Forty-eight

Today, he turns forty-eight,
and I've known him nineteen
That's a lot of ups
and a lot more downs
I think that's the only way
for a father and his son
It's the only way I've seen
Considering it, I guess
we've never fully understood
the dynamic we've made
I just know it goes back
long before I was a thought,
when he was still a boy
Maybe even further still,
but I know nothing of then
The simple thing of it is
disappointments are there
on both sides of it
and they won't go away
We're too bull-headed
to let them fade out
And, though, sometimes
I feel I've never
given him real pride,
I've come to terms
with the knowledge that
he doesn't understand
anymore than his father did
or anymore than I do
I can't ask for more
My only concern these days
is that I'll perpetuate it
I'd like to believe
I'm stronger than him,
that I can break the curse,
but these things are prone
to repeat themselves
That's a cruel thing,
but it's real,
and I won't ignore it
to find myself making
the same damned strides

Chewing

I've chewed this
for far too long
and it's flavor
is all but gone
Ought to spit it out
I think I'll leave,
the same way they
thought I couldn't
Force the realization
Yeah, that's it,
do something unexpected
Toss in a wrench
to watch the machine
labor, bellow, and burn
Like they never
thought I could
That might do the trick

Thought

Nothing is lost.

Hands

I always liked my hands the best
because they were the indicators
As a boy, they were always clean
Small and soft, and Mom might say,
'You've such beautiful hands, son'
I don't know the day that changed
Maybe it started with the fighting,
when I was confused and angry
Fresh back from the worst days
My knuckles bore the brunt of that,
always cracking apart and bloody
Opening, and re-opening after,
until only scar tissue was left
They were still a boy's hands,
no doubt about that, to be honest
At the time I didn't think so
Then one day my dad mentioned,
'Every man ought to have calluses,'
and I always wanted them after that,
but I didn't care to earn them
until a year or so past
Lord only knows, now,
how much they mean to me
I can't give 'em up

Won't you?

Won't you come here
for a moment or two?
I'd like to know
if you can see it in me
The same I see in you
And, I know, lovely,
my facade doesn't always
beg for second glances,
but some voice says
I might just surprise you
Might be the devil,
but still,
I'd like to know
if I really could
So won't you come here,
for a moment or two?

Inhibitions

I've come to expect it,
because they always ask
the same damn questions
By now, it seems I ought
to have some answers
But I think I don't
None that come easy
That's probably because
they're all hard-earned
and I won't sell 'em short
But I'll do my best here
to spew out some bullshit
and make it smell pretty,
so you still like me
I guess, I believe,
to put it quietly,
there's a chance for
nobility in every moment
Usually it's hard to see
and inhibitions only
help to make them hide
And, hell, anyway
that's what I live for
Isn't that what
we all live for?
Finding some meaning
in an inherently
meaningless setting
Picking out the details
the idiosyncrasies,
the concealed notions
that make up beauty
So why bother?
Inhibitions only help
to make it harder
At least, that's
the way it is for me

Evaporate

There was a time for me,
and it wasn't long ago,
when all I feared
was that I'd be forgotten
But a lot's happened since
and again, I've changed
with all those things
Times come and go now
when I'd like nothing
more than to evaporate
Might make this simpler
That's all right too
I can take comfort
in that small certainty
'cause I know one day
not too far off
it'll be the case

Too Little, Too Late

Foolish child
He thinks that no one knows
what thoughts consume him
on a daily basis
The pain that he tries to ignore
but he can't seem to deny
He wonders how many truly know
that merciless feeling
Slipping, sliding into the black,
unaware of the cavern's depth
Fearing the interminable darkness,
and desperately reaching
for something to brace the fall
Knowing that nothing
can ease the descent,
save the love he thought
he'd never received,
but in reality,
just didn't recognize
Too little, too late

Tricks

I wonder what happens
in the recesses of her mind
If there's anything there
Or if she's boarded up, nailed,
and blocked all the doors
Afraid of whatever might wait
behind those old, worn planks
The past won't leave her
She can't gain from it,
because she never learned how,
and can't be taught new tricks
Those that can't learn,
should be the last to teach
But she'd say she raised me,
just because I lived under
the many roofs she offered,
and she fooled me early
into thinking I needed her
That couldn't last forever
Now, the tricks are obvious
And I think about it sometimes,
but it's difficult to believe
that a part of her is in me
I pretend the similarities end
with the birthmark on my arm,
or the eyes that remind me
every time I look in a mirror
The Johnson blues, right?
Yeah, but they're not all
Just the surface residue,
and the real blemishes
are concealed within me
Gnawing at my structure,
and burrowing deeper ever day
I'm still searching
for the means to lure them out
so I can bury them in light
But I never learned how,
and I can't be taught new tricks

Finch and Hawk

I saw a hawk the other day
Regal, confident, and beautiful
That certain look of a predator
It was searching for movement
from a vantage on the wire
When a little flinch flew over
Boldly landed not five feet away
The hawk broke its focused gaze
and looked over at the guest
Perhaps in quiet disbelief
of the finch's intrusion,
or maybe, it was just
a silent acknowledgement
Then he looked back
to continue his search
Now, I know this applies
It's significant; a metaphor
People don't see such things
without a reason or a cause
But, what bothers me is:
I can't decide whether I'm
the finch or the hawk

The Three Closest

The three closest were reunited
in that familiar, nostalgic setting
Each one had changed individually
Different stages in the life of a man
One of them still didn't drink,
the second had given it up,
and the third was in the midst
The third looked the first in the eyes
and said with a chuckle,
'I wasn't thinking of you,'
when he broke their old similarity
It was a worn out conviction,
and the first, a realist, knew that,
but he still clung onto it
The words made their mark,
as they might have been intended
Defeated by five benign words
The first, once their leader,
had always blatantly asserted
he was a good friend to the others
But with that sentence
his fall from grace and power
was thrown into the foreground
He realized that for all his sway,
for all his unflinching loyalty,
he'd never been the friend
either had needed him to be
And again, he was humbled

Mirage

My car approached
the same demanded stop
This time different, though
Suddenly, she was there
in a vision or thought
Directly to my left
on the streetcorner
She was very cold
Alone, weary, vulnerable
I couldn't stand for it
"Can I lend a ride?"
She might remember me
for that small gesture
When no one else offered
I looked over for her
Took it for a mirage
Then, I turned left
Drove on home

No Legacy

Following the conversation
On my way home for the night
My thoughts moving so fast,
effortlessly matching the speed
of the mechanized chariot carrying me
I pondered the inevitable
What legacy might I leave
Some repeated simple thoughts
rendered in a book as scribbles
or on an illuminated screen
No, I thought, not those
Perhaps, the thoughts themselves,
swirling in the cosmos
like some starry night
But in the end,
deprived of my senses,
time would speed up
too fast for thoughts
and no legacy would be left

Predatory Moth

It ventured out at dusk
Moving seamlessly
from view to vantage
One might catch a glimpse
Likely to dismiss it
for a trick of light
A blur of pastel, ethereal,
illuminated by the headlights
Like some giant predatory moth,
all enshrouded in subtlety,
dancing in the lantern's light
This night it met its end
Struck by a curved pane of glass
The hollow sound
of the last, terminal collision
The offender was moving faster,
than nature meant for it to avoid
Then two might find it
by the yellow-lined wayside
Take its weightless, mighty wings,
and a velvet, taloned foot
Try to make some thing from it
Stimulate a recollection
of the ghostly beauty,
which only its movement
could ever inspire

Well said.

"This earth, she’s a snake. She’s being pierced with arrows, curled into a ball, biting her own tail from the pain, and now rising up in anguish, her back rippling and knocking askew settlements nestled into her corded muscles. Her coils buck up, and she’s thrashing, drooling and panting, tears and blood streaming out in great gouts and overflowing the banks. How long until she shakes us off for good?" - Anjeliska

Just remembered this...

We were in the car, just approaching the house - about to part ways for who knows how long. He looked over at me, and said, "Roy, whatever you decide to do, become an expert at it and you're bound to succeed." I've never forgotten that. I don't know why it left such an impression; seems pretty obvious. But it's stuck with me, and not much else he's said has done the same.

Craftsman

The son liked to look over,
and observe the movements
of his father
Behind every one,
so effortless, a purpose
Calloused hands gliding
from tool to worn tool,
torch to file to mandrel,
without so much as a glance
Occasionally muttering
to himself or no one
Possibly unaware,
but his lips moved,
and sometimes he whistled
along with the tunes
He had built his life
as a precisionist,
a master craftsman
The son hoped
that someday far off
he could do anything
with such skill

Saviors

Animals rarely recognize their saviors. They'd just as soon maim them, as thank them. He thought about that for a while, and concluded people were no different.

Trespassing

Often, he walked out
on his breaks from work
Towards those iron tracks
long dormant now
He'd step over each one
slowly, calculated
Then lightly duck under
the torn chain-link fence
After that, trespassing,
gravel would grind
against the concrete
beneath his feet
He knew that sound
Anticipated it every time
Friction, footsteps
The meadow was next
No more than weeds, really
Thistles, licorice, dandelions,
all leaning with the grass
Always one hand down
at his side, fingers outstretched,
grazing against the meadow
The thistles stinging
but not enough to deter
There was some concrete too,
piled at a pleasant angle
A broken foundation
He liked to sit there,
the sun at his back,
and bask as the lizards do
Something about that warmth
thawed the day's anxiety
The depot wasn't far
now crumbling and wholly ignored,
but still handsome
with those old, worn bricks
Sometimes, that routine
was the highest point
of his weekday
He was rather content
with that notion

Alone

I drove out alone
First time I'd done that
New thoughts the whole way
I saw something
on the gravel shoulder
Glistening golden scales
So, naturally,
I veered over
left my car on the side
and went back on foot
for a closer look
Too late, though,
The serpent laid lifeless
I should've taken that
for an omen
Turned right around
and gone home then
But I didn't know
to pay attention

When I got there,
I wandered by myself
in search of acquaintances
pretending to have purpose
Seeing many, but none
too approachable
So I roamed
from place to place
Full room to full room
and finding no one
that cared to greet me
And my once high spirits
had dampened, saturated,
and sunk into my stomach
Three hours and nothing
I couldn't stay anymore
Had to leave it all behind
and drove home alone
before the show was over
The same way I came

It's so funny too
I always had the notion
that being alone is
when you're someplace
and you don't know anybody
or there's nobody there
But, no, that's not it
Being alone is when
you're in a full house
of familiar faces
and no one says a word

Bearer of Humility

The feeling, unmistakable
I have her in my grasp,
and adrenaline courses through me
An avalanche of nerves, quivering,
but my thoughts are lucid as day
My vision does not waver
Her eyes lidless,
marbles of cracked granite
bisected with windows, pupils
Invitations, to the last abyss
Her mouth agape, but only slightly
The needles barely visible
concealed in sheaths of flesh
Their existence, violence incarnate
But the intention for it
is not there, not for me, not now
My energy is subdued
I am holding death,
between my thumb and forefinger
wrapped 'round my forearm
But she means no harm,
lest I move too quickly
She might become a writhing mass
Muscle, sinuous, hellbent,
desperately aiming to embed
a single fang, or both,
in the soft flesh of her captor
Should it happen,
the fault would be mine
I ignored her first defense
Her warning, the rattle,
the triangular head and keels
I needed to be closer,
to touch the bearer of humility
confident that she would know
my ultimate intention
And for now, she seems humbled too
Gently restrained by a curious giant,
but then released
I stand near her
shaking from the experience
and she watches me cautiously
as she yields and coils back
My eyes burn from not blinking,
but I am humbled
so is she

Transitions

'People grow and change,
and not always together,'
she remarked quietly
as if recalling
something consequential
I remember that moment
Made the associations
to myself, in my life
Haven't forgotten it
I've always embraced
the transitions
Never made sense
to wear myself out
trying to stay
because that changes you
just as much
That's tough on us
as a species,
as individuals
and on relationships
Especially when
we are so young
It's difficult to bear
watching one you love
become something else
and it happens so often
I suppose it's been so
twice for me, and I
wouldn't return
I change as always
because I'm insatiable
I see a void in me
and aim to fill it
My curse is to embrace,
to improve, to adapt
and I don't think
I'll ever quit

Purpose

Well, you see,
even the smallest
The unnoticed kingdoms
The bacteria,
the protists,
the fungi,
they keep it clean
and produce
With purpose
to begin with
The plants do their part
Photosynthesize
and provide
While the animals
complete the coil
Nature's perfect cycle
Except, of course,
for that one animal
That peculiar species
The bulge in the line
The link weakens
and with a push
it ruptures
The circle is undone
by a single species
Relative newcomers
with new thoughts, and
destructive tendencies
No real purpose,
like the others,
but to break the coil
And some say
they will be the death
of a planet
But I don't believe
Not for a moment
It will persist
after extinguishing them
by its inherent patience
and quiet persistence

Last night...

...this stood out to me in a movie I was watchin':

"Point is, what's so wonderful is that every one of these flowers has a specific relationship with the insect that pollinates it. There's a certain orchid look exactly like a certain insect so the insect is drawn to this flower, its double, its soul mate, and wants nothing more than to make love to it. And after the insect flies off, spots another soul-mate flower and makes love to it, thus pollinating it. And neither the flower nor the insect will ever understand the significance of their lovemaking. I mean, how could they know that because of their little dance the world lives? But it does. By simply doing what they're designed to do, something large and magnificent happens. In this sense they show us how to live - how the only barometer you have is your heart. How, when you spot your flower, you can't let anything get in your way."

Souls

I've always had this idea
Can never seem to dismiss
Maybe your soul
is the same as mine
Every soul is worth the same,
whether it belong
to a mouse, or a man
Makes no difference
how your brain functions
Souls are the same
That's how
it's always been

Can't Stop Thinking

She didn't know
what she wanted
He knew that,
but something about her,
that subtle luminosity
Something in her skin
No one could place it
but they all knew
it was there
He couldn't be swayed
to save himself
She held an advantage
woven into the fabric
of her skin
She knew that,
and he tempted her
just enough
to let her hurt him
again and again
Not knowing
what she wanted
I tried to tell him
He'd always lose
and he couldn't
hope to hurt her back
And that never worked
Not for anyone
He didn't care
Couldn't help himself
She was all he thought
and he couldn't stop

This morning...

"I'm sorry about the confusion," I muttered. "Oh, no, it's okay. I just couldn't hear you. You're quiet." I didn't know how to respond to that. I thought for a bit, searching for my voice, but nothing came to my lips and I withdrew without a word - only a nervous nod. Later, our eyes met, despite our attempts to avoid that contact, and she cast an uneasy smile at me. For a moment I wondered if I intimidated her as much as she intimidated me. If I thought that were the case, I'd take some small comfort in knowing we shared the same ground, but I concluded that wasn't it. I knew it would be hard to look at her after that.