Original Poems

fragility

she broke out in fragility,
twas written on her face –
the best of her ability
was covered, just in case

the last romance of circumstance
should ever come to call –
(one should not have a viewing
of this type of thing at all)

the life of harboring her thoughts
seemed right and good and plenty –
she’d lived like this for many years,
since she was maybe twenty –

but dangerous as it might seem
she knew no other way
(if asked her own opinion
heaven knows what she might say)

and so the journey to regret
she boarded faithfully:
while taking careful notice of
the small press gallery

who sat and looked for others and
in silence passed her by;
she had a dim remembrance
of another day and time

where she would shine at times, and so
she shudders now and then –
before she became fragile
oh, the girl she might have been

and still might be if careless –
her own thoughts she might then quote –
but she broke out in fragile once
and that was all
she wrote

Original Poems

This Isn’t My Neighborhood Anymore

This isn’t my neighborhood anymore;
This isn’t the place where I start each day –
Habitual turn to come up this street
I lost awhile back when we moved away

But we raised our kids in a house back there,
And what seemed important then now seems small:
The hopes that we had, and the agonies –
They, none of them now, seem to matter at all

And as I drive by, I feel shuddering,
As though the last ghost just passed through my door:
It, all of it now, has just flown away —
This isn’t my neighborhood
Anymore

Original Poems

Almost

When she was almost young, she slept
Next to the fields of pure delight;
When she went almost out, she heard
Of secret pleasures in the night

When she felt almost love, she dreamed
Of freedom found in ecstasy —
Yes, when she almost lived, she lived
Just two doors down
From me


 

(“Almost” – 5-21-2017)

Original Poems

the moments, vanished

if i just could have seen the truth
and known the harm that i had done;
i might have fixed the things i broke –
i might have been a salvaged one –

but every day i broke your heart
and caused so much i missed distress;
if i just could have loved you more
and treasured you, and hurt you less

but that was far and long ago;
you changed your life to one of joy
and look back only with disgust
upon the man – the really, boy –

to whom you gave your very best
back when the sun was bright and young;
but now, i sit here in the dark
to see the thing that i’ve become

i’m glad for you, for you did right
escaping from me as you did;
i blustered on in selfishness
and callousness. i live amid

the wreckage that was once my life.
but i remember you, and see
and old man may at least regret
his asinine fatuity

for love will not knock on my door;
the sun will not come back again —
but please: young guys – protect your loves —
and grow old not as monsters, but
as men

Original Poems

Another Kind of Price

The waves both come and go, but still
The shore seems much the same

As waves of guilt surround me now
But barely touch the blame
That I assign to one like me,
Who knew where truth began:

The needless hurt that can be caused
From not much of
A man


 

(“Another Kind of Price” – 3-14-2017)

Original Poems

Her Worth

She is the one who haunts him still
Though years have passed, as e’er they will,
Because he knew her worth, but chose
The easy way, when it arose
 
He’s looked, but cannot find her like,
And now he’s come to know, and rue:
That if you quit on love, sometimes,
You find that love can quit

On you

Original Poems

The Afterwards

The afterwards of everything is wondering
Why tradeoffs must be made, and friendships lost,
And why the night turns silence into shadows
That touch the edge of passion turned to frost

The afterwards of everything is emptiness,
A strange reward for doing what is right:
The cold and quiet heart that’s ribbed with darkness,
The winner, who’s left sickened from

The fight

Original Poems

Tangible Ghosts

He’s asking today for the tangible ghosts,
The fungible fog, the tradable mist —
He’s wading today through the rippling bog,
Aflame with the thoughts of the lips he once kissed —

But all of his fancies go drifting away,
Like the clouds in his beer when the whiskey pours through:
He’s longing today for more tangible ghosts
Than the ones that still haunt him
When thinking

Of you