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Darrell Hoover Poem
The vultures are waiting for the night.... Waiting for the sun to die...
They will find me in my darkest hour and pick my bones dry...
I rock in my painted corner, humming a little song...
I dwell on my disease, the one I've dwelled on for too long...
My castle has grown smaller as I lie awake in wait...
My dreams have become fewer, as ever closer comes my fate...
Now's the time for prayer, as the tears fall from my eyes...
They look at me and squawk, as they plummet from the skies...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2012
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Darrell Hoover Poem
Cursed be the night... O' bloody night...
Thy face is cold and dead...
Thy eyes are of blackness, and thy cape wicked....
And the world is thy bed...
Thou sleepest during the day and cause death
in the dark...
The fire that consumed her was caused by thy breath...
Within it, a single spark...
So I curse thee, o' dreadful night...
I curse thee til the mornings' sweet light...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2012
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Darrell Hoover Poem
It's under my bed where the darkness lies...
Scattered dreams of wounded butterflies...
I half awaken to my daunting dawn;
to find my sanity is all but gone...
I stumble through my dream-like day;
trying to forget that you have gone away...
I struggle with my fear of God,
as the reaper gently turns and nods...
So now it's time for me to go...
To sleep on that hill where the tall oaks grow...
Despair slowly exits along with the pain...
And I fade into the day like the whispering rain.
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2012
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Darrell Hoover Poem
I don't envy that Mercedes passing me on the road...
I pity my poor choices that keep me from driving it...
I don't pine or wish for the righteous mans' soul...
I'll be lucky for the salvation that I get...
I don't sneer at the professionals with that hint
of green in my eyes...
I don't hope to reach 100, after all, everyone dies...
I'm not jealous of intellectuals, I'm just
not that bright...
I don't long for the sunrise for I am content with the night...
I don't daydream of the summer, while the snow falls
outside my door...
I've accepted that I'm grounded,
as I watch the eagles soar...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2012
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Darrell Hoover Poem
Graveyards are for the living…
The dead don’t much care,
If they rot in a box, or their ashes drift through the air…
Life’s as fragile as a day dream, and lasts about as long…
What will be the lyrics to your song, after you’re gone?
As another year passes and we get ever closer to death,
Will your mind race with regrets as you draw your last breath?
Sorry to be morbid, but it’s not death that I fear…
It’s how my life may unfold in the coming new year…
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2013
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Darrell Hoover Poem
The steeples tower over our flags
Dissent is not allowed here
How dare you not say the pledge!
Shots ring out in the crowded halls
Our children fall; victims of the sickness
We awaken from fractured dreams of something resembling freedom
Our electronic opinions hang like public laundry on a line
Eyeless sheep file out of the pews and into the voting booths
And the gods recklessly direct baseless wars against ourselves
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2018
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Darrell Hoover Poem
Death awaits me under a shaded picnic area...
It taunts me with the white hot frays of late summer...
I float in this seemingless eternal pool of hopelessness...
Trapped in my tattered brain of mindless stupidity and excuses. Passing the time.
I slam the doors of good fortune and simmer in my misery. I sit in a hot broth of tranquil beauty and the violent edge of the overlook. Only my cowardice stops me from plunging off the steep cliffs a few yards away. Hikers walk past and wave at me as I sit under the shaded picnic area. If they only knew what torment and self hatred the man typing nonsense on his phone was actually feeling. Hiding.
Passing time.
My new favorite place. 5.00 parking. Gorgeous views. Solitude.
Great place to think.
A great place for
Passing time...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2019
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Darrell Hoover Poem
Maybe I'll go to the driving range this afternoon. Hit a few. Oh that's right. I have a chronic pain in my back... Maybe I'll go home and have a beer; maybe watch a hockey game. I keep forgetting the storm knocked out the cable last night. Maybe I'll get into a profound conversation with the wife. I keep forgetting she's not happy with me. Maybe I'll die in obscurity. Maybe I'll just fade away... I guess I'll postpone the golf game... Save it for another day...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2014
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Darrell Hoover Poem
The hot wind blows through the asphalt parking lot like a massive hair dryer. I wipe the sweat out of my eyes to adjust the vents, as the AC struggles to cool the van. It's 4:32 pm on a Wednesday afternoon. My mundane day has almost reached its end. Even with the AC blowing in my face, I can't escape the horrible heat. I breathe in the wet, heavy air with a slight despondent sigh. Summer... That magical time of year when in my youth, I escaped school for three glorious months of leisure. Now summer is just an uncomfortable time that I pray passes soon into the loving, less humid arms of autumn. Soon I will be bitching about the cold and my outrageous heating bill. The only time of year that my incessant complaining is at a minimum, is the brief fall. Something about the cooler weather and falling leaves puts my soul at ease. As I excessively sweat and struggle for breath, I look forward to the painted trees and the chilly mornings. So to my inconvenient friend, I look forward to your exit, as soon I will welcome my new friend, called the fall.
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2014
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Darrell Hoover Poem
I close my eyes to all the despair and worldly strife...
I sit and rock in my little rocking chair; ear buds tightly inserted like a life saving prosthetic...
I let the world rush by as I immerse myself into my last refuge...
The bass and treble... The mids and highs... The soft variances, to the percussive booms...
The timeless lyrics jet me back to where my days were longer, and things made more sense...
It was a time when my entire identity was the music... My entire being... My reason for living...
With the passing of that infernal notion we know as time, priorities have changed.
Life got very serious and stoic, but the music remained... A constant in an ever evolving world...
It is not merely an escape... It is a vehicle of transportation; transcending time and beauty...
Dismissing the harshness of reality, and launching you into a sublime world of cosmic vibrations...
What else can evoke such emotion as a lonely cello? The strings cry as they touch your very essence.
A happy melody of your youth instantly forces a smile; and you can ride the notes of a symphony like a galloping horse through endless, summer plains...
You may remove my eyes... You may cripple me, and take away everything I hold dear...
The music will always remain; if only an echo in my vacant mind...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2016
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