Through my calloused hands
I feel the dirt run through
The indents of the scars
I feel such a closeness
To the simple earth.
I feel loss for those
Who are afraid to dig;
They feel afraid,
They are afraid to be
The humans they are.
Friday, March 27, 2015
More human
I feel the water running
Through my calloused hands
I feel the dirt run through
The indents of the scars
I feel such a closeness
To the simple earth.
I feel loss for those
Who are afraid to dig;
They feel afraid,
They are afraid to be
The humans they are.
Through my calloused hands
I feel the dirt run through
The indents of the scars
I feel such a closeness
To the simple earth.
I feel loss for those
Who are afraid to dig;
They feel afraid,
They are afraid to be
The humans they are.
What's Happening
I was told that I was not really a poet.
I just write in prose half the time.
I wasn't inventive
"[You're] no Robert Frost"
So I'm going to try to stop that
I'm going to write straight poetry
Just at least till I get bored.
It's amazing what people
Say when they have no bounds
Trolling on the internet
I just write in prose half the time.
I wasn't inventive
"[You're] no Robert Frost"
So I'm going to try to stop that
I'm going to write straight poetry
Just at least till I get bored.
It's amazing what people
Say when they have no bounds
Trolling on the internet
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Germanwings 4U 9525
(Please play this music in the background while reading, and it makes a lot more sense)
It was sudden,
A shudder of metal:
The voice on the intercom:
"This is your captain speaking,
We are experiencing trouble
And even with all my experience
I can't keep the plane in the air.
I am going to attempt a landing"
There was immediate chaos,
A couple screams of dismay
And frantic flight attendants,
Just as scared as the passengers
Yell for calm.
People looked at the ground,
A mountainous expanse of snow
Out of the small windows.
A man is still sleeping,
With his headphones on,
Window closed.
The teachers from the high school
Grasped for their precious cargo:
The students they had come to love.
They didn't know at the gate that they were
Going to more than one foreign land.
Mothers stood with their babies
In the isles, and the children,
Who didn't understand that
The falling of the plane
Couldn't be fixed by the pilot
Looked up at the tears
In their parents eyes.
"Hush, Hush, It will all be all right"
Is all the parents can say.
The air of clear knowledge
Overswept the cockpit,
In the middle of the Alps.
In the rushing wind beside,
The contralto sang a single note of harmony
With the baritone from her hometown.
Her husband, with sad eyes
Longingly looking at their baby.
Amidst the chaos.
An almost reverence envelopes.
People sit in their seats,
And latch their flimsy buckles.
The pilot opens the door to
The rest of the passengers
And manages to turn off
The blaring alarm system,
He attempts to make a distress call
One more time to air control,
Then sits back in his chair
As the plane descends.
His co-pilot cracks a joke
About the many flight hours
They were going to rack up soon.
The 148 clutch hands
In the spur of the moment:
A universal acknowledgement
That they were human.
Prayers in German,
Prayers in Spanish,
Looking to the One above.
The two in the cockpit aim for
The side of Trois évêchés
Trying to steer the broken metal
Somewhere safe
There was no terror,
As the seat belt lights pinged,
And the oxygen masks dropped
It was sudden,
A shudder of metal:
The voice on the intercom:
"This is your captain speaking,
We are experiencing trouble
And even with all my experience
I can't keep the plane in the air.
I am going to attempt a landing"
There was immediate chaos,
A couple screams of dismay
And frantic flight attendants,
Just as scared as the passengers
Yell for calm.
People looked at the ground,
A mountainous expanse of snow
Out of the small windows.
A man is still sleeping,
With his headphones on,
Window closed.
The teachers from the high school
Grasped for their precious cargo:
The students they had come to love.
They didn't know at the gate that they were
Going to more than one foreign land.
Mothers stood with their babies
In the isles, and the children,
Who didn't understand that
The falling of the plane
Couldn't be fixed by the pilot
Looked up at the tears
In their parents eyes.
"Hush, Hush, It will all be all right"
Is all the parents can say.
The air of clear knowledge
Overswept the cockpit,
In the middle of the Alps.
In the rushing wind beside,
The contralto sang a single note of harmony
With the baritone from her hometown.
Her husband, with sad eyes
Longingly looking at their baby.
Amidst the chaos.
An almost reverence envelopes.
People sit in their seats,
And latch their flimsy buckles.
The pilot opens the door to
The rest of the passengers
And manages to turn off
The blaring alarm system,
He attempts to make a distress call
One more time to air control,
Then sits back in his chair
As the plane descends.
His co-pilot cracks a joke
About the many flight hours
They were going to rack up soon.
The 148 clutch hands
In the spur of the moment:
A universal acknowledgement
That they were human.
Prayers in German,
Prayers in Spanish,
Looking to the One above.
The two in the cockpit aim for
The side of Trois évêchés
Trying to steer the broken metal
Somewhere safe
There was no terror,
As the seat belt lights pinged,
And the oxygen masks dropped
The Rain
The humble drops of water
Fall from the furthest reach
Onto modern art in the garden:
Flushing the angles of the sculpture
Of the gum wrapper inside
The crevice in the middle.
The litter inside
Loosening slowly,
With a rainstorm:
Another attempt of nature
To save art.
The gum wrapper:
Placed weeks before when
Some college kids couldn't
Walk forty feet to a trash can.
Fall from the furthest reach
Onto modern art in the garden:
Flushing the angles of the sculpture
Of the gum wrapper inside
The crevice in the middle.
The litter inside
Loosening slowly,
With a rainstorm:
Another attempt of nature
To save art.
The gum wrapper:
Placed weeks before when
Some college kids couldn't
Walk forty feet to a trash can.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Africa #1
I had a dream that I was there
Like I will be very soon
It started with a small boy
Holding a small pail of
Dirty water.
He gestured to me
To drink from the grime
To gain sustenance from
This simple gesture of life.
He needed the way,
He needed the truth.
But I needed the way
And I needed the truth.
More than I could ever say
I tried to communicate
And he laughed.
"Yeye"
New.
Like I will be very soon
It started with a small boy
Holding a small pail of
Dirty water.
He gestured to me
To drink from the grime
To gain sustenance from
This simple gesture of life.
He needed the way,
He needed the truth.
But I needed the way
And I needed the truth.
More than I could ever say
I tried to communicate
And he laughed.
"Yeye"
New.
The Motorcycle
He looks up from the black faceless
Expanse of road in front of him.
A foam plastic shell obstructs his vision
Enough to just bother him.
He lifts the helmet off his head
Leaving his balance to practice.
The cold molded steel under his body
Grumbling softly in response.
The leather seat
A friend eager for the wind
The handlebars
A path to glory.
The smell of pine
From the lumber mill
As it saws and saws
Under the night glow
The brush of cool air
On the flickering eyes
Now seeing the full expanse
The motor
A gesture of freedom
The body
A metal knife through the air
Expanse of road in front of him.
A foam plastic shell obstructs his vision
Enough to just bother him.
He lifts the helmet off his head
Leaving his balance to practice.
The cold molded steel under his body
Grumbling softly in response.
The leather seat
A friend eager for the wind
The handlebars
A path to glory.
The smell of pine
From the lumber mill
As it saws and saws
Under the night glow
The brush of cool air
On the flickering eyes
Now seeing the full expanse
The motor
A gesture of freedom
The body
A metal knife through the air
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