Rotation

Crossing from State Street to Plymouth
I near collapsed when I saw you
You hummed to the sound of a shadow song
Like the too-soon pangs spinning through my head
(I didn’t want to just wait around) (well,
I did) and you hadn’t seen me yet
(Being near you is a well) and I wouldn’t
Let you see me (filled with fire burning
At my lungs; it’s like jumping into an unspun
Top) so I hid (a metaphor, for we are going
In the same direction) and ran. (but, as
Always to different stops)
(And maybe that’s a metaphor too)
I should stay away from you.

Sonnet 23

As soon as the actors take their places,
We’ll begin. For is not love an act?
Like nighttime deep in forest spaces,
It’s the difference between hope and fact.

And Cupid is a knavish lad
To hit a target and pretend
It’s time. This all is very sad
Without even a flower to amend

The shadow between truth and lies.
In a way, it builds a cage
To trap the freedom of all skies
And brings to birth a second stage.

Oh, what fools we lovers be!
To look for what we cannot see

Rhythm of Rain

On nights like this I can’t help looking up
As I’m sitting outside, just ready
To run, should these clouds so heavy
Burst like torpedoes aimed at the sun

The color of the sky is any-minute-now
With a subtle shade of stay-inside
And yet all of me yearns to remain seated
As the people around me begin to fade

Because there is peace in the catcalls of thunder
And solace in the rhythm of rain
Lightning shimmers, showing off in the distance
The horizon being ripped in twain

I can feel it around me; excited
It’s a train wreck and all are invited

 

 

 

Oh, look, another sonnet.  About nature.  I know it’s a bit unoriginal, given the last couple of poems I’ve put up.  Sorry about that.  I’m finding that I have just as little time for writing now that I’m working more over the summer as in the spring.  Given a little preparation, I hope to turn that around next month.  We shall see….

Each Day In August

Shaded eyes lounging in lazy heat
Squinting at monarchs on the wind floating by
A flutter of small twitching children’s feet
A five-second chase under cloudless sky

It’s a season for half-broken fan blades
Lavender sunshine and birthday cake Sundays
Right now, the only currency is shade
And quarters for eight-year-old lemonade craze

The sunshine gleams on a familiar breeze
Reflecting the color of grass so green
It hangs like patches on thickets of trees
While a phantom hum buzzes on scene

And as campsites shiver in the lukewarm nights
A wooden-based mountain sits, pining for fire
A dangerous fascinate life made of lights
Young faces will circle to older eyes’ ire

And it’s not just the draw of moth to flame
Or that fire licking clouds is an always surprise
It’s the wonder that a bonfire of such great fame
Came from a spark of fingernail size

These are the feelings that summertime makes
Cause while spring is the realm of living rebirth
And autumn pours days out like a fine wine
Summer is the joy of life for life’s sake
It’s a singular freedom, for what it’s worth
And that’s why it hurts when we cross that line

Just don’t let this privilege overextend
As each day in August will come to an end

Asphodel

I fell in love with you not long after we met
Maybe love is too strong of a word
It’s more like I liked how your head bobs to music
I can’t hear or understand

And how the words you speak glow
With a flavor I’ve only felt during nights
When a lack of sleep was the only thing keeping me awake

I’ve always thought of you as a wisp of smoke
A cloud hanging overhead that I can’t reach no matter how high I jump
And your thoughts are a pear millimeters from my fingertips
Filled with pride and pomegranate seeds

And the promise of dawn
With a spirit so galloping that the King
Of the Underworld couldn’t keep you

And that’s where we stand
Across the room from one another
A distance spanned only by Greek ships
And douchebags driving by midnight

Your hair is a mountaintop my fingers could get lost in
If only they packed enough water for the trip
The slightest laughter in your smile would make Aphrodite frown
And your eyes make me want to fly into the sun
All around, without wings

I can’t whisper enough wishes to define you
I can only hope to be struck dumb and blue
Then, I would have the words

But your mind’s hue is the color of unintentional
And I’m not sure my small eyes can handle the light
Or see the ball of thread rolling on the floor
Attached to nothing at all

What I’m saying is
My feelings for you are Trojan Horse subtle
While you are Cassandra in the rain
And it keeps me out of myself,

Tears me away from the set of mirrors I keep in my room
Refracting my everything
And brings me out into the sunrise
Removing the shine from the outside

And now, around me, the world groans and leans in
Squinting at the dew that hangs on early grass
Trying to see what’s inside

And I think I love you for that more than anything

Spring Night

Spring night
I close my eyes and roll the windows down
The breeze brushes my insomnia away
And brings aboard all the
Scents of evenings past
Cut grass, willow leaves, the space between
The midnight clouds and budding greens
Flowers blooming for the first and last time anywhere

My hair flies forty-five miles per hour
Removes the sour taste in my mouth
Of other nights, abandoned by pretense
And the erosion of dreams.
Instead, abridging the wonder
Of spring lightly touching fall

 

 

Coming home from college last night to spend a week with my family before next semester, I fell asleep.  I had been up for approaching thirty straight hours, due to exams and projects, and I just couldn’t stay up anymore (don’t worry, I obviously wasn’t the one driving).  I woke about twenty minutes from home, and, by chance, rolled down the windows.  It was dark, and the air was crisp and cool.  Outside smelled like… I’m not sure.  Spring and everything.  It’s hard to describe, so I tried to write a poem about it, and failed.  Said failure is above.

Don’t get me wrong.  I feel like this poem is very rough and imperfect, but I still like it.  As my track record for writing sonnets goes, it’s certainly my best.  But I don’t think I captured the moment adequately.  Perhaps I’ll return to that some other night, on some other highway.