#385
It was somewhere in that moment,
while contemplating that sour
quiet place, thinking of injustices,
the ugly second side under the face
of strangers and friends alike, that
i remembered i could still
wash all that rank away, and
save myself, save that lonely hour,
strike my day bold, sit smiling
drying in the late afternoon sun.
i was shook when i read the mantra,
sketching the steps i’d just made,
reminding me even in the best weather
the boat still rocks with ease, that that’s
ok, that it’s not aways a test, that there’s not
meaning to each wave, things often just are.
That didn’t stop me from cursing,
shouting out up to the skies, until i
fell to memory again, back to my morning
and felt the calm of the hour return,
like a opened faucet the flow poured
and i became a wave myself.
#386
In the black of the cinema
i watch the pictures
and wish you were but
beside me. Underneath
that trembling light,
the quiet clicks, illuminated
romances leave me in
the shadow of your absence.
The curtains close, and rise
as the matinees move to night
showtimes, and try as i might
to lose myself i’m ever so lost
without your shoulder against
mine, without your laugh fending
away the darkness, and
when i miss you, i miss minutes
of story line and i’m as confused
watching as i am why we’re apart,
oh, to sit with you, near and in silence,
to toss an afternoon of nothingness
save for your passive company,
worth every penny, worthy of any cost.
#387
The vines ruthlessly
gripped the branches,
webbed the wooded
damp, silent, suicide forest,
my foot covered
in fermented, forgotten,
banked up piss in a bottle,
scattered clothing rare
like the daylight,
shooting through the canopy,
it just doesn’t feel right
maybe it’s my imagination
maybe it’s the torrent
of strange insects and
crawlers that latch to me,
jumping from invisible highways
sticking to my forehead
climbing down my socks,
just like the fairy tales
wet with Han’s brush
undusted or diluted by Disney,
when the stories were still
meant to teach, not trick us,
i trickle on and out
from where too many remain,
and too few left,
a part of me liked it here,
a part of me was happy to
to answers the forest’s bleak call.
#388
Oh how you recite, how the words
slip from your smiles to the silence,
it’s too hard to believe, the wealth,
the wisdom, the cadence and the care,
my breath holds my frame squeezes,
and i lose sight between whats
you, and whats poetry.
#389
A gasp, oh that dust,
those dancing particles
spinning in the light,
the falling beams flowing
from the windows across
the spines and titles,
theres a quiet reverence
between the aisles, the
resting thoughts domesticated
from the fringes,
out of the ether, those loud steps
so similar on sanded stone
and carpeted hall, the early
afternoon, that quiet channel,
and that same etherial light
that crowns you now.
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