[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

DrownBlackness at three AM
Dead stars
Mason jars
Books of hymns
Ribbons, wreathes, smoke
Phone calls from the dead
These things I know
And
Think
Of
As
I
Drown

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.

BitterBitter-sharp and angled
The stake through my heart
The brightest sun cannot penetrate
The cold seizures as I die
and die
and die, everyday;
but still somehow remain.

You only had to die once.
I've died a thousand times
since you left.

Dying is no way to live.

Recession A man on fire walked calmly out of the building, through glass doors that were maybe there, maybe not. Hit the bricks, pound the pavement, skin a cat or two. I saw what he was thinking, it formed a black cloud above his head.

He thought of old photographs and wicker furniture, of how dark it was inside for all of those plants to thrive. He thought of chances taken and opportunities missed. The monologue in his burning head was a constant buzzing fly, a death rattle.

Old TV shows, bad poetry, seasons, songs and metalworks; nothing could shut out the memories or calm the storm inside. Treading water, he wished that he could fly again. Over

Falling AwayIt'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.

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.

I Am A FootSocks, powerlines, scrubby bushes in my line of view
Metal buildings, metal skies, metal plates in my head
Incandescant tubelights shifting shadowhand animals
Smiling blacklight strobedance in my psychedelic robe
I beam dollfaces onto porcelain, I am a foot

The doll army is crossing the hallow in fancy fabric dress
No ocean can keep them from lifting my bones up
Socket puppets, beware, this is the real thing, this is now
Yesterday dropped off of the edge of the flatroof, gone
Tomorrow is an egg, waiting to be broken, I am a foot

Laundryday breakaway, glean, gleam, moonbeam
Reams of dreams rolled out in the desert with pot pie
Pins

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

TiredI am tired, heavy-footed, worn with wear I wear my hair
down long
Cold air blows through windows trying to nip the buds
long gone
I watch the cigarette smoke whip through the air currents
blue-grey
Saddened by the sun's insistence, shining on a day like
this day

I am rust, I am crushed metal, junkyard darkness, graveyard
sunset
I can't remember when I remembered what I'm trying so hard
to forget
Fire in oil drums replace the sun and the screaming and singing's
begun
I can't sing anymore, like Clancy can't, and the noise in my head's a
throb-thrum

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

Diner The diner was old, even then. Shafts of light through the picture-window blinds over the faded red booths. The red-haired waitress with too much rouge, the other grey-haired with glasses. They both wore white uniforms. Dresses. Women didn't wear pants much, back then. The cook was tattooed and also wore white. He looked as much like a sailor as a cook.

Tall menus were sandwiched between napkin holders and salt & pepper shakers, on the side of the table by the window. There were no booths on the other side, just a counter with stools.

Coca-Cola, iced tea, coffee. Burgers and fries with a real bottle of ketchup on the table. Ham and e

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

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

: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

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Grass Angel

by =Bark, Aug 6, 2011, 4:26:07 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Sunsplashed 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.

Grass Angelby =Bark

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

©2011-2013 =Bark

Written earlier this summer. Uploaded to Scraps because I've written enough on this subject, but I wanted *dragon-fly-to-me to see it.

*eyepilot13 Apr 13, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Awesome!

Reply

~RussianTim Dec 23, 2011 Professional Writer

This is really quite beautiful. It makes me think of how the last week of June marks the end of spring and the beginning of summer. How pleasant the weather is for a couple weeks before the weather starts getting too hot to fully enjoy. But then there is kind of a sadness attached to this poem. Like something has been lost..a memory, a person, a dream..just something that summer once meant to the narrator. I love the ending though. It's like a deceleration. Your intent to try to take back what was lost and find yourself through nature. But that's just my opinion. Lovely poem sir.

Reply

=Bark Dec 23, 2011 Writer

Your opinion rings true, thank you very much.

Reply

*BeyondJen Dec 7, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

So simple and yet, beautiful.
I think you've gift wrapped an invite to a soft patch of grass. Maybe to remind us there's more?

Reply

=Bark Dec 7, 2011 Writer

Yeah, Jessica reminded me about the joys of snow angels, and I brought it to summer.

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*BeyondJen Dec 7, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

She's a smart one, that girl.

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~TheLunaLily Oct 25, 2011 Writer

A grass angel, I love it. <3
And congratulations on the DLD!

Reply

=Bark Oct 26, 2011 Writer

Thank you!

Reply

~TheLunaLily Oct 26, 2011 Writer

You're welcome.

Reply

*prettyflour Oct 24, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

This has been featured in my journal!

[link]

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