Poem 20160215b

these days
it seems like every day is a sunday
slow to get started
without the hope of a friday
without the promise of a saturday
without even the grim potential of a monday morning

and there are only so many times
you can attempt the crossword puzzle
only so many times you can erase
–you were so careful, using pencil
—-you heard that true confidence was
using a pen to fill out a crossword
——you don’t have that kind of confidence

only so many times you can linger
over breakfast
–oh god, what about a poached egg
—-does anyone really like them
——you could never make them without breaking them

sunday every day sunday stretching on

Poem 20160214

i want to be a cartographer
when i grow up
although only a grown up ought to say
that he wants to chart every curve
every hill
every slope
of you

the map is not the territory they say
but i refuse to create an unusable guide
–something destined for a dusty
grave beneath a book
on some mouldering shelf–
without first hand knowledge
of the topography of your body

i suppose a grown up would not
say such a thing
–just so
then let me remain caught between
this youthful lust
and an old man’s cautious wisdom
and let us go exploring

Poem 20160211

like spring
you bring growth in me
burgeoning green shoots
tendrils of pale yellow
reaching for the sun

like summer
you give me the sleepy
hums of insects
the sweet-tart taste of lemonade
and the smell of fresh cut lawns

like autumn
you wrap me in sweaters and coats
you are the gold explosions of leaves
that the wind sets in circular dance

like winter
you give me rest and peace
while darkness overtakes light
still we have this fire
this time, this together

——
Edited on 20160214 to remove that last two stanzas to create a new poem with them. See here.

Poem 20160209b

the oxygen is thin
and getting thinner
at this great height

we drift, together
but apart from everything else
and maybe from each other, too

–the earth is a mirror,
you say,
–look how from here the lights
the lights from all the cities
all those billions with their candles
and torches
and upturned hopeful eyes
look how they look like stars

i would laugh if there weren’t
so little air
and i manage to gasp out
as the tank reads zero
and your gloved hand slips from mine
–as above, so below

Poem 20160208

when we spoke
our words ascended, shooting stars
flares in the darkness
fiery angel swords

when we stopped
our words fell, dead metal
plummeting to earth
smoking, cold, and ancient

crashing into mountains
they caused tsunamis
seismic activity that
registered around the world

people hunted for the
icy iron fragments in snow
and found them
heart-shaped and ruined

Poem 20160207

this oppressive winter heat
almost eighty and cloudless
has stolen the courage
of the frogs
who croaked to mates
and marked territory
on cooler nights

without the smooth sounding board
of clouds in the evening sky
the frogs keep their peace
we strain to hear their calls
between sparse pockets of cars

could it be that we lost our compass
and wandered south of the equator
or will this false summer
stretch on into real summer
and will we lose a generation of songs
to the heat

Poem 20160205

these steps between us
might as well be nautical miles

too many to measure

if we were to each hold an end
of a measuring tape
every wave would stretch the
tape between us to breaking

the distance explodes

they say that every piece
of the universe races away
at an increasing rate
from every other piece

just so

—-
This post is inspired by a writing prompt challenge from amandatorroni and tylerkentwhite on Instagram, in particular, this post.

Happy Leap Year!