Archive for the ‘Creative Writing’ Category
Climb
.
.
he wrote it down
for us to read
every time
an invisible line
bounding
unbridled
captivated
by the grind
a mixture of time
and repetition
and loss
without meaning
which we then bring
on the long climb
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Crispy
.
.
crispy
is back
I saw so last night
while watching tv
I was avoiding actual headlines
of terror and pain
that rerun on the newsfeed
I usually read
so for a night
I escaped
and my soft spot
was moved
to tears
at seeing artists
whom I don’t really know
relish their moment
for shows I haven’t seen
where they get to act
life’s emotions
that we then feel
while eating popcorn
and on rare occasions
M&M’s …crispy
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Found
.
.
I’m here
but I’m not here
right now
never was
listening
to the cacophony
of unwanted sound
despite every effort
to not be around
I’m hiding
upstairs
way underground
beneath the pathway
repeatedly beaten down
by footsteps
figuratively traipsing
across the surface
of everything
waiting to be found
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Din
.
.
amid the din
of everything that happens
at once
there remains space
between spaces
where significance differs
pretty lights hold no sway
dulcet tones
of long gone crooners
float effervescently from beyond
winding in and around
without ever swaying
mildly oblivious crowds
and evening swallows daylight
as shoppers
dutifully paint the town
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Reality
.
.
one never knows
how close or far
reality lies
away from here
but that sound it makes
when crashing down
is way too familiar
a thing to hear
and it resonates
both far and near
and brings to mind
a most basic fear
about fundamental truths
we once held dear
which only now come around
every occasional odd year
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Memory
.
.
it might as well
be a fleeting thought
gone as quick as it comes
memories lost
to time and happenstance
senseless stuff all shiny and new
claiming attention
for no particular reason
at the expense
of more valuable personal views
leaving lucid dreaming
to grasp for threads
of meetings from the past
with precious people
more spirit than face
feelings that endure
minus basic facts
hope loiters
wishing for some purpose
that it’s not just soot
from smoke
that randomly wafted past
clinging to the walls
along the hallways
of my flimsy mind
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Relative Something 