Reminiscing on things to come

Have you ever wondered
how life would be if choices changed
if only that dry leaf didn't crunch
if break from work was consumed by activity
if staying was better than walking away
to endure the pain

A lifeline of ever-branching scenarios
unanswered questions to difficult decisions
if only separation didn't lead to heartbreak
if only there was the courage to fight back
if only words could replace actions
what if?

Scared of what lies ahead
yet to be unburdened choices or simply accepted fate
if sleep did not come so easily
if waking did not come so difficult
if the fretful nights of missed opportunity did not call
to what do we owe the honor, Destiny

In the present, lives move
stagnation muddles the flowing lines of life
if eyes did not cloud with reminisce
if the mind did not contrive fruitless plans
if the body did not walk those wretched lines
the current soul appears whole, minor cracks fractal abound

To learn from the past to live in the present
continuity leads to the future
if the future is the present
if the present if the past
if the past teaches the future
wherein does my soul reside?

My mind's sedition

I've tried so hard to live up
to expectation
A son to the first born son to the family name
my growth has been defined by tradition
Cousins and friends look to me
as mentor, idol or compatriot, rarely as competition

Thus, I suppress all anomalies
afraid of my own rotting condition
Told to live in my own skin
none around know of my mutation
Walk covered and scared to show
the scales and scars marking my ugly disposition

Even so, from who I was to who I am
I make use no excuses for my ambition
Working hard to achieve set goals
the future me knows no personal satiation
Refusing to allow others to define
my life, my goals, my self, my mission

Striving to be a better man
with morals and wisdom as ammunition
Told that professorship yields meager
better yet to be a clinician, no erudition
Shown the door by women I chase
my love life a constant audition
Playing sports and keeping fit
personal health a constant motivation

Slowly I am finding myself
called away from external precondition
Agonizingly I am accepting
that my actions and my words are of my own volition
Lastly, through my own admission,
this sorry exposition is a cheap rendition of my soul's malnutrition

I sat watching

all the worldly riches surround

filling layers upon layers of naked flesh

yet the crown still lays bare, forgotten

the crowning epi-tome still missing

stories of broken hearts and fruitless ideas

stacked tome upon tome written in blue blood

sit gathering dust in corners of sunken marbles

no written word can describe such loneliness

have you ever heard a whale cry?

a soul wrought with desire, scorned with loss

the presto and andante of every

beat each second marks discontinuous discourse

that thing which worldly riches cannot buy 

not touch, nor taste, nor sight, nor heard

in these tomes lies the crown that sits upon the crown

shivers of feelings intratomized

Night Parade

The night parade comes as I stare at bright lit flowing words
atop the counter. lying silent a mash of food and moving water watches
the tick tock of the night parade
a creeping march not unlike rolling tides from a distance

the soldiers bearing swaddling arms and soft downy comforters
stand firm as I breathe softly into the evening sky
the tick tock of the night parade
counts sheep, one by one by one
sheared

Hypnos, a god I scorn, walks to the sleepless me
bringing blankets of starry skies and shiny moons
the tick tock of the night parade
marches in tune to the written symphony of shimmering stars and wispy clouds
as the music plays of crickets chirping and silence all around

heavy eyes and drowsy mind, my heart beats ever slowly
tuned to the tick tock, tick tock
the tick tock of night parade

Sounds in a shell

Blink.
staring out across the myriad of shades
is it so difficult to observe the flowing rays?
dotted with open ohs and penetrating lines
these are the flagships crossing the asynchronous waves
the crash of souls on impenetrable rocks
clash horribly with soothing whish whoosh of the rising and falling tide
do you hear the lustrous sounds of the creatures of the sea?
the whistles of the dolphin to the deep rumble of the whales
individual crescendos of nature's calls
the laws defy Gauss

The Big Bangcrunch

Empty bottles of wine
brimming glasses of aged scotch
do you imagine a monocled man?
or the monopoly man?
Girls all around in the VIP rooms
a growing network of importance
I am missing just my cane and Cuban

A lonely bachelor pad
with enough space for two
two week old food sits rotting in the fridge
while months old steak gets freezer burn
dirty clothes scattered across the ground
unsurprisingly, a bed unmade completes the room

who cares for the letters after a name

or the small font words speckling a white card

why consider things so commonplace

when there are so many things left unique

My footprints have fossilized
as I reach for the stars
everything else that matters has died

Frequented Tavern

watch the ladies pass by
one by one they exit out the swinging creaking door
each one a lost chance of happiness
squeaks of rusted hinges represents the laziness of inaction

is it too late to chase the ruins?
after years of misuse, corrosion hardens the once innocent door
along the sides are screwed in bolts and chains that always allow exit
never entry, so when the slam of anger reaches the ears of new strangers
only unsettled, dirty glass separate the reminiscent souls

I turn around and rejoin the drinking
expecting yet again for the aged door to close many more times
all the while knowing that a replacement will never come
maintenance is out of town

indefinitely

Abscess

lingering of indescribable feelings towards someone unknown
my single soul reaches out for companionship that cannot be found
then night has crept into the life that was so gay
these reminiscent feelings as if there were feelings to reminisce
trying to place emotion to face but in the end only shadows remain
the gossip is a heart that still feels for those in the past
those that are long gone towards paths that fates have prescribed
how false these claims made by those who only spin tale

these shivers and thoughts are ghosts of stories left to be continued
holes left in the journey, scripts that need to be filled, dialogue left unspoken
ultimately a wanderlust broken in pieces for a stable whole
these feelings of decrepit soles and audible inaction speaks slivers of mindless memories
a piecemeal of intertwined circular songs cut tangential to lives entangled
perhaps, just perhaps, these are unfinished dreams
played out not in reality but in fairytales

thus wakefulness compounds the desire for sleep
and sleep resolves the conflict of dreams
and dreams show the reality of life
wherein does the vicious cycle halt?
a deep slumber, never to awaken
so I dream lives of twists and turns
hoping that I too may one day sleep

Dreams

Who knew through magical colors collide
stories of life and love sprout
sunshine and darkness, suspense and happiness
who knew that dreams
within dreams have a life of their own

when mind wanders, the odds are good
the fairytale grows to encompass hearts
but storms rise and black clouds form
as half of two learns he is only one

through wakefulness "true" love grows
and in dreams our love unfolds
but when reality falls on a flourishing mind
within dreams it is the heart that dies

who says dreams are but dreams
is there no belief that dreams are alive
as such, when dreams fall short
in waking, mind reveals to heart
fairytales are but childhood fantasies
reality encompasses much more cruelty

pessimism seeps into slumber
the cruelty of life, women, and love
change these lines of poetry into prose
dangers of dreams unalterably begun to sow


so why keep singing those sweet lullabies
why hold dearly to those don quixote delusions
and by all that is good and holy
why keep dreaming those childhood fairytales

I too wish that prose may once more turn
into beautiful flowing poetry and gay rich song
sadly my dear, there is no happily ever after
there is only good riddance and good bye

so wake up, and let dreams be just those
dreams in a thoughtbucket floating for eternity
in purgatory never dead nor never truly living

Supposedly

Supposedly when you look back on the past
after sifting through the rough and all the crap
you should be able to easily find a little tiny gem called I

Supposedly when you look into the past
after digging through all the dirt and the mold
you should be able to find memories
trapped in little orbs of the soul

Supposedly when you look ahead to the future
after dreaming dreams and hallucinogen induced visions
you should be able to imagine the perfect life
a spouse, three kids, and a dog all living in a Victorian house with white picket fences and neighbors who care
all in this utopian society where your life matters

Supposedly when you look into the future
after asking horoscopes and voodoo doctors
you should be able to see a grown up face doing a grown up job in a grown up land with grown up problems
continuously isolated from childhood imagination all the while wishing and craving for youthful vigor and mind

Supposedly time is a circle, so supposedly the future resembles the past that resembles the future
and on and on and on ad infinitum (or so they say)
after moments of deja vu and butterfly effects
you should be able to figure out that the present doesn't exist

Supposedly this, our reality, is a figment of our neural circuitry
after much deliberation with puppy dogs and stuffed animals,
you should determine that all this supposedly is hypothetical
who says the words you see are real, but talking lollipops and dumb trees

Let us all hypothesize about supposed past and future
because supposedly the present isn't all that important

Creation of Man

Storms of rain and thunder
pound mercilessly against the unmoving earth.
Trees bend while shrubs hold firm
as torrents upon torrents of flood water
splash down on the tornadoes of dust below.
Lightening strikes with wicked force;
heat and sparks streak through the air.
Skies illuminate with the laughter of the gods!
Puddles like eyes look up and wonder
how clouds could feel such happiness in such chaos.

But, as air and ground trade guffaws,
beauty in rainbows left in their wake.
Wherein these rainbows, magic presides,
sprinkles of sunshine fall to the ground,
combine as dust and dew collide
in a mix and mash of unorthodox whirlwinds
tossing clumps of brownish goo.
Pinched and kneaded by the fingers of child's play
the mud is molded through
to arms and feet and body
leaving only the head unglued.
Now, a man created when head attached:
the merger of heart and mind.
What a beauty in child's delight
when seeing the two parts bind.

Soles, which soul
walking to find its habit
comes across a man with heart and mind
and in this body it comes to inhabit
while the hardening and cracking of sunshining light
define the child's twisted and turned delight

So as we find without the sole
from dust to dust
and ashes to ashes
a muddy trail we leave behind

Still the air and ground trade guffaws
while child's laughter blows our footsteps
unknowingly from time history's beckoning call

Screensaver

I've never wanted

to be so alone. Stranded in

a small room surrounded by

humming machines listening to

the soft whispers of country

I dream of standing on a balcony,

the top floor of a parking garage,

the tip of a mountain peak,

the landing overlooking ocean breezes,

laying in the flat plains of midwestern grain,

or even standing silently in the tundra of a winter desert

I strain my ears to hear the gentle breeze

I feel the tingle of the bristling grass underneath my feet

I warm from the sun drying the winter storm

I taste and smell the crisp spring air

I believe this is a figment of my imagination

as my eyes glaze over from emotions

flooding the brain, the lids close around

my newfound world. the blinding glare turns black,

the humming stops, and the dark of night envelopes

My only wish is to soar among the stars

after exploring the world

in dreams trapped by pixels of light

abolished

Mask

Quick, quick

the masquerade begins

flashing capes and royal gowns

dance lightly across this floor of

interlocking twine

where is my mask

o, my magnificent mask

decorated with gleaming jewels and plated gold

a loan on something I could not afford

to cover these hideous eyes

that shift, back and forth

I need to hide my bloodshot eyes

the lines of tears down the face

will fail to reveal

I need to hide the angry fire

flames that have engulfed my sight

water fails to smolder

I need to hide the loneliness

the shivering cold child

that seeks love

Look for it quickly

Look! Look!

here she comes from across the room

my last hope to hide myself

behind the mask of confidence

But, look...look

turn to the mirror on the wall

look in her gleaming eyes

see your reflection

where is this god forsaken mask?

it is but already worn.

Beer and Darts

As the numbers count down

from 301

eyes dart back and forth

scanning, ever searching

looking for that right

spot

a little metal needle

turns slowly between thumb and finger

what a beautiful object

feathers and a point

taking aim

only to realize that I

this drunken fool

hardly ever hits bullseye

always, always

close

alcohol makes the objective

harder to accomplish

but deceptively more enjoyable

with each miss comes greater laugh

so then, life

how much different is life

from a game of beer and darts?

toss my dart

see it wildly miss

is that not what makes everything so much more

beautiful?

Movement

Each had times when life stood

still

with events and people put on momentary

hold

brief moments in one's own head

when the world became

quiet and content

as quickly as those moments come

they become like dreams

after waking up; for some

the moment stays,

lingers; for others

the life of hectic charge resumes

these moments,

regardless,

pass

much like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day

come enjoyed gone, eventually

forgotten.

these moments reminisce of days

when sunrise and sunset

had meaning

I sometimes wonder

what silence on a knoll at sunrise during

a hot summer day

feels like;

what a cool breeze at sunset

smells and listens like

let not the little moments drift on by

or you too

like those watching the sky at the brink of dawn and dusk

shall be left

longing

for the beauty that was

Serenity.

Empty Airport

Where is the hustle and bustle?

empty bags left in solitude

sleeping children and mothers

pacing worried fathers

line the cold plastic seats

a place usually teeming with activity

now silent

eerily quiet

but, there is noise

chitter chattering of speakers

whirring of floor polishers

the low turning rumble of bags rolling

all meaningless white noise

in a land where movement has stopped

unseen structures masked

by constant perpetual movement

now, readily apparent

oh how great the architect

who designed such grand curves and beams

that go unnoticed through the night

dreams still alive before

then step outdoors

exiting to the world that turns

dreams to nightmares

---------------------------------------------------------

:-D Hartsfield-Jackson International...oh how I miss thy long security lines and quick baggage claims.

On time.

hours past

hours go

tick tock

tick tock

the minute hand slowly moves

agonizingly

I can see it taunting me

each mechanical wiggle

as the second hand rolls on by

laughingly saying

catch me if you can!

sighing, I reach for another

drink

the need to keep

on schedule

draining on the mind

on the body

on the soul

but time does not return

the world spins in

only one singular direction

I will adjust

like the tides

I will keep rhythm

with rhyme

less let the ages pass

undefined

Childhood innocence

oh how we dream of days of yore

how quickly we grasp for

that which duly lies in the past

that which has never grown old

that which relish in little joys

we hold on to them

as if childhood had once again

returned

but maturity calls

rather it beckons us

forth

and so we hopscotch

and jumprope our way towards

the land of ties and suitjackets galore

is this not to be guffawed?

little children walking about

pressed collars and windsor knots

khaki pants and shiny shoes

a game of dress up

that can't be all?

as we walk through

marbled halls and

glance dauntingly at doric pillars

legs stretch and arms strengthen

to fill brown loafers of

businessmen and doctors

professionals and tradesmen

soon after, as we grow

lives becoming evermore complex

childhood, seemingly a hazy door at the beginning of

a long, long hall

as doric pillars turn to ionic columns

we wear out these tiresome clothes

which sloth off to reveal

that inner child

crying.

Only then do we understand that

before the revolving door and grand hall

the childhood which we all dreamt for

was the most corinthian of all.

A curve and a dot

Life is

but a curve and a dot

Don't let that space in between

stop

the amazing leap

of thoughts and things

What mark do I make

in this grand scheme of life?

upon where, shall I be placed?

Let it not be a period.

or a semicolon;

or a comma no less,
Don't even strive to be an exclamation point!

as desirable as it may be.

Let me forever be a question:

for questions lead to answers

and answers are what we seek

a drag and a flip

a twirl and a bow

curves and curves

dots and dots

question me now

question me later

question me how

question, question, question

could not my life be any greater?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

new blog: a curve and a dot . blogspot. com

Poems will continue to be posted on here :-D

Stroll

stars blinking goodbye

high tide approaches the silent beach

a sad stranger saunters with slumped shoulders

unevenly placed prints mark

the jagged dragging steps of nightly debauchery

no sound but slow labored breathing

padding the damp, humid air

lacking that usual gay spring

mildly drunken to cover bloodshot eyes

as blood drains from the flushed face

along jagged lines reminiscent of ephemeral prints

flow the now solitary soul

as steps turn to staccatoed sinuous lines

a chalked outline the finale

as the Moirae watch

the line of life disentwine

leaving the gods to reveal

an empty fountain,

a dry well,

an ironic metaphor for deaden birth