Vision+Voice

They walk in silent accord
Their soft linen touching the tall, tangling turf.
A face of brewing solidarity and eyes of piercing bright lights
Their ensemble weaved with careful seams and timeless dreams.
The hand clock of their life slowly ticks, ticks, ticks
The nuit blanche has been their tyme
Their clock clicking up and down in spite of
The phantoms that surround them.
Djinns, genies, and magicians come like moths to a light,
Yet all the words and rhymes
Bells and chimes
Hollow words and simple lies
Even if the lord told them a secret
The soft words of heavenly David’s key
And where to take it
They would still stand
Aloof and bored in the grass
Unable to feel the dainty mockery
Of the nostalgic past.

For they come when the present seems to run
They come when all forget
When death seems to drag its feet
And when the angel wings seem not to lift.
Kronos, Kairos, Ananke, and Janus
The names of the beast that many used to define it.
They don’t go by time
They don’t know who is alive
All they’ve done before
And all they’ll do again
Is take all and none
That is deemed to be fit.
Yes, a puppet floating on magic strings
A creature with none left to bleed
A casket walking
A cadaver dapper
A carcass laggard
As they dangle the keys
Of the endlessness which seems
To go on for

Every person knows whom
The thing this creature looms
Even the trees hang as tombs
Revering the work it does till noon.
Never does fortunes seem on its mind
Is it not life that it reaps from you or mine
To the first man and smallest leaf
Yield the same results as it drags from the cemetery.

Clock’s, clunky, clever, comely, corporeal capture concentration.
They tout their tactful, timely turns, twisted to
Serve some soulful speaker savant such so
That even the lands stand in solemn servitude.
Even the creature seems hypnotized
Mesmerized
Downsized to a caged beast
Willingly stuck in the honey pot
A fly drowning in cider.
For them, solitude was their friend
And now, another meant something to them
Even if this person tightens the leash
And force them to feast
On the bones of the innocent, unwitting in the least.
A deity, now stuck
For Eternity

Being short is hemmed jeans
letting your short legs fill out
the dragging inseam
Being tall is using the dressing room chair
To see if you can see
your ankles

Being tall is mens shoes
women’s shoe size shortages
Don’t apply to you

Being tall is
“Can you reach that?”
“You should model”
“Do you play basketball?”
“You’ve grown since I last saw you”

Being tall is being called a ‘fast walker’
When your cadence isn’t anything special

At six you reached the green on the line
and free range at six flags
Knuckles white,
From gripping the ride-seat’s handles
So you wouldn’t slip out

Being tall is growing pains

Being short is lowering bike chair
Being tall is bruises,
Your kneecaps bang the handles

Being tall is deserving the exit row
If you need help getting your bag
From the overhead compartment
You aren’t worthy of that leg room

Being tall is high heels being
Unheardof

Being tall is seeing the world different
from above
People see you different

Being tall comes with an inauspicious presence.
Which I have learned to appreciate.

The Rose

The rose
In my backyard
Is a maze of
Silky petals
Swirling together
To form a spiral like shape
Untouchable
I will never hold it
In my hand.

The steam is
The opposite of soft
It is as if the rose
Has built up a wall
Of protective thorns
To hide something more
Beautiful and precious
Like a treasure buried
Beneath the sand
Like the moon hidden
Behind clouds.

A careless thought
Would be inclined
To pick it up,
To ruin it’s beautie
To let it wither on the table
Forgotten and alone.

A rose blooms in winter
For some reason
I do not know why
But it did
And I am not hear
To question it
Only to witness it
And that I have done.

I got to meet it at the
Edge of the snow,
Where the wolves howl,
I got to meet it at the
Edge of the flames,
Where the air tightens,
I got to meet it at the
Edge of the light,
Where the tunnel ends,
I got to meet it,
And that was enough.

I sit atop a tower
It’s made of sorrow and misery
There are no rails
It’s an easy jump
About three stories tall
Wouldn’t die
It’d hurt
But I’d be able to break the base
Watch it fall
Build a new tower
One made of happiness and excitement
Ten stories tall
One I don’t want to jump off of
One where the fall would hurt more than being there
Though inevitably
People exist to tear towers down
Be it good or bad
Help or harm
Love or hate
There’s no such thing as an indestructible tower

Orange and white,
Eyes that shine so bright
Belong to my friend named Andy.

There is no better friend,
A friendship that can only be described as “it will never end”,
Is the one I have with Andy.

I’ve known him forever,
Although, I must admit, sometimes, he is not very clever.
Is how I’d describe my Andy.

Despite his flaws
And despite his hands, which some may call paws,
I love Andy.

Although, after years and years
I’m afraid, and I may fear,
That one day I’ll have to say goodbye.

Because he is a cat,
And I’ll always know that,
You’ll leave me one day Andy.

But it’s okay
And if Andy could speak his mind, I think he would say:
“Although I’m only a small part of your life,
You’re all of mine,
And I’ll love you until the end of that day.”

Like a river flowing,
crashing in the rocks.
A tsunami in the brook it sits,
Splashing white violence.
Tears stream,
Salty like the ocean.
Eyes swell, stinging.
The ache in my chest grows.
Swelling, expanding, breath leaving.
Thrashing turns to a babble,
Like water breaks, it settles.
Sinking to the floor, like a rock in the water,
The stream sets with the sun, no fire to fuel.
I drown in feeling.

A brand new life is in my house
Or maybe not new, just returning
I feel a sense of knowing this boy
I’ve known that smile
For what seems to me, forever

I’ve held him in my arms before
I’ve felt his cheek against mine
I’ve felt my lips against his head
I’ve heard him beg and cry

Maybe he’s a friend I’ve met before
A young man gone too soon
Who’s entwined his soul in my baby brother
For the warmth he knew he’d find with me

It’s a strange feeling,
To know I’ve known this boy before
But nonetheless, a comfort
I’ll keep him kind and always safe
So next time he’ll return the favor

It’s that time of year again that most love so much
Love and joy fill the air as most prepare
To see friends and family and present them with bestowal

The weather cools and the frozen dew falls
The lights arise as it is said he once did all those years ago
Green, white, and red, colors to behold

Not everyone sees it the same, for not everyone sees to same
Through different eyes, and shoes, do people see and walk
Some embrace the cold from the warmth, while others, suffer through the cold

Hard-working parents who try to make their kids smile
Extra shifts and longer hours they work
To bestow upon another is an unrecognized privilege

Some kids wake up to no light from the pine
They talk to friends who live in different shoes and see through different eyes
As they wonder why the fat man didn’t ho ho ho

The sunflower shines so beautifully
yet the blade of grass feels so dull compared to the flower.

The large lake overflowing with life
is so great compared to this puddle,
the puddle wonders, will the lake not soon fall into the other streams
and leave this small puddle behind?

The songbirds sing each note
with perfection
but the raven stays quiet,
and sings one solemn note on occasion.

While the trees branch out
and small leaves form,
the little stump stays rigid in the wind
and still feels a snake green,
despite the lack of leaves.

The sky looks over the ground
and the ground looks up to the sky,
envying it because of it’s great height.