[x]

I Took the Blue BusYou didn't put the phone back, left your pills on the table
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
You made cookies I didn't eat, watched movies I didn't see
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
You talked, then you didn't, then you talked some more
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her

You took the elevator, she took the stairway to the stars
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
You swept out memories, wrote a manuscript of dreams
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
I had coffee and cigarettes alone at four AM
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her

She took the stairway to the stars
I took

PorchBleak and cold, November coming like a freight train
Sorry little colored lights twinkle above the city
The heart sees what the eyes miss
The eyes miss what the heart wants
The cycle never ends
I want an early summer afternoon
I want a house with a porch, with
Windchimes and hanging vines
Potted plants. Colored rocks and shells
I want stained glass windows. Dreamcatchers
I want the floorboards painted gray, the house white with black trim
I want willows in the yard
I want heaven.

Raindrizzle-dream drops plop against the pane
the sun's so much farther, far away today
whispered memories replace buoyant talk
of starfish and freedom and flying away
no, no dreams of flying today, just quiet
words of long ago and what might've been
promises made in the sun hold no weight
on a day when the grey's pouring in
you remember her, now, from so long ago; dancing on sand so white
(it was bright as a headache)
hand-in-hand laughter, a day without end;
but it did end, when you weren't looking, and suddenly
it was ten years after, and you were sitting alone
watching the rain
inside the drops you hear gulls crying, waves rushing; children calling out
to each other as they play
a radio plays your song, she squints into the sun
(the most beautiful creature you've ever known)
you hear her whispered "i love you" and then it's just
rain once again

ClockThe clock is ticking the clock is ticking the clock is ticking
Only owls can save you from the crows, but the owls are all dead
You trade your minutes for magic beans, but they only stretch
The minutes into hours, while you wait, expecting something more

Forever and never are the same in the schematics of a life
The crows constant cawing and pecking remind you that you live
The touching against a friendly soul now and then makes you want to continue
The clock is ticking the clock is ticking the clock is ticking

Reason flies out of the window with a shiny trophy in its beak
Love falls into the earth and becomes dust, unforgotten, unassuaged

SymphonyIt's the measured breathing of someone on oxygen, here in the small hours. I don't know where it's coming from. I hear it beneath the white noise of the air conditioner.
It's the faint jumpiness of a phone ringing, a monitor flatlining on a loop in my memory.
It's the droning in my own ears, the hum-buzz of the tinnitus, the electricity and insect sounds.
It's the whistle of a train, much louder than it should be. It soars over the top of it all. There are no trains nearby.
It's four AM again. The silence is not golden.

OctoberOctober; the world is dying
Going out in a blaze of glory
Not the slow painful birth into Spring
But a quick descent into Winter
Wind howls through fiery leaves
Change. Death. Mourning.
A wreath made from twigs, dried leaves and orange berries
For my Autumn girl.
And the days rush headlong into night.

HollowdaysShortened dim days and long starless nights
The wellspring, the windchimes, the starlings
Are gone
Dreary tunes about razorblades, and ash, and bone
The lost man's song, the October sonata
The walkingman shoeheels clack empty sidewalks
Past blank storefronts and soapsmeared windows.
Summer is a distant fire, muted by mist, fog,
Coldbreath
Hollow days are here again.

The Wind-DownI'm tired, a clock winding down in an abandoned sickroom
You're vibrant, a sunspot, a splash of color, a dream
That I dream when I'm fevered and sawboned

I'm a ghost already, a shadow that crossed your path
You sing your pain, and heal your space in the world
Bringing light, laughter, dizzying falls from great heights

We sing our pain together, sometimes, and I almost live
But the clock is ticking, the sirens call, and you
Cannot bring your brightness into the dark places

I'm tired, and the crows gather in anticipation
Perhaps they'll carry me to your beautiful world
And release me with the Christmas snow

RepetitionThe frayed edge of the day is pressed down by the weight of bulky cumulus. Smooth, pin-holed night has its heel on them. Treetops dance in ritual conformity. Raindrops plunder the stars and feed them to the clouds. Tall grass dances, is beaten down, rises to dance again. Repetition. Memories sweep in through the open door in a cold burst of October. She owns the wind, she is the wind; the wind that shrieks through your mind on nights like this. The Visitation. You know her name, but do not speak it. Why would you? Whether she hears or not, she cannot answer with anything but a howl.

Frayed edge of day pressed down by smooth, pin-holed night,

FuneralI could've gone all day without seeing that
Green door, green door, green door, green door
Red door
I could've gone all day
White truck, white truck, white truck, white truck
Black limo
Headlights
Greyday
Funeral
March
I could've been gone all day
Wind, wind, wind, wind, wind, wind
Rain
I could've ridden in back with the flowers
I could've gone home
I could've gone all day without seeing that

Grandmother's HouseThe smell of hot concrete rising from the sidewalk
and the tar on the wooden bridge
The sound of trains coming and going
So close that the small house was rattled

It was always summer, there.

Screen doors and a small rotator fan were enough
to keep out the mild heat of June
The train whistles sang me to sleep at night
With their wistful traveling tune

It was always summer, then.

Nothingi have no new words
no new ideas, nothing but that same
bleakness, blackness, bare-boned sadness
open-eyed madness
nothing new to say

the brainworms burrow deep, itching
screeching, screaming blind pain
bloodrip, mindmatter, black tie gag
guiltscattered, smoke, blackash and slag

empty fields should be filled with flowers
ghosts can't dance, and must be softly turned
away, into the mist of memory's urn
where trees breathe and shells sigh
down in the hallow

:No: ExitForty-seven teeth of steel
are clamping down
on the day.
Pins and needles pierce.
Hot wax drips down
without end

on this day

Where is the green-haired doll?
Discarded by the woman who has no ears.
The day stretches, but doesn't break.
Pulled and pushed and thrown around
disoriented
it remains.

There is no highway for escape
only a lonesome, dark, old country road
Neon
signs at the starting point
pointing in all directions.
This Way That Way No Way
Forty-five angels hide in terror
They do not speak.
The day yearns to break
but night will not release it's bone-tight grip
Somewhere there's a door

All things end, eventuall

Grass AngelSunsplashed buildings, clear blue skies
No traffic, no pedestrians; silence.
The end of June, the end of music.
No birds, no wind, no dreams

except this one.

This clinical, sterile dream,
Inside looking out
at nothing.

As the sun slowly makes its way
across the sky,
The only sound is the ticking clock.

I'm going outside to make a grass angel.

HalloweenThis is October's last song, before the winds
Rip the trees bare and November's cold grasp takes hold
The celebration of dead saints and sinners
The lonely wandering song, the looney tune
Flickers from porch-pumpkins grinning like skulls

This is the dreamworld, the fertile earth of imagination
Wet leaves underfoot, the song is carried house-to-house
Curses upon that house that does not receive it, spirits
Will play their mischief and sing louder than the wind
This is October's last song, beware, hear it well

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Falling Away

by =Bark, Oct 15, 2011, 4:46:38 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

It's not the falling behind, it's the falling away
Unable to stay vertical, no horizontal to catch me
Blindly boring white days falling in and out of sleep
Waiting for something to end and something to begin

Talking about white things and birds and death stars
The location of heaven, the door that won't open
The hollow sounds of the memory gears turning
The falling, falling, endlessly through a sea of white

(Did I mention the white nothingness? Of course, yes,
It's all I have left to talk about, the falling through white)
It's not the falling behind, it's the falling away
Catch me.

Falling Awayby =Bark

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2011-2013 =Bark

...

*Gypsy2222 Dec 8, 2011

Wonderful as always...

Chuckle~

Excellent ending...

Gypsy~

Reply

*joanbausher Oct 25, 2011 Professional General Artist

Oh, good grief Bark, do you ever write anything that isn't spectacular? You always have at least one solid sentence that sticks in your reader's mind. This one is chuck full and I love every line. You're amazing.
Joan

Reply

=Bark Oct 25, 2011 Writer

Aww, thank you so much! You've made me feel better on a bad day!

Reply

*chryssalis Oct 22, 2011

Reply

=Bark Oct 22, 2011 Writer

Thank you!!

Reply

*beeinthebottle Oct 22, 2011 Writer

Is it my imagination, or have you been tinkering with this? It was lovely to start; now, it catches me up even more.

Reply

=Bark Oct 22, 2011 Writer

Sorry, I replied about the wrong poem. No, this one's the same. Only you have changed.

Thanks!

Reply

*beeinthebottle Oct 22, 2011 Writer

I guess I woke up this morning a different person. I was always afraid that would happen.

In any case, I really like this piece.

Reply

=Bark Oct 22, 2011 Writer

Yeah, I've been working on it. I took Emma's suggestion and made the last stanza a couplet, changed a couple of other minor things. I'm letting it sit a while now to see if it's done.

Reply

*LancelotPrice Oct 21, 2011

If you wait, the something will never begin.

Reply