently from it.
You don't shed your leaves and become what we say.
Grow towards the sun, not away.

Exploding Tension

Sometimes I feel like exploding. My head is tipped to the sky and my arms outstretch to the horizon lines. My fingertips disappear, and strings of the words I never said stream out into the atmosphere. They gather in groups and form clouds that blot out the stars and force the world to sit in silence, to live like me. I scream but instead of sound comes a bright light that skyrockets right into the middle of that ebony monster of words and night. The light blinds me and after the beam has left my body I slump to the ground. I cant see where I am but I feel a gentle raindrop fall on my cheek.Now another drops on my nose. And now on my ear. I start to hear not raindrops falling around me with their steady rhythm, but something else. Softly at first, as a child whispers, but becoming louder and more distinct with each quickening drop were words instead of rain. "Im Sorry.""Everything is Great,""I believe in you,""I love you."

A Quiet Memory

I ask to see the tattoo on her thumb as she punches my ticket. She hesitatingly shows me a rose with two thorns etched in the wrinkled webbing between her pointer finger and thumb. She says slowly, "Its old, almost 40 years now." Wiith a sad smile she turns and walks down the corridor of strangers off to live their lives. I wish I had told her that tattoos like memories and love, never die. That we show our tattoos and scars with the pride that can only be attained by the few who are no longer scared of themselves.

Panic Attack

Tick. Your eyes go distant. Tick. Your brow turns from a gentle stream over your eyes to a raging river. Tick. You draw your strong arms up against your chest to hold your heart in your body. Tick.
Your eyes slide back and forth as your mind chases its tail. Tick. Breathing gets harder and only gasps escape like prisoners with life sentences yearning to be free. Tick. Without realizing it, the rocking starts. Tick. Rambling now, hoping that the words sprinting off your tongue will return with help. Tock.

Its Been A Rough Fall

[Just a little editors note before I post alot of my newer poetry. I wound up in the psychiatric ward twice and the hospital many times the last few months and am still trying to recover the person I am. The following entries delve into my madness. Enjoy.]

Im half alive.
Im catatonic.
I need to fix this.
I dont know why you hate me so much.
I dont know whats real or fake.
People keep talking to me,
but I only half hear, half see.
Its a beautiful day outside, I guess.

Dreams

Without our dreams to guide us, mankind would have extinguished the fire of life before it could start. Without dreams of the future, no future can exist. A rose is just a seasonal flower with thorns on the stem, without the romance born in the dreams and imaginations of millions. All around us the dreams of those who came before project themselves onto our world. Every technological advancement in the products we use daily to communicate, every billboard and book, every child and the stuffed animals they cling to them for comfort, is the end result of what started as a dream. Dreams are the insight that allows us to see the world not only as it is, but as it could be. Without our dreams of romance and love, the world would be a machine running until theres no more gas. Our dreams become something more than ourselves and paint our world in our heart, minds, and eyes. Whether our dreams live on in our loved ones and their memories, our art or influence, or even a beautiful garden; Our Dreams are what make us Real.

She

Shes a flower with a stoma of sun and petals or stars shining.
Shes fire on the horizon of a blackening night.
As the tide ebbs and the moon recedes beneath a blanket of clouds,
I see her dancing among the shells scattered down the coast to warmer lands.
Where two souls laid hollow,
She stitches and sews hearts of sorrow until only love shows.
I will be the moon to her sun.
And when we align the world will explode into light and lay silent in awe.

We Love

We Love on silent winter beaches in the solace of the suns bright rays.
We Love in smooth stones and beautiful shells suspended in calm waters.
We Love at times when time has turned backwards and thrown us to the future.
We Love hailstorms and comfortable covers in strong warm embrace.
We Love on rails of steel and wood and in frantic races to what awaits us.
Love is all that we know how to do. Love can change the world.