As if I'll whiff a sack of onions fried
brown from years of cigarette smoke,
a stolon-shaped cobweb dangles from a ceiling.
A woman's double hello and smile upend
bookends of a full-blown dream.
A bank and a doughnut shop seem
to arrive as she'll pass them from around a bend.
A spider plant below eye level,
a flashlight floats past
a dormant light switch.
Cold floorboards groan beneath
the weight,
Of shadows trapped inside the gate.
The walls are bleeding memories
past,
In rooms where dying breaths were
cast.
A sudden chill, a phantom stride,
With nowhere left for you to hide.
The staircase creaks without a
foot,
And all your courage turns to soot.
The mirrors distort a twisted face,
That claims this dark, forsaken
place.
You hear the latch, you feel the
dread,
The house belongs to what is
dead.
My heart gets restless if I don't take it for a walk,
Sometimes I let it out to sit on my sleeve,
To enjoy the fresh air and sunshine,
Not caring if others talk,
Or, if I am seen as a bit of a dork,
As it is fresh air and sunshine,
That keeps the concepts of Romance and hope alive.
Sometimes it pops up in my head,
For a talk with my conscience,
Acting in its stead when it is not in residence,
Or at other times giving my feet a pep talk
Enough to make a walk, more than just talk.
Restless Heart
So you say she has a restless heart
Maybe too often you are apart
Well that’s not too smart
Gotta tame that restless heart
I know where to start
Make it sing
Over the joy you will bring
Give it a new song
For all that went wrong
Love it truly
Never cruelly
Show it compassion
Unmatched passion
Give it a reason
To settle in and settle down
You need to bring it around
So love will be found
Gotta tame that restless heart
So say I love you
Then shoot it
With Cupids dart
That’s the only answer
To a restless heart
I thought I should let you know
that it might seem like things are moving slow
but the truth is that
I don’t pull poems out of my hat
because they actually
come and go
as they please
and it might seem like a tease
but I accepted their behavior a long time ago
because when you
feel blue
and give poems a role
they’ll eventually jump out of the rabbit hole
and hop away
even when you ask them to stay
but there will be a day
when they’ll know when I feel mellow
and drop by to say hello
But I must confess
that even personal poems grow restless
so they'll leave
but there is no need to grieve
because some of those poems
will return
while others will crash and burn
like paper planes
in warring flames.
I’m restless as everything being shoveled, gone, and lost.
I have enough gears leftover to store nerves.
And drastic guitar strings handed over to me.
The types of manic piano keys all over and over.
Shoveled, eaten, and swamped.
I’m restless as everything over there.
In the old pond with shiny things.
Algae coming to life.
Over there, crispy.
Whooshing.
I’m restless as the end of a gold skeleton.
Or a bobbing up and down coin.
I’m restless as a crunchy sound.
Guitar leaves.
I fell asleep somehow.
Shiny, restless, gone.
Red eyes write despite being tired
Emerald delight poetic mind inspired
Satin soul slipping at the seems
Teal story unfolds life not a dream
Lavender scented candlelit room
Ebony eyes with light of moon
Sleep a purple puzzle of peace
Slide into eyes like a mystery
One with the Father and Holy Spirit
Christ, the logos, lived in the cosmic world.
He was beyond every mundane limit.
As flora and fauna, His fullness unfurled.
Breeze and storms, in grace and might, blew in Him.
In Him, fountains, streams, and rivulets flowed.
Mighty oceans bowed to His deific whim.
Like the sun, the moon, and the stars, He glowed.
He contained the chorus of beasts and birds.
Heavenly songs were sung for Him sweetly.
In Him were concealed nature's silent words.
Within divine hearts, He was heard softly.
Why, then, in His heart of hearts, was He restless?
Why was His existence therein zestless?
Tongues are magical, when it calm down stress:
Magical tongues wrap body's tempered soul,
To soothe what loneliness' fright might oppress
And massage beast single's life can't make whole.
Tongues do twist to tour around daringly,
With eagerness; there is something to loose...
Peaceful touching flare, caress caringly
Conscious guest, gut can easily seduce
At standby quietly waiting to turn on,
The still feelings that never walk away
Unto restored spirit of gleeful fun...
Except if death calls, it never decay.
Magical tongues always lift and dust off
Dying will of restless bids, when flesh cough...
Stellars so bright and so many
Generations of eyes fascinated with augury
Pillars behind the moonlight so plenty
Constellation of dyes adulated with sobriety
When you were young and gazing at countless stars
Year after year never slept at night without litted scars
Scars of night's canvass of twinkling lights
Pulsars beeping in the midst of darkest sights
Now that everybody has grown old
Asking why many stars have gone so cold
Where did most stellars hide and go?
Wondering why they disappeared and said "No"
Above the places where you grew up stargazing
Below are spotlights of people's wishful thinking
Now that you've aged and started recollecting
Bow and applaud yourself...
You survived even without dreaming!
Mindlessly I will follow every trend.
Controlled in all I do by appetite.
Pursue it single-minded to the end.
But new things mean I cannot rest at night.
We both know there are many just like me
Who, if you don’t look close might seem alive.
Who hunger to possess all that we see.
Who think we need all things just to survive.
I search for what I want, not what I need.
And what I grasp will never be released.
There’s always more on which I long to feed.
My hunger’s such that it will never cease.
Consuming like a zombie to the core,
No matter what I have, I still want more.
I feel like I’m running for my life.
Never a single moment of stopping.
Constantly on the go, as if I tripled my caffeine intake.
Feeling as if I’m being chased by a cheetah, barely escaping the kill.
That constant feeling of doom towering over me.
I just need a moment.
The moon, a silent, watchful sphere,
Observes a world that's fast asleep.
And in this quiet, lonely fear,
My restless thoughts begin to creep.
The popcorned ceiling, a vast, pale sea,
A bumpy map of what I'm not.
I long for what the world can be,
A place where consciousness is shot.
I close my eyes, and try to find,
A path to where the dreaming lies.
But pictures flood my weary mind,
The waking world behind my eyes.
The window shows the silent street,
Each house a box of hidden dreams.
I want to join that slow retreat,
And drift away on silent streams.
My body pleads, my spirit sighs,
For peace to wash this anxious dread.
To shut the world out from my eyes,
And find the comfort of my bed.
The final prize, the sweet release,
The quiet rest I cannot keep.
To find a moment of true peace,
To finally fall into a deep... sleep.
I look at my old hand
Blotches of liver spots, slow-running blood vessels
Delivering old blood so I can fold my hands
Once they caressed a woman`s body, who moaned
And my hands were firm
Women used to see me and smile, but now I walk
The earth unobserved and words become a long silence.
If I tell you how much I miss making love
to sit in the park with a girl and see the moon while
smoking cigarettes, inhaling its promise of love to come
The aroma of her hair, the smoothness of her thighs
to kiss her libido and drink her sweet water, her legs
Apart, she has given herself to me.
Asleep, enfolded we are, tomorrow is far away.
My old hands remember so much, I bow my head and try
to inhale from my hands what once was
It is all so hopeless, and soon enough I will be dead.
Restless Summer heat
It is odd how we forget we live on a restless planet
the talk of the melting ice cap is true enough; it melted
before when Greenland was a hot house for plants
In Spain and Portugal, the impression is of two lands
are burning tragedy we blame people for
but we overlook that there was a serious fire in 1823
so nothing is new on the planet
Flooding in Pakistan has happened for a long time
where people work on land, that is the path of
flooding and avalanches, not every inch of land
is suitable for mankind; we are on borrowed time
Earth will shake us off like a louse on a dog's fur
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