Read Anything but Dreams Page 5


  To calling

  And essentially

  Belittling

  One of the greatest

  Symphonies ever performed

  By referring

  To it as

  Just a ditty

  June 29, 2002

  Chelsea, MA

  Thinking back to the incredible mix of new emotions I felt as a teenager.

  Delicious as a Whisper

  Delicious as a whisper

  Tremendous in a tremble

  Craving the caress

  The velvety fierce passion

  Between our sweet shuddering

  Exploding in luscious agony

  December 31, 2003

  Bay Point, CA

  This was written as part of an erotic magnetic poetry contest, at my friends’ New Years party, in the last few minutes of 2003. I decided to go for eroticism as opposed to raunch…which is why I lost.

  Out

  Ratty Blanket

  Looked up in the sky

  At the ratty blanket

  That covers us at night

  The one with the little

  Teeny tiny holes that

  Let the pinpricks of light

  Through all over the place

  Reminding us that the bright

  Is on the other side of the night

  Then I saw the larger hole

  Of the eclipse I’m freezing to see

  Luminescently dark but brighter

  The further you look down

  Like the blanket had a tear

  And a flap of fabric was

  Hanging down backlit

  Difficult to describe

  But you’d know it

  If you had seen it

  Part of the dark

  Hanging down

  Needed to be

  Repaired

  Mended

  Fixed

  Brr.

  Too cold for shorts

  So back inside

  To the warmth I went

  November 8, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  I stood outside for 20 minutes looking at the eclipse of the moon. It was pretty cool, but I was only wearing shorts in the 20-degree weather (so, it was pretty cold as opposed to just being cool). While I was out there staring at the sky, it hit me that the night time sky is like an old ratty blanket with lots of holes that let in the light. Kind of a nifty analogy since a ratty blanket lets out the heat and it was wicked cold out.

  Autumn Is Faster

  Beginning of September

  Driving up I-93

  Cool with a crisp breeze

  Even though there will be

  A few days of summer

  Left here and there

  I can dream to dare

  That autumn is faster

  Approaching here

  Thinking to steer

  My car over there

  Looking to stare

  At all the trees

  How now

  They’re green

  Somehow it seems

  That it won’t be

  For much longer

  Instead they’ll be

  Filled with color

  And down falling

  As I start wearing

  Jackets once again

  Those days are up

  That road somewhere

  Sometime fairly soon

  Until I come to that exit

  I’ll be lamenting the fading heat

  And enjoying the waxing cool

  All for no other reason than I’m

  Stuck on the cusp of the seasons

  September 6, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  The weather lately has been very cool with a definite autumn sharpness to the blowing wind. I love this time of year…it’s so refreshing after a hot summer.

  Astute Frostian Observations

  Driving home on a rainy Sunday

  From spending the night at a

  Friend’s house near Amherst

  Driving north up Route 202

  Drizzling down on everything

  Empty road out there

  Empty mind in here

  My thoughts void of anything

  Then I notice the bubbly gray

  Of the petrified snake winding

  Through the forest out here

  In the middle of nowhere nothing

  An old New England tradition

  Stone fences that are separating

  Everyone’s property under the

  Astute Frostian observations

  Of fences and neighbors even

  Out here where it seems no one

  Lives but I’m sure that someone

  Did at one point decades or even

  Centuries ago and for whatever

  Reason they saw fit to mark

  What’s mine apart from

  What’s theirs with a permanent

  Pile of rounded gray stone

  What would the builders say

  If they could see what I am seeing

  Where what used to be their farmland

  Was now forest

  Where what used to be their lives

  Was now erased

  Too much to think about

  On a rainy Sunday

  So I get back to thinking

  About nothing in particular

  As the forest gets replaced

  By the man-made lake

  Of the Quabbin Reservoir

 

  November 4, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  Nothing on my mind at all today (kind of odd) while driving back from my friends’ house in Belchertown, Massachusetts, when I saw some old stone fences in the woods. I grew up in the Berkshires and saw them all the time in the forest and never gave them a second thought. Only this time I did.

  Streaky With Contrails

  Beautiful cloudless

  Crystal deep blue sky

  Sadly, it was so scarred

  Streaky with contrails

  Criss-crossing above

  The nature I’m in

  Cutting right through

  The indigo ceiling

  Another thing of beauty

  Marred by man

  April 25, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  I’ve had the phrase “streaky with contrails” in my Palm for a few months now and finally did something with it.

  Hush

  The white shapes so pretty

  Filling the world with serenity

  The only sound is the hush

  Of fat flakes falling around

  Even then, they don't make a sound

  February 12, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  The last time it snowed, I went outside and was treated to an amazing scene. Not a single sound. Nothing. It was like the gently falling snow had deflected or absorbed every last trace of noise. Perfection in a moment.

  Happy

  Only Good Things Can Come of This

  Wonderful things

  Running amok

  Out in the street

  In every house

  Down here

  Up there

  Everywhere everywhere

  Tossing out the cares

  Ignoring the worries

  Torching the concerns

  Letting go of everything

  Crazy go nuts time

  Rambunctious and rowdy

  Edging towards tawdry

  With that ethereal quality

  Sitting on the edges

  Laughing like the one

  Deliciously in on it

  Who knows that

  Only good things

  Can come of this

  May 2, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  This is what happens when I sit and write with nothing at all in mind.

  Happily Ignoring

  Looking around the room

  Small piles of things

  Wanting my attention

  Books be
hind me

  That want to be read

  Bills beside me

  That should be sorted

  CDs on the floor

  That need to be burned

  And some of them returned

  To the friends that loaned

  Them to me months ago

  Pictures that ought to be scanned

  And emailed to the ones in them

  In the room down the hall

  A guitar crying to be learned

  Sketchbook in the bookcase

  Mostly blank and empty inside

  In my bedroom a pile of clothes

  Needs to folded and put away

  Another pile unhappy and wrinkled

  Waiting impatiently to be ironed

  I have a day off and I can get it all done

  But I don’t and I’m sure I won’t

  Instead I sit here where I usually am

  In my worn red office chair

  In front of the computer

  Happily ignoring the cries and pleas

  Of the chores that surround me

  September 28, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  This is my life right now.

  Eggers Can Wait

  The first truly warm night

  That finds the two of us

  Sitting on white wicker

  Facing each other

  Books in hand

  Our feet up and out

  And resting together

  On the matching table

  Pint glass half full

  Of gently fizzing

  Of gently warming

  Diet Coke right there

  Beside my left arm

  On the white railing

  My finger marks

  My place in the book

  Eggers can wait

  As I take in the moment

  And look up and watch

  The pillar next to me

  Reach up so very high

  And hold the ceiling up

  All of it perfectly white

  With the notable exception

  Of the yellow from the light

  Way up there above me

  In another month it’ll be

  A beacon for bugs and moths

  But for now it’s left

  Undisturbed to do its job

  Without fanfare

  Without interruption

  The high-pitched squealing

  Of loud and bratty brakes

  Calls my attention to my left

  Out in the night I watch

  As the car slows but never quite stops

  Despite the octagon’s best intentions

  It must be frustrating being a red sign

  At the intersection

  Of two, lightly traveled, one-way streets

  No one listens

  Hell, even a yield would be pissed

  A moment later the squealy car is gone

  And the peaceful silence

  Once again crowds around

  And fills the air with the light

  And greenly living spring breeze

  I look across the street

  At the illuminated sides

  Of the big beautiful Victorian

  That lives dichotomously

  By day

  The first floor is a doctor’s office

  (Psychotherapy as the sign says)

  By night

  The upper floors alive with apartments

  Our building lives a similar life

  Earning its keep in the light

  With the dentist office down here

  And making money at night

  By the three apartments up there

  Another gentle breeze

  Closes my eyes and

  Gets taken and breathed deeply

  This scene is almost perfection

  A nudge against my foot

  Brings me back to now

  I look up and return the smile

  Correction

  Now it’s perfection

  Our feet interlace tighter

  And we get back to our books

  With the perfect night

  As our backdrop

  April 19, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  I think I’ve said it all.

  Save That Wish

  My friends being funny

  Told the waiter secretly

  That it's my birthday

  So out comes a slice

  Of cheesecake lit aflame

  With a candle on top

  We all had a good laugh

  Since my birthday

  Is four months away

  And got back to talking

  A few minutes later

  Back comes the waiter

  Sees the candle burning

  And asks if I'm trying

  To save that wish

  We all laugh some more

  But his words got me

  Really intently

  Thinking wondering

  About the possibility

  Of something I had

  Never really considered

  What if I could save it

  Take my wish home

  And use it

  On a day

  When I need it

  What if the lit candle

  Could safely be put

  In my pocket

  And wouldn't

  Ever go out

  Unless I blew it out

  During the making

  Of a needed wish

  That would be so cool

  But not something

  That could ever happen

  In any kind of reality

  So I made a quick wish

  And blew it out

  Still secretly thinking

  It was a good idea

  December 26, 2003

  Fresno, CA

  We were having dinner at a restaurant in Fresno, California when my friend excused himself and secretly told our waiter that it was my birthday. Later, the desserts came and my slice of cheesecake had a candle in it. I was surprised but played along with it and told the waiter how much it sucked having a birthday on the day after Christmas. As I ate the slice, I let the candle continue to do its thing. A few minutes later the waiter returned and asked if I was saving the wish. It got me thinking, so I wrote this.

  After Living a Lemon Life

  She’s so good at making

  Such awesome amazing

  Yummy tasty

  Lemonade

  The kind made only

  With practice

  And experience

  From the lemons

  That life has

  Given to, or

  Thrown at her

  Over the years

  A fresh pile means

  A fresh batch means

  A fresh chance to succeed

  So in the end

  She gets the last laugh

  Rich in the knowing

  That she’s standing tall

  After living a lemon life

  Sipping the bestest tasting

  Most refreshing lemonade

  Anyone’s ever made ever

  November 2, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  My mother asked me to write a poem based on a bunch of different suggestions. I didn’t want to use them, so I wrote one about her instead.

  Going Mad With Smiles

  Strangers catching up

  On a lifetime apart

  A lifetime of never knowing

  A lifetime of never having met

  Each other ever before

  Talking for so wonderfully long

  It drained my phone’s battery down

  After the exhaustion caught up

  We finally said goodbye and I was

  Going mad with smiles

  Thinking about her

  Just a couple of miles

  North of here

  Across the city

  Sleeping in between

  The
two who can’t sleep

  Staring at the ceiling

  Lying and replaying

  The words exchanged

  At last slowly drifting

  Off to start dreaming

  About each other

  The matching smiles

  Still brightly shining

  While deep in sleep

  Just a few miles apart

  March 4, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  Seatbelting

  You can't see

  The smile on my face

  Here in the quiet

  Bedroom darkness

  Your back against my chest

  My arm wrapped

  My hand cupped

  Your arm seatbelting

  My arm safely against you

  Unseen matching smiles

  In the sleepy darkness

  Drifting off to sleep

  Knowing that life

  Is good to keep

  December 10, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  Nothing really to base this off of other than past remembrances and future dreams.

  Reason

  I once had a reason

  And the reason was her

  Now I have a reason

  And that reason is me

  July 1, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  This idea came to me while I was driving to work one day. I stopped my mp3 player and recorded it. That was a few weeks ago. Today, I stumbled across it in my mp3 player and finally wrote it.

  Heart and Fingers

  Can’t stop writing, typing, whatever you call it

  The fingers won’t stop doing what they’re doing

  They, along with my heart have taken over

  And I’m just along for the ride

  As they take a nugget of an emotion and run with it

  And just go go crazy and don’t stop until it’s done

  I wish I could come up with these things I’m writing

  I guess I do, but it seems that I’m a passenger

  Looking out the window of my shell

  As I pour my emotions down all over the keys

  And they appear on the screen

  No choice, no say in it whatsoever

  Out it goes before I realize there’s even a thought

  That supports the words

  My fingers pause once in a while to grab the mug

  Of frostiness in front of me

  And swig it down the fuel that runs the creativity

  Sometimes but not always

  But it can’t hurt

  And it can’t help

  But whatever

  An instrument a conduit for something greater

  I somehow doubt it but maybe who knows

  I certainly don’t

  As I let the passive creativity flow through

  The fingers as they dance in front of me

  In the clicky-clacky style that is music

  Only to my ears

  The symphony of life

  Only to my ears

  So away I type

  Not stopping until I’m done

  And even though this one is finished

  I’m not done with my work

  Not done until I’m dead and gone

  Not until my heart and fingers stop

  April 11, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  I didn’t plan any aspect of this, I just typed. The hardest part of it was deciding to call it Symphony of Life or Heart and Fingers. I chose the latter because I really doubt I was the first person to come up with the phrase “Symphony of Life” and I didn’t want to seem like I was ripping it off. I’ve never heard that phrase used before but it seemed so borderline cliché that I had to go with the other one.