LOVE POEM #110 – Waypoint

Waypoint

 

We are at our tented waypoint,

in between the washed out houses

and the rushing sounds of water,

wondering what will oust us next:

 

A wind shattering the windows

at our secondary safe house

or swells within the muddy floods

that crest our mental riverbanks.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – Stamps

This poem was inspired by Postcards from Far Away by Coldplay! Have a song you think I should listen to? Let me know in the comments!

 

Stamps

 

The soldier stands in the corner

careful to secure his fifty cent mark

behind the lines of somber words

with his back to a capital monument.

 

Far away, he finds himself again

in a field full of blissful smiles

where rain only falls on his letters

and blotch the standard-issue black ink.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – Return to Sugar Mountain

This poem was based on Sugar Mountain by Neil Young. Let me know what song I should look at next in the comments!

 

Return to Sugar Mountain

 

A handful of smoke-grey pebbles

and piles of decomposed granite

were all that I found on my return

to the fabled Sugar Mountain,

 

that, along with a pile of cigarette butts

burnt out underneath the stairs

beneath the broken-down church cemetery

where they buried old man Barker.

 

I remember dropping to one knee

to dust the ashes from the tombstone

and decipher the inscription his wife left.

It was from a note she wrote him in school.

 

All the candy floss at the carnival

couldn’t match the sweet in your eyes,

nor could the colored balloons

rival the vibrance of your life.

——

 

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THE TALE OF THE MISSING TOOTH – 50 WORD STORY

When the little bug crawled out of his hole in the dirt, he saw the skull-house he had built was missing a tooth. The bones had long since decayed, so he wasn’t surprised at his lost treasure, but when he realized his mornings’ wouldn’t shine golden anymore, he was bitter.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #75 – LAST RITES

I didn’t think one stanza would be enough

to tell you how much I loved you,

but now that you’ve scratched out my other lines

there isn’t any room on the page to say more.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #73 – HEADSTONE CHATTER

Did you hear they cut down our tree?

They dragged the kids out from the branches

then dismembered it limb by limb

until it stood empty like a hollow woman

then in a final swoop of mechanical justice

toppled her like a pair of heels on a night out.

I took a hike up the wilderness trail last week.

The white flowers were in full bloom;

I still can’t remember what you called them.

I saw a pair of cubs running through the trees.

They reminded me of Taylor and Tom

the way they roughhoused in the grass

like they didn’t even know we were watching.

They always came home with grass stains.

Do you see them anymore?

Anyway, sorry I haven’t been by in a while.

Doc told me there’s only a few months to go

and I took a trip to see your mom in Peru.

——

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THE EARTH IS STILL

Oh hey! Happy New Year–and happy birthday to me 🙂 A little apocalypse to usher in the new year is always a good sign, right? I hope you enjoy this poem as much as I’ll be enjoying today 😉

 

The Earth is Still

 

The Earth is still.

No more do the tremors

that racked the mountainside

rage through the bones of this wasted land.
Once flowered rivers, who flowed with the heat of spring

—that same heat which pulsed through the heart,

igniting the veins like sparks to a fire,

now lies pierced; cracked and dead as the unending desert.

 

The last lake, dwindled down to a blackened puddle,

sits undisturbed in the silence;

a mirror to these starless nights

painted with brushstrokes of infinite darkness

 

and yet, a trembling lingers.

It sits, in the back of the cavern;

twisting the thumbs of a half-buried corpse

while it whispers into the great beyond.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #60 – BLINDED

I’m told that love is blind,

but having 20/200 vision

I know that nowadays being blind

can be corrected with a good pair of glasses.

 

The dense world of fog that seeped in

through these tired, aging eyes

made it impossible to see the problems

that were just a few paces in front of me.

 

Which is why, after the break up, I took a trip

down to the nearest Ross or Sears or Target

to try a few pairs on,

and share some laughs with my reflection.

 

But as the shadows grew longer,

I realized that my own vision

wasn’t actually so bad.

The midnight trees shading the sidewalk

weren’t quite the monsters

that my youth had cowered in fear of,

and the distance sadness of the moon

no longer seemed to hide behind blurred eyes.

And suddenly I wondered

if I really needed those glasses to begin with

 

until I looked in the mirror

and realized that my blindness

wasn’t due to my impair vision,

but instead impaired by the blindness in my heart.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #59 – THE APPROACHING NIGHT

Falling in love with you was like

listening to The Approaching Night

beneath an outstretched tree branch

in the backyard of my childhood home

while the yellow-orange sun glimmered

between sunset and nightfall.

 

In that short moment of reverence

it felt as though the great chariot

road across the sky just for you;

as perfectly balanced as a tightrope walker

so that neither of us were burned.

 

And yet looking at you tonight,

I can see that the approach of night

has long since passed us into the smaller hours.

Where the piano music twinkles

with the starlight; eternal

impassioned, and beloved.

 

Even though the lines of age

have filled your face with wisdom,

and bones once strong as the mighty oak

have grown flaccid and weary,

I see in you now the nova of life

burning more brightly than ever before,

having accepted that the inevitable extinguishing

is best enjoyed while living in the apex of the sun.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #55 – TRUTH LIES

I was tripping, falling in love,

when I saw you through the stained glass

of the yellow church window doves.

You were standing on sunset grass

bidding farewell to the preacher,

and as I crossed the brown tile

the sunlight engulfed your features.

You looked like Apollo’s angel

and if I am to know myself,

then it must be that I know you.

For your eyes held the vatic health

that prophets see happiness through.

And though I’m no sight for sore eyes

you’ll find my love is where truth lies.

——

 

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