Read Trying Not To Blink: A Poetry Collection Page 9


  Spaces

  Spaces

  And their

  Artistic use

  Can be

  Interesting

  Or

  Annoying

  Usually it’s a

  n

  n

  o

  y

  i

  n

  g

  December 7, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  I was thinking about how recently I read a poem somewhere where the writer put a whole bunch of extra spaces in the work. I’m sure in their mind it was for some deeper purpose trying to make a comment about something (or something), but I found it to be distracting and irksome. I thought I would dabble with the same method. Yup, it’s still annoying.

  Trying To Type Quickly, Quietly

  Trying to type quickly, quietly

  Attempting to get my ideas out

  In the mostly-darkened room

  But the clicking of the keys

  Is an accomplice

  Working in tandem

  With the gentle sawing,

  The rhythmic snoring

  From the wife in the bed

  Who fell asleep waiting

  For me to finish and join her

  December 8, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  Peaking In The Distance

  Ridging layers of mountains

  Peaking in the distance

  Widening up my view

  Each summit

  Looming successively taller

  Looking slightly paler

  Impressing me more

  December 15, 2012

  Burlington, Vermont

  The drive up to Burlington is impressive with the snow-capped Green Mountains to the East and the taller and more numerous Adirondack Mountains to the West.

  All You Have Is Now

  The past is over and done with

  The future hasn’t happened yet

  The area where you live your life

  Is the faintest sliver in-between

  You can’t cling to the past

  And you can’t touch the future

  All you have is now

  December 15, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  And when you think about it, trying to measure the present is nearly impossible as you can get into billionth of seconds (and well beyond) and still not capture the present. As things happen, they’re in the past.

  (And thus concludes the Deep Thought portion of the evening. Thank you.)

  First On The Scene

  Cold dark night

  Winding up a steep mountain road

  Going the posted fifty

  In a second the night changes

  As a scary scene unfolded

  Under the looming leafless trees

  Illuminated only by our high beams

  A car with no lights

  Sitting sideways

  Blocking the downmountain lane

  We’re the first on the scene

  Of a one-car accident

  That happened maybe two minutes earlier

  Hazards on, we pull over

  And check our phones for a signal

  Nothing

  The car behind slows

  And we tell them to go and call for help

  We dash across the darkness to the figure

  A woman alone

  She’s alright

  But her car isn’t

  Crumpled front and leaking some sort of liquid

  It won’t drive again

  My wife takes the woman to our car

  And calms her down

  Twin lights round the corner up above

  Still far, but coming fast

  Unaware of the damage ahead

  I raise my phone’s light

  And waive the car to stop

  Another coming up offers help

  Together we direct traffic

  Until the police arrive

  An hour later we leave and discuss

  Poor college student

  On her way home to Connecticut

  For a long weekend

  With her family and boyfriend

  Only an hour out of school

  And four from home

  A tire blows out

  Down a steep mountain road

  Sending her across the oncoming lanes

  Headfirst into an embankment

  Spun her around until she stopped

  She’s not going to Connecticut tonight

  But in the grand scheme of things, that’s ok

  Because she’s not going to the morgue either

  December 15, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  This happened a little over a week ago. Very scary stuff, but at least everyone was fine.

  That Same Song Finds Me

  A song played on my computer

  One attached to too many emotions

  I was going to say memories

  But that’s not entirely true -

  The memories are just a swirly blur

  But the sentiments are solidly clear.

  I felt a sadness for that period in my life

  In my early twenties

  When this song was on heavy rotation

  The soundtrack for all the late-night,

  Cold-weather, hard-drinking,

  Fun-loving evenings

  Finally free from the covered comfort of college

  Just starting to make our way in life

  Dressed to the nines in our naivety

  While keenly unaware

  Of the dual preciousness

  Found in life and time.

  Blur ahead to now

  The times, people, and wants have all changed

  As a decade and a half passed

  Showing us words like “forever”

  And intentions we held close and gathered

  Were nothing more than empty gestures

  Fading illusions forgotten

  Writhing into wrinkles

  Scarring the edges of the eyes

  That have lost the luster and

  The sprightly innocence

  In a years-long exchange

  For hard-earned experience.

  Now that same song finds me

  A very different person

  I am laser-focused on what I want,

  While working with new people,

  And keeping an eye on the time.

  I’m making it happen.

  Still though,

  The nostalgic underpinning

  Of this song makes me sad

  With the hitting realization

  I spent too much of my precious life

  Driving down the wrong road.

  But in the end, it’s alright

  Since it brought me to where I needed to be

  And I have learned a great deal along the way

  December 15, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  Back in the late 90s, I had a five-disc CD changer. Some of the discs frequently found playing on shuffle were: Fiona Apple When The Pawn…, Dave Matthews Crash, Music For The Masses (a Depeche Mode tribute CD), Romeo + Juliette Soundtrack (never saw the movie, but this album was amazing), Garbage Version 2.0, and probably a Best Of CD by The Smiths.

  The Poet King Of Amherst

  The Poet King of Amherst

  Looked out from his chamber

  Across the quad

  To the mountain beyond

  And nodded approvingly

  At the nature he created

  Fro
m the descriptive words

  That sprang from his mind.

  With a snap and a nod

  He alerted his minders

  Of his intentions.

  They were well-trained

  And knew exactly what to do

  The champagne was chilled

  The car was prepared

  And, amid guards and fanfare,

  He exited the building

  And was led to his awaiting car.

  The stretch Bentley roared off

  The leafy Amherst campus

  Turned, and passed the Lord Jeff

  The window lowered

  And he raised a sparkling glass

  In tribute to both the inn and the man.

  Another turn to the light

  (Which changed just for him

  Because the King waits for nothing)

  A right onto North Pleasant

  And he gave an approving nod

  To the bookshops they passed

  And a flurry of hundreds

  Are tossed into the crowds

  To show he was pleased.

  Minutes later, passing through

  The University of Massachusetts

  His people hurled insults

  And haiku written on rocks

  At the students they drove by

  Not wanting to waste an ode

  On the less-educated dullards

  Who couldn’t understand

  Who wouldn’t appreciate

  His enchanting lyrical verse.

  Both aspects of his work were done:

  The building up and

  The tearing down,

  So they looped back to town

  And into the cemetery

  Where a string quartet awaited

  The King’s royal arrival.

  His minders rolled a length

  Of gentle fibered carpet

  From his door

  To the fenced-in

  Wrought-iron enclosure

  Surrounding a small tree

  And four headstones

  Of the Dickinson plot.

  The musicians played

  As he walked through the gate

  Disrobed, and climbed

  Into a solid gold bathtub

  Filled with heated Cristal.

  A subject handed him

  A pad of exquisite paper,

  And a pen made from

  The bones of Whitman.

  With his idyllic setting in place

  He penned his poetry.

  With each work finished,

  He signed with a flourish

  And handed it to an assistant

  Who carried the poem away,

  With reverence, on a silken pillow.

  This was repeated repeatedly

  Over the next few hours:

  Poem, pillow, away.

  Poem, pillow, away.

  Poem, pillow, away.

  As the sun set, he rose

  And stepped from the tub

  Into a freshly-warmed robe

  That’s when the quartet stopped

  The DJ spun his fat beats

  And the whole of Amherst

  Turned out for the kickin’ rave,

  The nightly celebration of poetry

  Centered around Emily’s grave

  Curated by MC Frosty himself.

  The party continued unabated

  Until the clock struck two

  When the Poet King of Amherst

  Waived and took his leave,

  Amid the joyful well-wishing

  Of his loyal subjects,

  Returned to the college

  And retired for the evening.

  Tomorrow he will repeat

  His daily tradition

  Just as he always has

  Just as he always will.

  December 19, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  Holy wow, this was a silly one. I admit I don’t know a lot about Robert Frost other than he lived in New Hampshire for a time, taught at Amherst College, and read a poem at Kennedy’s inauguration. So, from that knowledge I was able to write this poem. Despite my lack of knowledge, I think it’s a pretty good representation of his daily life.

  So Essential

  The water raining down

  Quenching, enriching, enlivening;

  The earth reaching up

  Receiving, stirring, awakening

  From the faint pitter-patter

  Of the life-giving liquid.

  So simple,

  So pure, yet

  So essential

  For everything

  We see and need

  December 19, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  A poem I wrote and submitted to Taproot Magazine. The topic word for this issue is “WATER.”

  Let Down By Something, By Nothing

  Today’s the big day

  The major date

  Circled in red

  On the calendars

  Of the gullible,

  The superstitious,

  And those easily led astray.

  A day just like any other

  Nothing remarkable happened

  The world didn’t end

  Leaving the foolish

  Feeling let down

  By something,

  By nothing

  December 21, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  At the beginning of this year, when I worked for the government, countless people would come to my window and start talking about how the Mayans predicted the end of the world later this year. I don’t know why they would talk to a stranger about it, but it happened with unusual frequency. It’s not like I had a sign that said, “Hi! Let’s talk about the end of the world!” but still, people would constantly bring it up. Each time, they would joke, or comment, about it with a deep underlying seriousness and fear that was plainly obvious that they did actually believe in it. I hope that this non-event caused them all to take more stock in actual facts and scientific reasoning versus superstitious gullibility.

  Revive My Interest

  I’ve tried to listen to the songs

  I’ve even put up festive lights

  But no matter what I do

  I’m just not feeling the season

  It’s my first year without a tree

  And I didn’t send a single card

  Not because I don’t care

  About my friends

  But rather I feel indifferent

  About the day

  I’m wondering if what I’m feeling

  Is somehow related to getting older

  Or maybe my holiday joy is waning

  Due to my minimal exposure

  To television, advertising,

  Malls, society, and shopping

  I’ve surrounded myself with lights

  Which I’m really enjoying

  But they are doing nothing

  To revive my interest in Christmas

  December 24, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  I noticed this last year too, but then it was more of a noticeable reduction in Christmas spirit. I’m sitting here in the darkening daylight of Christmas Eve, my office lit only by Christmas lights, and I have zero interest or spirit in the holiday. It’s been the same way all month. Kari said she is feeling the same way as well. I used to love, love, love this season, but now I could not care less and I have no idea why.

  The Smell Of Tradition

  On a cold evening

  With empty roads

  I signal and turn

  Into the oddly unlit

  Parking lot of the

  Small-town strip mall

  Six PM and everything

  Is closed and dark

  Save for my destination:

  The Chinese restaurant

  Open and lit at the end.

  Five minutes later

  I’m back on the road

  Heading for home

  With our Christmas dinner


  Filling my car

  With the smell of tradition

  December 25, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  For the past few Christmases, we’ve foregone making a special dinner in favor of getting Chinese food. When I walked into the place, no one was there, but behind the counter I saw they had a bunch of orders ready to go, and as I left, several other cars were pulling in. It seems we weren’t the only ones.

  One Side Knows

  Facts and scientific reasoning

  Versus

  Fear and superstitious gullibility

  One side knows with deductive thinking

  While the other thinks they do through

  Handed-down, close-minded naivety

  Provable rational thought

  Always wins over

  Poorly-cobbled folklore

  December 26, 2012

  Benson, Vermont

  I got to thinking about the whole Mayans end-of-the-world-thing again. Yesterday I searched for after-the-fact interviews with people who claimed it was going to happen, but I couldn’t find any. It reminds me of that Christian preacher, Harold Camping, who claimed several times the world was going to end, and each time the dates came and passed without incident. The scarier thing is each time one of these “doomsday” people make proclamations, they get thousands of followers. I wonder what goes through their minds after their leader is proven wrong?

  Dead-Ends And Other Places

  Walking alone

  To try to clear and sort

  The tilting towering thoughts

  Threatening to tip

  And the deep emotional depths

  Preparing to rip it all down

  The dirt road

  Crunches quietly underfoot

  Offering no hint of an answer

  Giving no indication

  Of how I should proceed

  I’m not really surprised

  As dirt roads often lead to dead-ends

  And other places no one wants to be

  I stare blankly

  At the view

  A wide field

  A single horse

  In the middle

  Way out there

  Sitting right under

  A gray sky

  Heavily threatening

  The horse ignoring

  All of it

  Something falling

  Light tapping

  Rain starting

  Not noticing

  Not moving

  Keep staring

  Not thinking

  About anything

  About what I had intended

  I had plans for this walk