my grandpa is not one of your regular Joes
he travels around where a surf blows
he has been riding boards since sixty-two
he will never come home to Kalamazoo
Sometimes I bump into him on a beach
He always has facial hair like a baby peach
He does not know me, but I am like him a bit
Single, annoying, a lone wolf, a chit
I always seem to fantasize about the same thing.
Every night when my head hits the pillow.
I'm older, more confident. Taller even.
I bump into you in town, just mooching around. Probably window shopping cause I can never make rent on time.
We bump shoulders. I turn and apologize politely and you recognize me. You'll have to remind me your name because you remember I'm bad with faces but I need no reminder.
Those eyes, the direct mirror to my own soul.
You'll say, "oh my God, how have you been?" And I'll smile and say, "I've been doing good. It's good to see you" and we exchange new numbers.
A week goes by and you reach out wanting to catch up over coffee.
I'll go.
Pretending I'm not searching your hands for a ring.
You catch me doing so but you don't mention it.
We hug goodbye.
I'd like to sit and think that it would progress.
Two kids in a farm house. The whole picket white fence. The real American dream. But even my dreams are realistic these days.
They know it'll fizzle out, the same way it did before.
I was going to add a long remix track to a playlist,
A playlist called ‘Waitin For the Bus in the Dark’,
But waitin for the bus in the dark is as tedious as it is -
Making a remix tedious alongside it wouldn’t make sense.
The remix is exciting now -
Anticipating excitement knocking on my eardrums as I wonder how the tune will change.
But next time,
If I play it too soon,
I’ll know.
I’ll just know.
Knowing keeps listening from being curious,
And makes it here we go again.
But “here we go again” are lyrics in an excellent song -
1973 by James Blunt.
Maybe I could add that with the remix to the playlist
And never know which will play first.
Maybe I could add so many songs
That twill be one unmemorable remix
That won’t all play in the time I’m waiting for the bus,
One unmemorable remix that Spotify can shuffle out of order.
The bus I’m waiting for now is too long away
To make it to my trans support group before it ends,
So I’ll make my way home
And bump into an old friend
Who must have started to find me tedious
Or forgotten about me,
Like a song on shuffle that barely plays,
Forgotten how good it is.
One day, surely, in some far away land , you and I shall connect again
One day , just on a random day , while doing grocery, we will bump into each other again
One day , you are looking for a consult.. a colleague may just recommend my work !
One day you need a friend , you can count me in and call my name
One day you need a hand , don’t fret about how much time has passed
One day when suddenly it all falls, you and I could hold each other again
Just reach me, find me , call out … if you want then surely we will meet again !
You turn the light off
I begin to bump into myself.
Jeeze, I am a such strange shape in the dark -
all that fat and sweat moving like eels,
bones sticking out of my mind,
hair crawling over a lumpish face.
You turn the light back on,
just a bedside lamp,
a warm halo and honey glow.
Damn,
I am lovely!
He is not someone you bump into on the road and fail to notice,
he is the one whose presence you feel in the empty corridors he traversed,
he doesn't wear the falsehood of a feigned smile on his lips,
but sews his bleeding truths onto the contours of his soul.
He won't accuse you of gazing too long at his flawless face or measured steps,
he is not the subject of the town's empty chatter, but the whisper that slips into shadows,
he is an ordinary person who hates attention, too hesitant to meet your gaze,
he doesn't care about appearances or the silent knives that wound his back.
He is someone you all know,
he is someone you all judge.
He remains an enigma revealed only in the silence between heartbeats,
a story that stretches like an echo among the cold walls of indifference,
a presence that asks nothing but leaves a deep mark in the silence it touches,
a soul weaving its path amid gazes that lack the courage to see.
I don’t want a candy cane.
A Christmas tree? That sounds insane!
In the store yesterday afternoon,
Christmas started creeping in too soon.
They already took down the giant skeleton.
To put up a Santa, who is not as fun.
Fake snow everywhere.
Not a single spider in my hair.
Magic, but it’s the wrong kind.
There was no candy corn I could find.
Halloween hasn’t even passed…
So I find myself running fast.
To find someone to take me in.
A kind person who would like a Halloween kitten.
There are no witches around.
Looking for a cat like me to be found.
A man appears and I bump into him.
I start to purr on a whim.
I wanted a kind witch to take me home.
Maybe Halloween is being held in Rome?
Maybe Halloween is about the ones who care.
The ones who give you your own special chair.
Sure, I still don’t like candy canes…
But maybe my new home will keep me sane.
It's easier to say it by mouth than doing it
and whenever I bump into you,
I get a strong feeling to hold you;
oh, if that ever happens: I'll be smiling a lot!
I don't quite understand what's bothers me,
I'm missing the strength more than courage;
what makes me happy is having you close to me!
grant you all desires and worship your sweet image!
We don't insist on what can't work out,
it's easier to say it by mouth than doing it;
does it sound simple to some, but not to us?
we need to be wise and not expect surprises!
Laugh with me, dream with me until fate
is kind enough to make us smile and breathe,
to cherish life or lay down a round wreathe;
what is hard to accept always comes late!
If we are too choosy, we may lose love and all,
living in the moment is a blow to dreams;
nobody seeks a dim light unless it gleams:
stand by me, believe in me and you won't fall!
We’re all important in different and various ways
But we shouldn’t ever get to caught up in our own significance
or self-importance
Whatever we believe, we are transient
Whatever pigeon hole, box or compartment of our lives, we are transient
Friends, strong friends, we may bump into but rarely do we seek or
be sought out with any regularity
We hear ourselves say “we should do this more often”
but we rarely do
We are all guilty
Work environments, once left, people quickly fade
An acknowledgement that the world moves on
Quite rightly so
We are transient
Even with families, that most permanent of connections,
time erodes any permanence
Most can remember our parents and even grandparents
but how much beyond that
We are all of us, transient
Our lives are relatively short, for most our legacy is even shorter
Very few people have any form of permanence in history
This doesn’t mean we are irrelevant
To the contrary
We can be important and influential in a number of ways
It’s important to remember
Who you are
What you are
How you are
Be true to yourself but know life for what it is
In not so many years, no one will know any of this
Oh, b a b y
Won’t you come - d a n c e !
Squeeze my fig
Pull
Pull
P u l l -
Sweet g i r l of mine
Let’s - d a n c e !
Pull me close, close to your heart, where sugar drops melt and the divine hang out
Let me into your castle walls
Turn me around, to cast your spell with your divine heart
Come closer !
Come closer !
I wanna - bump into those l i p s !
Take hold, never let go
Let’s - d a n c e !
Church bells ringing, choirs sing in harmony
beautiful sounds all around town buildings
There goes a deer skipping and dancing
full of enjoyment that can be felt by all.
Even the sky seems to clap in time
as clouds bump into one another
causing big flashes of lightning
to accompany the thunder
We open the doors just before midnight
to let in the scents refreshing one's home
Meanwhile we drink a dram o' whisky
hugging each other tight as we kiss.
Peace to all, and a Happy New Year
Are they angry, annoyed
with alien landed gentry?
Are they just playing
a game shared, taught?
Fear jumps out of sweat that drips
Cascading down to bead up on lips
Salt licked tongue to the throat it slips
The recycled process of hydrated trips
Scared little geese bump into everywhere
Sensitive light breeze skin brushed up air
Usually uncovered tiny little stand up hairs
Completed by the shivers of warning beware
Fear falls into a sort of suicidal embrace
Dried by the elemental surprise of disgrace
Vanishing into where by confidence it's erased
Pushing through the exit door that slaps it's face
If you don't bump into it, you don't love
If you just bump into it, that's the same.
This room does not remember me.
Even when I pull the drapes
the bright sky
seems surprised by my alien eyes.
Some overlong nights
can unhinge you from time and place.
I have been ill,
the nightstand rattles with medications
and the bed is in recovery mode.
This walled-in dwelling
dwells apart from me,
it reluctantly makes way
for my substance
offering only a partial reality.
Who walks now
into my awakening space
as if they owned the place?
My familiarity is missing.
I am reflecting;
my thoughts flutter over a glass mind
as I piece together a history.
Perhaps I will explain myself later,
or by chance bump into my life,
meeting it again after lost years
astonished by how much this 'me'
has changed.
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