memory

Safe Inside The Locket

That face is never getting old with time.
It still bring me close and you not afar
From time present. Small morning here dreams alone
And love-gate open, for memory to come home.
All things that make you who you are
Gifts and robs the soul at once:
Those blessings giving, and curses retaining
As they were with you,
They are with me here now.
Even death dust cannot touch the evergreen
Of grandchildren their days not yet seen.

Mists of Time

Folder: 
Light and Dark

“I had a child just like you”

She said to me that day

Waiting in the hospital

On my knees to pray

She didn't know who I was

Her mind just couldn't see

That I knew who she talked about

The child was truly me.

 

We'd had this converse once before

And many before that

The degradation of her mind

Was obvious, as she sat

And prattled on about her son

How happy he will be

With her family when she comes home

And I had to agree

 

She never found her memories

Or recognized my face

After everything she went through

She's in a better place

Where memories last forever

And can't be lost to time

Where human bodies don't break down

Always in their prime

 

Many years have come and gone

I can't recall them all

It's not like I haven't tried

But the thoughts just have a pall

I try to stare back to the past

Peer directly through the grime

Just like a fog covered my eyes

It's hard to see through mists of time

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Even When It's Not Christmas

Folder: 
2017

I will not tell you

what I want to

in this world

Talking like that is

laying myself

bare

such a steep hill

to start

 

When the words

open with a question

you can watch me

close

 

I don’t ask,

just wait,

maybe wanting

will make truth

 

but sometimes

when the wind blows

when the leaves fall

when the snow sticks

I don’t need questions or answers

when I’m this close to you

 

I could fall down at your door

I think I’d end up with

too many bruises

but I wouldn’t mind

as long as I can paint them on your wall

so your story knows

I was here

 

Sometimes that

silent crash

breaks the glass

around the world

 

The rustles say I’m a mess

but I’m a mess with you

under these Christmas lights

 

My heart is made of

answers that won’t break

The next time

it’s a dragon-cold night

I don’t have to tell you what I want

but I will still whisper it to the window

the fog will find your hands

and they will be around me

just when I need

 

and then the ground thaws

and you’re still here

 

you can’t know

how much that means

to me

 

Even when it’s not Christmas

I know there is someone

who loves me

I hope I can be that

 

for you

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 12/18/17

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City

Folder: 
2017

I have hung everything I have

on this city.

 

I push pins in a pattern

write my own heart

on the map.

 

The minutes I can’t remember

for choking on nothing and laughter.

 

The nights the wind is so vicious

I breathe in brave and our bodies lift a little.

 

The change and the waterfalls

and the hearts

I resent for being

so worthy.

 

The cards I toss on the table

like silent truths that sit on my shelves,

I don’t have any other way to give them.

 

The kisses that can sing on their own,

I want you to hear you speak without words.

 

The quiet nights holding this pen,

hoping I can tell someone about everything and you.

 

You know

you are my favorite city

and the first place

 

I remember really waking up in.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 11/24/17

talk to the stars

Folder: 
2017

what a perfect night

nothing better to do

than to sit down and talk to the stars.

 

tell them about the orange i ate this morning

and the songs we keep on stumbling

and all the beatings of my heart.

 

say,

i wish someday we could meet

but sometimes your light finds me here.

 

tell them how

sometimes i care too much.

sometimes i forget to tell you how much.

sometimes there are no words left to spin into silver.

 

i cut off my hands because maybe then i can give you more.

won’t be stuck in this shell

with no golden hearts

trying to capture all the girls i’ll never be.

 

or maybe

just sit here

dreaming of planets

where no one has to shift the blame

 

take back the silent strangers

give me hurricanes instead

give me poetry and open highways

and corner cafes and music that won’t go quiet

 

give me something worth remembering,

something the stars might listen to.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 10/13/17

Permanent Marker (Slam Poetry)

Folder: 
2017

There are so many ways

your words make it into my blood.

 

1. Melting into my skin

from absentminded pen marks.

I would take the pen away

but then I would be out of

these little autographs I want to keep.

 

2. Sometimes intended pen marks.

When I look at them

I don’t think I can tell them apart

from the accidents.

They come from

a laughing game of hide-and-seek

where you always find my hand

and I roll my eyes

as you leave yet another

little ink scar.

 

3. Something you need to

remind yourself of.

Paperwork.

Medicine.

Meetings.

I am a human pile

of things you might forget.

I am not always so good at it

but for some reason

you keep dropping more items in the basket.

 

4. When I catch myself talking like you.

These little

words a few people laugh at

are stuck in my head,

tell me

I’ve spent too much

too little time here.

 

5. Pieces of paper you slip under my door

that remind me

how well you speak my language.

Sometimes I think

I met you just for the words.

 

6. The last thing you say

before you fall asleep.

In daylight I’m not sure why

it’s in some corner of my brain

labeled more important.

I didn’t think sleep did much for my memory

before I started waking up with you.

 

7. When your fingers drag

along my arm

or my face

or my sides.

The lightest touch

leaves an indent

I’m never sure I can erase

even if I wanted to.

 

8. Sometimes we speak

in permanent marker.

Say things we can’t take back.

We write our way into each other’s hearts

with every breath we take.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 8/25/17

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New

Folder: 
2017

I would have kissed you

the first time you asked

but I would have regretted it

I want to know

you mean the things you do

 

Every time you find

something perfect

and hold it out to me

I try to find

what will mean the most

but I will never be able to carry

what I want to give you

 

Sometimes I wish

I could meet you

again

hold every feeling

in the palm of my hand

so I might someday know

who you are

 

I’m always guessing

what I think

when I can’t pinpoint

how you kickstart my veins

 

Sometimes I think

my guesses

might be right

 

when you smile like that

and I fall in love

a little bit

more

 

Sometimes I wish

I could kiss you

for the first time

again

 

when you were so here

I was bursting

when it was so new

I was awake

for no reason

and every reason

at once

and all I could taste

was this magic

 

It’s even better

now that I know

so much more of you

than your lips on mine

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 8/6/17

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tags:

Too Many

Folder: 
2017

My head is busy when you’re around,

so used to motion,

it is working hard at not thinking now.

I often trip over the easy.

 

We are not flawless,

we are not falling apart.

We are somewhere in between.

 

I don’t want to take this state of mind for granted.

I remember too many things you might not want me to

but I want my world to begin and end with you.

 

I want too many nickels,

too many minutes,

too many words to cry and call home.

 

I want too many decisions,

too many moans,

too many breaths I hope I won’t regret.

 

My head is busy when you’re around,

not used to sitting still

and letting every letter slip out

so you can hear it,

I fill it with the freedom to fall

and hope it catches me-

 

will you catch me?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 7/17/17

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Pocketbook Memories

Folder: 
2017

strange things happen

when sleep doesn’t.

 

sometimes

you happen to me.

 

sometimes

I live in the space in my mind

with your name on it

longer than I should,

shorter than I want to.

 

sometimes

I wake up to find pocketbook memories

sleeping next to me

from moments that still sound like dreaming,

from lips that have left

but I feel them every time I’m alone.

 

strange things happen

when I keep choosing you

at any minute,

in different ways,

I know them when the sun is awake

or I slip into them as I fall asleep

or I remember them as soon as I open my eyes.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 5/31/17