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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

Haiku #33

Blow on the embers
Your heart needs to feel again
Before the fire dies

Days of Change

A month has passed by
None of my many thoughts
Have run from my lips

New Title, new thoughts

When there is something holding you back
You change it, modify it completely
As to almost forget it exists.
Or totally make it yours to own.

Names

What if everybody used people's names
Instead of the word, "Hello"
Or the constant "How are you doing?"
And put what they actually wanted to mean
In the words they speak,
Rather than just speaking
without meaning.
Those who know you
Speak your name.
There is a certain power
Behind the echos behind
Your flexible ears.

Uneven

A little to the left,

Up a little

No too far, down.

Perfect. 

A camera clicks.

Beautiful eyes look

Back at the pixelated screen.

"Your eyes are uneven again"

A slumped head.

"You'll get it this time"

She tells me sweetly.

And I do it yet again

The perfect picture 

Of an imperfect man,

To get the perfect girl.

Colder

Please can

(Or rather)

Will you

Take off

The lines

Of ice

From the

Flowing 

Water.

It needs

More space

To freeze

To my

Frozen

Blue hands.

The Golden Serpent

I am stumbling upwards through the air

Dumbstruck at the lack of connection

The man at the end of the street

With the walker rubs his glasses,

Blaming it on the fog.

The girl in the pink dress on the sidewalk

Is too busy staring at her phone

To even care about gravity.

The father holding his son's hand,

Says it is some stunt that I'm pulling.

"Look for wires above him" 

The businessman holds his head,

In the graffitied bus stop 

And looks down at his suitcase

Wondering if I'm holding up traffic 

A determined face grimacing in exertion,

Sprints towards the rising figure he sees,

Howling with desperation

Madman's eyes looking determinedly

Upward to the understander.

He launches his feet off the ground,

And looks at me in the eyes.

A piece of paper in his trembling hand.

"Give this to her"

He seems to defy gravity for long enough 

To let me grab the paper 

In my ascension.

And then falls to the ground,

Sweat dripping from his hands.

He sits and watches the figure rise

While the sirens come to take him

Huddled into the white tidy cars:

Going back to the hospital he ran from.

I watch the scene skyward,

Invisible to the people that won't

Even bother to look up.

The Water

In the run down library,
Full of half torn novels
One working drinking fountain,
In the back corner by the bathrooms.

A child holds his mothers hand
As he steps up on the white plastic stool
"Careful, you don't want to slip!"
His mother says.

The kid behind them waits,
Licks his chapped lips,

He looks desperately at the cold
Flowing water from the fountain.

His water at home had been
Turned off because the bill
Was way too high.

His mother told him to be polite,
Show love to everyone around.
He followed what she had said to him,
Even though it was just him now.

The child on the stool
Takes huge gulps, one after the other
And the caring mother is blind
To the the kid shaking in desperation
Right behind them.

For minutes on end,
Stars in front of vision,
The waiting outlasts the hope.

Mannered to the end.
Tears run from his dehydrated body
As empty, he collapses.

Concluded

My eagerness overtakes the truth,
Blandness covers the rich detail.
The elaborate background of red
Overshadowed by the unthinking.

When your bitter heart has no feeling,
Your reset mind knows no bounds.
The shadow of trouble looming
Bathing the night sky in fluid darkness

Don't sweat the small things,
She whispered.