#380
How incredible. Oh to the clearest night,
sky, where the milky way counts
the hours away like the grandest
minute hand, daisy chaining
the darkest evening, where the mountains
are inseparable from storm clouds,
the most exquisite thing is how
absolutely astounding these two
polars paralleling is,
i swear, i wished without wishing.
#381
There are certainly times,
when the clatter and chirps
of my stereo echo about
such that i mistake them
for the voices, and conversations,
of great old friends.
#382
In conversations with clocks,
do you think forever, i’ll be lost?
A life quite different,
perhaps, let’s be fair, more
than i originally thought?
Like everything that truly matters,
it’s not so obvious. The finer,
seemingly insignificant,
small things amount to everythings,
and that has me concerned. They look
when i know, when my friend
is searching to understand, a
familiar feeling of biting words
fitted between lines, quietly attacking
and disassembling my reluctance to
indulge in conversation when i know
the proper of foundations or blocks
haven’t been pursued or removed,
what does that make me?
If i’m honest, i’ll admit i’m
beginning to be concerned that i’ve
been swept with madness
instead of something sweeter,
i worry about my mind, my sanity,
that said, if it’s all a dream anyways
than let me slumber soundly,
allow me to carry myself away unto
the morning where you’re waiting
beside me, then, there, wake me today.
#383
Sitting on a wooden bench
by the Red Gate
under Tokyo Tower,
reading a great journal
sipping cold bitter tea,
i made it.
i fucking made it.
#384
For the better part of these
last years i’ve been investing
in sunsets. From the coasts of
Chile, to the spectrum melting
across the Pacific, our treehouse
kitchen in Nicaragua, rolling waves
across the Med, endless palettes
chased above the clouds in Iceland,
on my best friend’s porch sipping beer
in Melbourne as the Jasmine blossomed.
i smiled as i left the police station,
astounded to find how joyful i was,
despite being robbed, swindled,
but whats money compared
to a masterpiece skyward
setting above, the last of my change
i passed to a beggar, my last steps
in that lost German town, sent of to
my younger brother’s living room
nestled in the heights of the Manhattan skyline,
at my older brother’s wedding
as we danced in the desert, to the time
i watched it fight a raging storm under a
hut at a glorious lost lake in Northern Japan,
to my first memories of pinks and purples
in the carseat beside my mother outside Vancouver.
Truly the best part of the sunsets i’ve
witnessed is knowing i’ve forgotten far from
the majority of these glorious beauties
and that is a certain blessing
that sits above all my crystalline memories.
Thanks for joining! Find poems through out the week on my instagram @monsieurwrite
Don’t forget to check out the poems being recited on The Write Stuff podcast!
Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write