Tag Archives: Reflections

Losing the light 2

30 Aug

a l e x – Proud Of You (feat. Alicks)

This is the light for a walk.

Just you and some thoughts.

Orange glow on the rocks.

Drinks hot and toes not.

–

This is the light just for me.

Unpack everything I’ve seen

and do it quietly.

–

–

This is the time for a talk;

dim light and decaf.

Let’s ditch the flock,

this wick burns fast.

–

A life armed to the teeth.

A cheetah out of breath.

A knife with no sheath.

All the things we build ourselves.

–

But this is the light for a walk;

in the hue from the loch,

picking the knots,

gapping the stops.

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Oceans

27 Aug

Maybe We’re Lost – Ugly Cassanova

I didn’t understand.

Talk is cheap,

Advice is grand.

They’re selling waves the sand.

You needed help

and all I could see was me.

Ropey kelp

in my darker sea.

Standing in my streams you’d find

my fear that you didn’t love me enough.

That I had not been kind.

That you were not made tough.

Unbeknownst to me,

like others with the sting

of stigma that comes between

getting help and forever treading.

Eventually as I learned more

about the streams I dipped my toes

I pulled up roots from my ocean floors;

Make way for further water flows.

You needed help.

Now all I can see is you.

Flying sea foam whelp

on my deep sea blue.

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Yesterday

30 Jul

Yesterday

When I woke

I was all grown in.

–

I find

To my delight

I had done my best.

–

Coffee cup

With my friend

And four small hands

–

I sit

And close my eyes

So to remember

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Where do they come from?

23 May

I’ve got to go too far

now knowing I cannot

cannibalize the bar.

I find myself within the knot

of thoughts of how our stars

crossed paths and then did not.

I did not need another friend.

Dead end.

–

You needed comforting,

but I was late and left.

I felt the shuttering

implosion shoulder heft

against the door it stings

of sins your father left.

You penned

every last loose end.

–

Well love is just a place

we come to visit when

we overcome the pace

of weekly cycle spin.

And while you ran the race,

you could not get in.

A rip you could not mend.

Again.

–

And then you flew into

the wild unknown of blue.

Had I imagined it?

Or was that a bad dream too?

Had I imagined it when

your heart was made of tin?

–

I’ve got to go too far

now knowing I cannot

cannibalize the bar.

I find myself within the knot

of thoughts of how our stars

crossed paths and then did not.

I did not need another friend.

The end.

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Untitled 6

8 May

To claim the ego to say to everyone

that we have anything to

say, well it takes a lot to tell someone

how we feel, how we are, what’s new?

The future we won is

just another bend in

the river we carved with

the way we hold our hands.

The way we watch our sands

fall from the rooms with

feather beds and bear skin,

But that’s not the future we want, is it?

And if I was the moon

staring at stars across the room

and I saw you,

I would eclipse and fall into

some shadow state

and hide my face

in fear that you

could see right through.

Some celestial scene.

Seems extreme,

but it’s meteors

we’re juggling.

Did you know you live

in the wrinkles of my skin?

And did you know that

what you want I would live?

The future we won is

just another rend in

the silk black sheets

that make up our memory.

The felling of another tree

to protect our heads from sleets

I wander in,

ivy, rains and winds I miss.

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Then and now

3 Apr

The tongue I’m biting on

is the tongue that doesn’t quit.

And in all the old records

wish I’d used my teeth sooner.

But I don’t know the state you’re in.

Washington?

Porcelain?

I’ll wait and see.

–

Smooth skin I was writing on,

write fast, memory goes quick.

According to old records,

insight lost the fight for

I fell into a state of mind.

Borderline

cognizant

–

that I could even talk at all.

Communication’s just a thing

I didn’t have. I didn’t call.

Now it’s old and splintering.

–

The hands for writing on

are hands of a finer grit.

And in all the old records

my hands foretold the future

that I cannot see that face again.

Face of sin.

Inky skin.

A poor medium.

–

And instead I sang some psalm.

Then laid the shit on thick.

And I didn’t win awards.

I know I lost our fight for

connection of an honest kind.

A mastermind

disinclined

–

to even talk at all.

Communication’s just a thing

I do not have. I don’t recall

having said anything.

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Femur rings

18 Feb

Is this ending?

Am I sleeping?

I’m rearranging.

It’s exciting.

. . .

“What I’m feeling?

‘Course I’m reeling.”

A stretch for ceiling.

“Well, I’m leaving.”

. . .

Turn the key ring

Belt is squealing

but I’m breathing.

Heart’s alive and I’m breathing.

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Clover

17 Feb

Yo La Tengo – Green Arrow

I smell clover.

The purple white bursts

of pollen,

of summer heat,

and sour wheat,

chest high

and seas deep.

Thrashing cricks

that claw between

mounds of mulch

that clamor on

atop the gulch

of brethren fallen

to white veins.

We’d open floodplains

and one of the neighbors many sons

would trudge the swamp

and erase the floods we’d done.

. . .

And on the boat,

on bone dry land

we’d hunt.

We’d rend the dipping sun.

We’d run and run

from boots in mud.

Dripping blood across my hands,

snare heart drum

Doing laps over the lands.

. . .

Yeah I know we had

our opposites,

feuding bands,

bountiful rocks,

spacely plans,

separate plots.

My memories

amplify

the waves of heat.

Can’t tell the difference between clay and cleet.

The things we share

in thorns and rust,

the windy stare

of devil’s dust.

The devils snare

of shit rose glass

and small town fairs.

Quaint until

you’re working there.

. . .

We did not all get

all we want.

Would what we want

have been enough?

Image: mikhail kryshen

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Song

7 Feb

Hop Along – Prior Things

Just a few minutes after hearing it

I realized

I’d be driving this peg into my skull

for the foreseeable.

A new cornerstone for the pedestal

I place a thought with tone.

Whatever thought was told

they sold, I said.

Whatever words were whispered

was breath I made.

Can I really replace the lens

to change the way light bends

in every old photograph?

I can.

I can.

I can.

And in doing so,

every song becomes my own.

Reeling with the feeling of possession

and tension of every beat and measure,

is how all those scenes and stories

became embedded in my history.

–

I had the gall

to wrap your soul

in the confines of this song.

Or it in you… I got it wrong.

And oh I got it wrong.

And it was wrong.

And I know it was a poor excuse.

And no it’s not my only fuse,

but it felt like a slight at me

and the way I arranged this offering.

Yes I know it’s dumb

to watch your thumb

and it’s polarity

to define my clarity.

–

Thank you for holding fast,

as it’s clear from our past

I need a week and a ream

To form an apology.

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The lighthouse formula

31 Jan

Acetone – Germs

There’s a lifelong montage

with almost no audio

just your own breath and footsteps.

Your ride is not exquisite when

you’ve blinked and you’ve missed it.

And strangers won’t tell you you’re fascinating,

your ego cogs need more calibrating.

–

And it helps if you’ve had

a few daydreams maybe

enough to sever tethers

that tie you to this Earth.

–

It’s the meeting of

sea green green of the sea

and the green gray sky above the marina.

It’s the reach for the stars

with your feet in the waves.

–

The skin of my feet

the seed of a pearl

keeping my head above the rolling fogs

of drunkenness, lust and greed.

My light may shine but I’ll never be freed.

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