Category Archives: Writing

Apathy

i caressed her lightly across the nape of the neck

because such touch signals connection

she turned her head to see who it might be

and it was me

i wasn’t expecting fireworks or glee

and certainly not my perplexity

her eyes remained passive

no upturn of lip and no instinctive lean or reach toward me

it was apathy, and observation

reciprocity of reaction is what we take for granted

where interest or love intertwine

i turned and let my feet fleet me away

i left changed

knowledge is pitiless
X

Creeper

creeper

in the moon’s embrace you prowl
a phantom of obsidian head and secrets
eyes like shards of fractured glass
watching and tracking her every step

you had your chance and now it’s flown
your deepest secrets on display and shown

she asked for honesty, attention, and time

you made her an option and squandered her touch
your interest morphed into obsession
though she’s free of your clutch

move your fingers from the keys in front of you
go out aside and get perspective

she’s gone
she’s gone

and you should be too

poet

poet

she told me with certainty that I was already a poet
that the day would not come in which it dawned upon me that I indeed was

it was not intended as a compliment
no more than noting the weather had shifted

almost mumbling, she added that rules in poetry are like ducks with paper clips

her words put an image in my head
just as sometimes mine remind you of an emotion

i am a poet and have been for years

it’s not a question

sometimes we need permission from strange sources

and sometimes little scribbles on a page translate viscerally into ideas

language is both for the meticulous user and the abuser

there is no deed or title for expression

i am both failure and success

X
.

The Woman On The Yellow Bicycle

In the golden haze of morning light, she pedals along, a vision bright.
Her wheels spin like sunflowers in bloom, an almost invisible comet through street and gloom.

Her basket holds secrets and love, gifts of kindness, love, and respite.

She leaves silent grace, a trail of hope and joy in her tire track’s embrace.

Her gifts are often sublime.

She may leave you energy to bounce through the day.

And for others, she grants a moment of peace. Sometimes, that’s more than enough.

You don’t hear much about the woman or her yellow bicycle.
That’s the way she prefers it,

It’s likely that you won’t see her approach.
She prefers anonymity when possible.

She’s not a guardian angel or a phantasm.

She is love and action in motion. Love is always in motion.

.

I wanted to remind you of the lady on the yellow bicycle. It seems that only a few of us can see her. May she visit you soon and often.

Ask me if she’s real. She is to those who believe in magic that fires through our lives and hearts. Look closely, fellow travelers. Everything that matters is invisible; her basket is filled with these things.

And if you don’t see her? BE her disciple in any way you’re capable.

Love, X
.

A Parable IV

I found myself at the grocery store at 6 a.m. I wanted to go earlier, but COVID ruined such earlier adventures. I had no shopping list and was letting my whims propel my feet around the store. As usual, I spent excessive time in the sauce aisle; I can eat cardboard, provided I have sufficient things to dip it in.

Eventually, I searched for kale, lettuce, or mustard greens in the produce aisle. While sorting the lettuce, I heard a man behind me clearing his throat. Assuming I was in someone’s way, I turned and stepped aside.

An older man stood about five feet away. In his hand, he held a single green apple.

“Good morning, X,” he said and twirled the apple in his fingers.

Three weeks had passed since I last saw the man who once answered to the name Joshua. He looked different, something I realized would probably be the case each time I encountered him.

I knew not to engage in small talk. Whatever his reason for finding me, passing the time idly wasn’t on his agenda.

“You can’t be sure how the apple tastes, can you, X? It could be bitter or brown on the inside. No one enjoys that.”

I nodded. “Yes, we do focus on the appearance and just trust that it’s delicious.”

“Nature and evolution have designed things so that beauty attracts. It’s the way of things. Everything here is probably safe unless you’re allergic.” He smiled slightly and waited for me to formulate a reply.

“The same is true for people, Joshua. I wish it weren’t so.”

“X, beauty attracts. Even in the wild, that’s how it works, for either mating or consumption. A bird sees a brilliant red berry and swoops to eat it, not knowing it might be poisonous. Or if it does eat it, the same bird passes the seeds far away, ensuring the plant survives. It’s fascinating. Beauty has its purpose but beguiles when it conceals something else.”

I moved slightly closer to the produce bins and out of the aisle. “Sometimes I wish I were blind around people. It would make life easier.”

Joshua shook his head. “If you’re hinting at love and attraction, you’re right. Beauty attracts – but it doesn’t keep us close. A famous song once said that a pretty face doesn’t make a pretty heart.”

“No truer words have been spoken, Joshua.”

“It’s why you are designed with primal instincts. But it’s also why you have reason to overcome emotion. If you practice, you learn to see what’s on the inside of someone before taking a proverbial bite.” Joshua softly laughed. “We know how that usually works out.”

I laughed in response. “Our senses are designed to bring pleasure and seek out flavor, aroma, and beauty. We can eat our favorite meal, but if we smell barbeque, our desire for it almost cancels out what we’re having.”

“Ideally, you find someone who attracts you and has the capacity for love, humor, and understanding. But if they are like a bad apple, you won’t know until you bite. The error falls on you when you recognize the taste is off, but continue to let beauty dissuade you from getting another apple. You keep eating the same apple or keep picking up the same kind.” Joshua grinned slightly.

“If that’s the case, how do you know you’ve got a good apple, Joshua?”

Joshua smiled. “By observing their behavior, as I’ve told you before. It’s always in the behavior. Good people behave lovingly, have compassion, and don’t engage in complexity when dealing with others. They are who they say they are, and they do what they say they will. Beauty will fade. Character and who they are will not diminish with time.”

“What kind of apple do you recommend today?” I wasn’t sure if I was speaking metaphorically. I’d let Joshua decide.

“There are so many varieties of apples, X. Some of the best ones look less appealing but conceal a lot of flavor. You’ll know when you bite and find one suited to you.” Joshua smiled.

I smiled as I moved toward the display of apple varieties. As Joshua watched, I chose two random apples from six bins and put them in my basket.

Joshua laughed. “You’re learning, X.”

“I’m not so sure, Joshua.”

“That’s good. Certainty is the hallmark of closed minds. People with doubts keep learning and seeking.” With these words, Joshua turned and walked away and out of sight around the next aisle.

Love, X

Rough Hands (Guest Post)

Rough hands
Scrubbed clean
Spots of blood
Bare to be seen

Nervous smile.
Rosy cheeks.
Hand in mine
On leather seats.

Red hot heart
Pumping high
I thought I
Might call him mine

Blue blue eyes
Smiling sad
This is so good
I’ve got it bad.

I see flags-
Crimson red-
But his touch
Goes to my head.

I pray – I do
This is true.
Sparks and light
Please come through.

I don’t know
What to do
If he’s done-
Already through.

I’ve got too
many souls
Been close to
Too many holes.

And I’m still
Alone in the dark.
I’m still
Alone in the dark.

Those rough hands
Lit a spark.
So roll credits,
This fades to dark.

…though minutes long

blanketed by the sky blue

above the Earth immense

billowing trees verdant

dropping splashes of color bright

each one perhaps for my delight

seventy-seven irregular degrees

November ignored 

tomorrow reminds me that this is the last

time is short 

though minutes long

when you find yourself 

where you belong

bare feet sliding across bedrock mossy

water cold washing away the day

this moment stolen can’t exist tomorrow

you cannot borrow against what is not yours

for all the things displaced for tomorrow

surely regret will be your sorrow 

time is short though minutes long

what is surely yours is a song

you choose your verse

until its end

X

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Honeyed Silence (Guest Poem)

There’s a buzz in the sun,

Under harsh light and heat.

Then stars shine, work is done,

Until dawn heralds a repeat.

And there, in shadowed night,

Held in sweetness’ embrace,

A calming chill of what might

Become in this honeyed place.

Meticulous and structured comb,

Like the life you built amongst the buzz,

Your honeyed embrace feels like home,

Silencing the harshness of what was.

Did You Ever (Guest Poem)

I told you I was going to bed hours ago.

I’m still wide awake and it’s almost tomorrow.

The absence of your words screams at me.

The deafening cry of your lacking intensity.

I remember you professed a strong preference

For concrete actions over eloquence.

But emoting my messages doesn’t count

And otherwise sparse deeds still leave doubt.

I think you like my smile when it’s directed at you;

You approve of my resume for blood so blue;

And you think you’ve got me around your finger.

I think I haven’t got any more reasons to linger.

There must be better, something better than this,

An arrangement where my needs matter like his.

Somebody who could hear my words and care

About the heart that so bravely put them there.

I don’t fall in love with titles, fast cars or banks

I don’t care about your grandaddy’s professional rank.

My heart holds the things you can’t touch or see,

And I expect to get that in return, equitably.

I asked for clear expectations and kind words.

I asked to claim time and what we already were.

I never yelled but told him I was watching to see

If he’d give love that felt meaningful to me.

At this point, it’s clear, he can’t or he won’t;

The result is the same. I hurt, you know?

And the answer doesn’t matter but I’ll ask him anyway:

Did you ever really want me that way?