Day ninety-one

Apology

This morning the world nearly ended

and all of my regrets lay in front of me

like dead soldiers. I want to remove them,

but the bodies feel too heavy to lift.

I think I've done wrong, but I don't know

what I've done. Only guilt guilt guilt

like a hammer to nail pounds away

in my mind. I am sorry. I made a mistake

forgive me and even if you slip away

and nothing I say can sway you. I still

love you. Always. Until the sun stops rising.

eighty-nine

Your hands feel cold against the warmth of mine.

The scent of cherry blossoms in your hair

The smell of cherry blossoms fills the air

And I am always yours and you are mine

your hands feel warm against the cold of mine.

25:30

Rhyming is hard. Especially if its near iambic.

Day eighty-eight

He contemplates on the infinite mysteries of love and destiny and God

The low growl of the engine hums, inside

your car we sit and listen to the sound of

the top forty radio. I've never felt so

complete.

15:44

Day eighty-seven

Found

Your hands fit perfectly in mine, our fingers

fit between each other like the corners of

a log cabin. We say nothing to each other

as we contemplate the meanings of life.

Here, under the bright florescent lights

of the steak n shake we laugh and smile

and create a bubble of privacy in the public

eye. Beyond our table nothing exists. Zoom

out above the street, above the state

the country, the earth, and the galaxy

we are mere specs of specs of specs

across the universe. But, here alone

together we create warm meaning in

a seemingly meaningless world. And like

the birth of a star, we burst with silent joy.

15:23

Day seventy-five

Barn, Delicate, Food, Gentle, Yellow

Night 10/23/10

A barn owl searches the night

for food. The delicate trees creek

against the wind. Nearby, a deer clops

against asphalt, distracted by its own

gentle footsteps. Insects of the dark

no longer hum in the quiet cold. Winter

stands idly by and watches Autumn

lose her hair strand by strand-- The green

leaves yellowed by lack of light. Nothing

seems more lonely than a lovely

autumn night.

15:24

This exercise is hard.

Day fifty-five

Inspired by "Reason's for Attendance" By Philip Larkin

Attendance

The trumpet drew me in, too
and unlike you I walked right into
it. Too much alcohol pours
freely passed from hand to hand
like water from a fire bucket brigade.

And you were right to think
that in here is sex, what you would
see as pure indecency. It doesn't hide in
the dark anymore as Women lick each
other the way dogs lick their master's hand.

The bump and grind replaces
"the maul to and fro" The loud
thump of music drags for hours--
everything's a blur of flashing lights.
And every bar tender knows-- "Satisfied"

is the question asked to the poor
chump hugging the heavenly toilet.
And I have misjudged myself
as the rough tongued-bell rings outside.

18:13

Day fifty-one

Postcard to twan

"Wish you were here" it says
on the front. I'm sitting at a table
overlooking the shopping center, people
watching.The autumn air's finally arrived
and humidity lay sleeping further south.
The sun sets and the paint on the sky
reminds me of an early Monet. Your voice
travels hundreds of miles through satellite
cell phone signals to reach my ear. It brings
a steady stillness to my life. And I realize
I love you. Not through Eros nor Storge, but
something that transcends mere friendship
or Phileo. My love for you is Agape, because
at one point in our past lives we shared
the same Soul and we are fragments
of the same being-- Reborn throughout space
and time, always in search for one another
in different forms.

17:52

Ummm embarrassing, but true? yes.

Day forty-eight

Hindsight

Everything is perfect
as clear as a digital photograph,
all the memories in full HD.
The skies were sunny and the birds
sang joyful songs. The gray blur
of thunderclouds in the distance
never show in post production. They
were always there, the static
cling always present. But I choose
to ignore. I relive each memory
in Technicolor brights. I forget
that in my dreams that everything's
black and white. The signs were all
there. The way she drifted away,
like an iceberg slowly breaking off
from a glacial sheet. I chose not
to see the disconnection. Tried to fit
a square peg into a round hole. It wasn't
fair for her. My eyes narrowed
and nothing beyond the scope of her
existed. Behind the camera I didn't
notice that she was just a small
part of a bigger whole. The landscape
of friends and missed opportunities
lay among the fringes.

15:42

Day forty-four

Attonbitus

I stand ten feet away from

the door as she enters the room.

Then it happens. The air from my lungs

escapes as though frightened by

a coming storm. My jaw drops

like the wolf in a Droopy cartoon.

The neurons in me seem to temporarily

freeze, disconnecting the body

and mind. My brain tries to interpret

the actions of my lungs and knees,

it knows I look like a fool. I'm paralyzed

and afraid of being eaten alive. Flight

or fight, fight or flight. The adrenaline

moves too slow. My heart pants. The spell

breaks as she walks past. Then,

as though the world is in slow motion

my brain and body speed to the present.

I attempt to regain composure. And I want

to tell her everything, but the flight

instinct finally kicks in and I walk away.

15:52

Day forty-two

Another Love Song

And there you are. A flash

then thunder crackles

as you enter the room. Scattered

light on the candle lit

ceiling dances rhythmic

pulsing with each inhale then

exhale. Then the heart thumps bass

beats, another layer added as you

inhale then exhale. Breath. Crickets

chirp and lightning bugs burn, A southern

breeze muffles the sounds like

a woolen blanket. Together we feel

most alone, stranded like marooned

penguins floating on melting icebergs.

The distance becomes mere illusion

between us as we sit next

to another. We lay on opposite

ends my yin does not match

your yang. Imperfect circle, jagged,

cracked. It always ends. And all

I say is never again. as it happens again.

21:58

Day thirty-eight

The final days of Giraffes

My daughter won't believe

me when I tell her that giraffes

once existed. She's only six and says

No daddy, giraffe's are make

believe. I describe their long necks--

tall as tree trunks, and their patchwork

skin of brown and tan spots. She laughs

as I tell her that giraffes have blue

tongues and horns. Were they monsters?

she asks, her tone like a dancing

mouse. I clasp my hands with hers

and explain they were as gentle giants.

I show her a picture then show her

a clip from a national geographic

documentary. What happened to them?

she squeals. I shake my head and tell

her they disappeared. Daddy and

daddy's friends scared them off.

she smiles and shakes her head

Be nice and they'll come back.

I want to tell her that she's wrong

that we were careless. That we

neglected the earth. Instead

I say what a great idea as I

read on the front page

Last giraffe dies in captivity.

17:53

Day thirty-seven

I used the graph to make this.

Fair

The smell of pink cotton

candy, funnel cakes, buttered

popcorn fills the air. The sky

shades of rose colored wisps,

an ever changing painting,

slowly dims. The heavy ozone

scent near the bumper cars fills

the air as the zap tap tapping

of electricity dances rhythmically

against the flickering of carnival

lights. Reminisce. Crisp candied

apples-- a father hoists her daughter

on his shoulders. Pigeons coo softly.

Twirling melodies, everything spin

spin spinning as though in a giant wind

up music box. Here inside, the outside

neither exists nor matters. Sadness,

depression mere illusions of a magic fun house

mirror, distorted, concave, convex.

I have wasted my time.

Cris

16:42

Day thirty-three

Another 9/11 poem

Is nine years enough to write

another sentimental poem about

this day. It was a boulder thrown

into to pond, the ripples changed

everything. Nine years and we're

still at war. Those three thousand

poor souls not avenged. Would they

want to be anyways? I could write

that watching the towers fall felt

as though I was a citizen of pompeii.

I could write about the empathy I feel,

the sadness, but there is nothing

I can say or do to change anything. There's

no poetry in this. Just nothingness...

the cold numb feeling that always

comes after tragedy as we live

our lives and never forget.

15:00

Day thirty-two

Part of a larger project I'm working on with the TF
The formatting is off from the original again

Your shoulder feels stiff like a tree branch. Did I

hold you too tightly? Are you like dandelion seeds

ready to blow away at a mere whisper? I must

look like a fish to you as my mouth opens and closes

trying to find the right words to say. When you mention

the note I’m relieved. My brain says over and over again

“you got the message, you got the message!” I can feel

the adrenaline rush slowly end. Pieces of gravel stab

into my back, I can still feel my arms and legs. A good

sign. There’s a hot feeling on my left arm. The one

that’s not touching you. Someone smeared something

red across my forearm. I let you go. Dab my left arm

and realize that I’m bleeding. You look worried, about

to cry. I try my best to smile and say in a bad British

accent “It’s just a flesh wound”. Tad shakes his head

and frowns as he says “I called your mom, she’s coming

to pick you up”. I mutter “thanks”. The one thing I need

right now is you to see my crazy mother. “So you live

around here?” I ask. Your face turns from sadness

into anger faster than the chameleon’s tongue I saw

on a nature special, so quickly that I don’t have time

to react. Did I say something wrong? My body aches

as it finally realizes that I’ve been in a crash. Lightheaded,

I apologize. Try to smile as I wince at the pain. It felt

as though I was body slammed by my favorite wrestler.

A hear a car coming and honking. I close my eyes. My

mother has arrived.

21:27

Day twenty-five

Waving Girl

Handkerchief by day lantern by night

you stood watch at the mouth

of the Savannah river. Day after

day, night after night, nothing

deterred you for 44 long years.
Winter, spring, summer, autumn

would whirl around as you waved

and waved. Did your arms ever

grow weary? Your statue stands

like a sentry. At night when the world

is still, a hushed whisper floats

through the air, the sound of

fabric against wind and the ships

still greet you. Were you waiting

for a sailor lost at sea? Waiting

for a certain ship to return?

Why did you wait so long,

when so many others would

have given up?

16:34

Day twenty-three

Preposition

Under the canopy of stars

amid the Nebulae hides a place

beyond all things human. Heaven's

across space a million light years away.

Between all this space lay prayers crawling

through aether traveling to meet the ears of God.

Over the bright gas giants, the flecks of space dust,

towards the bright light's source. Both space and time fold

inside each other. Prayers flutter through this void and fall

against the quiet darkness. Until, like a flash of lightning they're heard.

16:55

Day twenty-one

The End Cliche

My heart is broken,

crushed, shaken, shattered,

stirred, smashed, or any

other amount of things

that's done to ice. I am ice,

cold and fragile. Melting

with each second of exposure.

I am Novocaine numb. I've failed

to keep you. Held too tightly,

suffocating. Pain is no longer

an option. I hate you, I love you

I wish I could change you,

but the problem is that I still

feel for you. I imagine that today

was just a bad dream. Tomorrow

you will call me and I'll come

over. We will be happy. This

is just a delirious dream,

a quiet delusion. I want to forget

you. I want you to pretend

that I never existed. I

was not good enough

for you. I gave everything I had

but it was not enough. The heart

makes all decisions final like a signature

on a contract that's never broken.

Our relationship was a movie,

and finally the cursive words

fly across the screen, signifying

the end. The end. The End.

15:00

Day twenty

Goodbye

I am on top of a granite

mountain. My back against

the wind, I slowly wave my

right hand. My farewell

to you. I love you, but,

always the but, you

don't love me. There

shows no signs on your face

no quiver of the lip,

no tears. It's not fair

for me to keep you in

a jar like a lightning

bug. Your glow will die

in the morning and I

will be filled with regret.

I don't want to hurt you

if I touch you, you may

fall apart like petals off

an orchid. I want to dive

off this mountain, fling

myself into the abyss

below, but I'm a coward

and afraid of heights. I

want you to hold my hand

just as you did in the beginning-

to share the excitement

of something new again.

I wonder what you will do

if we will ever meet again

in this life or the next,

if we will be two passing

strangers on a city street.

Goodbye, love.

17:18

Day eighteen

Sentimental

I love you.

Your chest expands

as I hug

you and I

feel you breath.

The smell of

your hair reminds

me of botanical

gardens. Your voice

is music of

course. Your eyes

the color of

two swirling oceans

blue and green.

you are nothing

less than perfect.

It's too easy

to say these

things. Too cliche

to say cliche.

But nothing I

say means anything.

It's the silence

that says everything.

The way we

both stare into

each other devour

another in stillness,

The pure silence

of the world

surrounds us both

and nothing disturbs

this purely human

harmony. Only our

smile or laughter

compels us to

return. like ripples

in a pond

and remind us

we aren't in

a fleeting dream.

15:11

Day seventeen

Images

Outside the window

a doe moves her ears

startled by the rev

of a passing car.

The computer screen

inside glows, not like

embers, but like daylight

captured in a box.

My hands type on

a black keyboard un

naturally dark. The

color of night? No

the night is a deep

blue. The color of

coal perhaps. My desk

looks nothing like

the tree it came from.

Wood grain painted

on its smooth surface.

The room I'm in

feels like a box. I

wonder if there are

natural squares besides

mathematics. A lamp

dimly illuminates

a dark corner- an artificial

candle that won't

flicker. How far away

can I travel from you?

I will return feet

bare on cold earth

and breath. Listen

to the sound of

trees and the sound

of your quiet voice

next to me. Telling

me that I am

not a lie. That

this is reality that

I am a part your

cycle. That I will

like all things, die

only to be born again

in a different form.

15:04