On The Heights

Oh, no. There’s no depression anymore.
All that despair, it’s really so jejune —
I have a lot to do, and I’m content.
There’s work enough for even a buffoon
To rise before the sun, and tame the moon.
Don’t look into my eyes, there’s nothing there;
There’s no depression anymore — I swear.

Oh, yes. I still hear voices, that’s just me.
But what I never talk about’s not real —
I am contented with my lot in life,
What isn’t mine to ever have, or feel,
Is just, you know, a thing, a minor deal.
A mortal starts whatever, then it ends;
I still hear voices, but — they say they’re friends.

I dreamed I saw a ribbon by the sea;
A highway full of peaceful, distant lights —
It’s rare I dream these days, or even sleep.
I’ve lost, I think, my battle with the nights;
But for that moment, I was on the heights.
I know that dreams are trivial. I do.
But somehow, what’s not real can still be true.

I wake to darkness, check my phone for time,
And lumber up, where no one sees or knows —
I cast a fishing line out on the ‘net,
But all is silent, as the river flows.
And day by day, a nameless something grows
Outside this room, in people’s thoughtless taunt:
That I have everything a soul could want.

But all of that is silliness. I move
Into the gears that grind throughout my day,
And show up at the place they pay me to,
And serve my minor truths up on a tray.
I stop to throw some words down, just for play:
They echo in my head, these little posts —
And all of it is silliness,
And ghosts

It Snowed Last Night

It snowed last night
The world is white
I guess I’ll just sit here
And write

A dozen poems,
Maybe more;
I think that’s what
Wordpress is for

A southern state,
Where weather’s great,
My office still will open
(Late)

So I will rhyme
Until its time
To go and earn
My daily dime

It snowed last night
It’s quite a sight —
But Yankees smirk
At snow
So slight

Forms of Love

She hugged me yesterday, and I could feel
Affection in the pressure and the length;
A smile on her face, a “welcome back,”
A bit of something that I’ve known awhile —

Between the lines, where friendship makes its home,
Is something fragile that, somehow, survives:
Between such lines as needs be, and must be,
Is what our worlds are made of, if we live
In anything like honor or respect —
In anything like loyalty at all —

She hugged me yesterday, and I remarked
On her new haircut, which I liked a lot;
Asked if the holidays were kind to them,
In forms of love appropriate for us

The Dark Side of the Bay

On the dark side of the bay,
I was raised, then moved away;
Long ago, another life,
Now, I visit with my wife.
Days are full and thoughts are ranging:
Years go by, the world keeps changing —
We lose people, or lose track:
Some go on and some go back.

I was wounded once, and broken.
Here, in memories unspoken
I see I was raw and wild,
Scarcely more of man than child,
Full of loneliness and rage
I could neither keep, nor gauge.
Wanting more, but oft despairing
Of real purpose, or real caring.

Now amid the lights and glamor,
Near the traffic and the clamor,
I wish only I had known
What ensuant years have shown:
There’d be yet a better day,
Once I’d left the dark side of
The bay

A New Day’s Year

There comes a time the frost must fall away;
Sometimes the thaw is difficult and slow.
Though night be cold, and bitter be the day,
With snow and rain, and cutting winds that blow,
The sun will work its magic, even so.
Remember when the ice your feeling numbs:
The heat will come. It will. It always comes.

I stood out in a field of many stones.
The trees were frozen white on every side;
Familiar family names, and some unknowns,
Through tears that froze before they ever dried.
So little life the words there could provide:
Of what and where and who all these had been,
These unknown women and forgotten men.

I looked for one, and found him on a hill.
A handshake firm, a strong and steady gaze,
A tender heart withal an iron will,
And ready with encouragement and praise
For fighters of the family fight, always.
The long winds blow, they blew him to this place;
Asleep now in this high and frigid space.

To know of life, we have to know of death.
It seems so cruel, but that is how things are:
The careless, one day, struggling for breath,
The poor unfortunate, the superstar,
Alike in this. We all end up at par.
And it can all seem vanity, and smoke —
A tragedy, or maybe one big joke.

There comes a time the frost must fall away;
Always the thaw is difficult and slow.
Nights will be cold, and bitter yet the day,
With snow and rain, and cutting winds that blow.
The sun will work its magic, even so —
Though tears may freeze before they ever spill,
The heat will come one day.
I’m sure
It will

 

 


Photo credit : ID 62364939 Mulikov | Dreamstime.com

Video credit : © Denys Kovtun | Dreamstime.com