Not A Poem

I wanted to write a poem but instead
began to write this and
it could still be a poem
if I found the right words
and images for you
to imagine as you read
the words out loud like
color
morning
dew
warmth
love
mist
tree
leaves
birds

Poem

One
Word
Right
After
The
Other
Until
They
Fade
Into
Memory

Bethany

Bethany was awake
She listened to the church bells
toll through the calm morning
How many times in her life
had she heard that sound
How much longer would
she hear them
She tried to not think
of the answer
She thought of all
the little things she had
to do today
and understood that
life is really nothing but
little things punctuated on
occasion but larger events
that were the exceptions and
not the rule
She looked at the clock on her
nightstand and thought it odd
when she looked at it's face
Turns out it just needed
to be wound up again
Time didn't matter
The hour didn't matter
Only her own actions mattered
In this long and vast life
those moments of small joys
were what mattered
She thought this and
was pleased with herself
She looked at her clock
and even though
the time was wrong
she pulled the sheets up
over her body
and let her eyes close

7 Haiku for a Saturday Morning

where are the words now
in your hands and in your tongue
they seek to be heard

remember your words
no more broken promises
start to live again

wetness of the rain
reminder of memories
touching your brown hair

a home by the sea
often we talked about this
two of us at peace

words know what to say
if you wish to give them life
immortality

alone in your room
music plays in the morning
quiet and peaceful

bland sadness of words
is the page speaking to you
listen to it's truth

Cumulative

She could hear him stagger in the door
As his uneven steps halted and resumed.

She heard the sound of his body fall into
The deep cushions of the couch. His arms

On his chest as though he were trying to 
Embrace himself. His right leg dangled

Off the couch and was touching the floor.
She would sleep alone again tonight.

Looking at him she could have sworn
She had once known him. 

File Away For Future Use

Sad Conversations with Happy People

You is I

the alarm goes off and you stay in bed
listening to it ring over and over
until it tires itself out

you look at the ceiling and let its blank
white space fill you

who is this so called you?

there is no you

the you is I

and I

need to move

I need to let the chill

of morning move through

my flesh and propel me onward

Tired Poem

This poem is tired.

It has no reason to be so tired

especially since it hasn't

done anything of worth yet.

This poem could use

a drink, or at least

some concrete

imagery. How about

the foaming white

of the waves

at the seaside

as they touch sand?

That's ok. It's not enough

to be tired yet.

In fact, this poem

is still pretty short.

Where is the narrative

or form?

A lumpy sack

of potatoes barely

counts as a form.

This poem is brimming

with untapped

potential. Let's face it-

this'll have to do.

A Love Poem

Because I live and breathe

I bleed

from time to time.


Because I live and breathe

I laugh

from time to time.


Because I live and breathe

I am alone

from time to time.


Because I live and breathe

I am loved

from time to time.


Because I live and breathe

I am cold

from time to time.


Because I live and breathe

I am tired

from time to time.


Because I live and breathe

I miss someone

from time to time.


Because I live and breathe

my imagination runs

from time to time.


Because I live and breathe

my heart beats

all the time.


Because I live and breathe

I think about you

all the time.

Passing Through

My phone began to ring, it was Will. We had been
pretty good friends through high school but had only
been in sporadic contact since he got married. He was
going to be in town on business for a few days and wanted
to know if we could meet for a drink the following night.
I suggested a bar in downtown called The Black Crow,
it never got so busy in there that you couldn't hear yourself
over other peoples conversations.

We agreed to meet at 8p.m. I arrived a few minutes early
just to make sure we'd get a good booth. The lamp above
the booth was dimmed to ensure there would be just enough
light to see each others faces and hardly anything else. I set
my jacket in the booth and walked over to the bar. "What'll
you be having?" said the bartender. I told him a gin & tonic
and to use something top-shelf. He set the fresh drink on
the counter and I set a ten dollar bill and walked away.

I was stirring my drink when I looked at my watch and
noticed that it was eight. Will walked in and began to scan
the room from the doorway. I raised my arm and he walked
right over. "Christ, it's been years!" he said. "Go get yourself
a drink and then we can catch up." I said. He came back
with a pint and a shot of whiskey, "To catching up," he said
as the stout shot glass and tumbler clinked.

We sat there emptying glasses and filling each other in on
the usual things men of our age have achieved. I told him
I was still single but had been dating around, and that if I
was lucky I was going to be getting a promotion at work
in the next couple of months. I asked him how things had
been with him and Nancy, "Funny you should bring her
up. Have you heard?" "No," I said, "about what?" He
lifted the pint glass and poured the last of its amber down
his throat.

It was strange hearing him say they were getting divorced,
I knew both of them when they first started dating in
high school. We would always hang out as a group with
our other friends. The two of them had always been the
center of that small group. After high school they moved
to the midwest and bought a home. They had their first child
shortly after.

"I let her have the house, it wasn't worth arguing about. I've
moved into an apartment on the other side of town, its actually
close to work for me. I can get there in half the time now."
By then, both of our glasses were empty. We could have
opened a glassware store with the collected empties. "Let me
get us another round," I said. He nodded his head at me as I
slid out of the booth.

I walked back with two pints and two shots of whiskey,
a little bit of the beer that had been peeking near the lip of the
glass spilled over and wet the table. He reached for the whiskey
and held it as steadily as he could. "To better days," I said.
"To better days," he said. "To better days."

Shortest Story

I heard a lonely voice

talking to itself again.