Surely you felt the same
rolling over and seeing
my displeasure at a
brand new day, didn’t you?
Do you have any idea
how many poems
I’ve written about you
only to have to file them away,
snuffing-out their wicked truths
like so many birthed stars
that ate through their fair
share of hydrogen
long before Ra set
the table for you and me
to ignore our own nature?
Can you fathom how every kiss shared
will be compared to the caramel of your lips
nibbling mine in our candlelit shame
of being exactly who we are
exactly where we wanted to be,
exactly beneath the weight of
who we wanted pressed into our flesh
exactly the way we needed?
Do you also wish to shake
the morning gate of heaven
to its foundation for fating us
a taste of what could be,
only to allow our respective free will
to choose to loosen our firm midnight grip
on respective flesh before the black sky
blushed soft purple with promise of new day
separating me from you
as earth from firmament,
forming boundaries everywhere
instead of simply being
happily entangled in
undefined twilight?
On some level, I know
you were just as selfish,
just as grateful for those broad,
quiet charcoal strokes
shared in faint starlight,
silently sucking our
pigment from sundown,
but no matter our
moon-soaked efforts,
morning always comes,
doesn’t it?
***
If you don’t raise your voice
no one will hear you sing
losing the gift of choice,
we wait for what squalls bring
Did you cross my mind, love?
Or did I dream our bliss?
Your voice fades with your kiss
Ruby dreams from foxglove
Tearful visions fall, blurred
smeared what’s left of your song
seasons blended and slurred
where our voices belonged
Could you hear my song too?
Was I brassy? Off-key?
Hope you remember me
as currents convey you.
***
Aretha Franklin’s death is weighing heavy on my mind this morning. I immediately thought of both this soulful Aretha original and the slick Mos Def sample. I was happy to see that YouTube had a mashup of the two. Listening to it got me thinking in terms of Shakespearean-level star-crossed lovers missed connections, and whatnot and so-forth. It’s funny how the brain works sometimes.
A familiar summer scent
smiling, embracing our path
you’d sprung onto winter’s end
before knowing our spring need
unexpected kiss warmed us
your lips activated mine
your tongue filled me at love’s loss
What manner of spell is this
where I can relive seasons
of past-lives unlocked by smell
as weaponized nostalgia?
Will you cling to innocence
as you move to turn the lock
sealing us within our vice?
Lock me in; I will not flee
pour yourself upon my chest
envelope me in warm breath
crash and strain, power exchange
slake your thirst and wring me taut
plum our depths and bottle them
encrust us in lush reprise.
***
Trimming the Fat: Streamlining my Social Media Presence
Lieutenant Reginald Endicott “Reg” Barclay III is a recurring fictional character from both Star Trek: The Next Generation and Star Trek: Voyager. He is socially awkward, hilariously uncomfortable in his own skin, and is initially the butt of cruel jokes among his peers. He often retreats to the comfort of his imagination, which manifests itself in acute holodeck addiction (which lands him in hot water on more than one occasion). On the upside, he also frequently mines his own imaginative thought experiments, using innovative, unconventional solutions to resolve complex problems.
Lt. “Broccoli”. (Image source: Google)
Lieutenant Barclay has his own Wikipedia entry if you want to learn more about him. I can’t imagine why you would want to. Just know that I hated this character intensely. I don’t anymore, but in the moment, he felt like a cruel slap in the face that I took personally.
I hated Barclay because he reminded me of myself.
This isn’t news for anyone close to me, or who has tried to become close to me, but I am an introvert who also frequently suffers from debilitating social anxiety and depression. Oh, I can function in goal-oriented social functions like work (where the goal is solving technical problems to get PC users back to work) or team sports (where the goal is to come together to defeat opponents), but the moment the focus switches to happy-hours, wine parties, or just hanging out, I struggle greatly and must rely on a series of complex coping mechanisms to get by.
Or I just flake-out and bail, or I spaz-out and make a jackass of myself before flaking-out and bailing.
Like Barclay, I have a rich, active imagination, but as a young adult, I slowly came to realize that living inside my own head wasn’t enough. Even a social weirdo like me craves social connection of some type. Social media filled that void handily.
I first discovered social media several years after its commercially embryotic phase in something called Yahoo! Chat. I tried it for about ten minutes, and was hooked instantly (Say what? Instead of focusing on improving the tragedy which was my life, I could escape to the internet and make fun of celebrities, kings, and sinners who dare to live in the real world? What a concept!) Before I knew it, I had lost count of how many chatrooms and message boards I frequented.
It wasn’t all escapism though. Occasionally, if I found a fellow chat-head compelling enough, I would sack-up and attend a real-live meet-n-greet to see if their reality matched their online persona (which, much like my own online duality, was almost never the case). Once, I was digging this female chatter and our chemistry was intense. We agreed to meet at the birthday party of a mutually-acquainted chatter to see where things might lead. We didn’t hit it off in person, but she introduced me to her friend, and four years later, her friend and I were married. By transitive property, I owe my twelve-year marriage to social media.
As social media evolved, I came along for the ride. GeoCities, Open Diary, LiveJournal, Friendster, OkayPlayer Freestyle Forum, MySpace, Google+ for some reason… and then onward to my current dopamine connection go-to’s; Facebook (my primary social surrogate – more on this later), Blogger, WordPress (well hello there!), Tumblr (where I do most of my fanboying), and two Twitter accounts (one for my back-of-the-bus mocking of all things pop-culture, and one for my poetry, which, I guess means that if I ever become famous, I’ll have to mock myself? Not sure how that would work.)
But something has changed within the past two or three years. Interacting on Facebook use to leave me with an improved outlook, but recently, I’ve found myself angrier, sadder, and even more depressed after perusing my newsfeed. Obviously, my country’s uglier aspects and the rise of toxic nationalism, leading us to this vile new administration manifested itself in Facebook, as did the Fake News Era. We all know of the many ways that Facebook and many other social media outlets have betrayed our trust, and I won’t be getting into any of that.
I decided to take a series of breaks from Facebook to see how I felt. My absence was probably unnoticed, as I continued posting via my Twitter link to Facebook (I call it “face-twat” for short because I exist simultaneously as a high school sophomore and a dirty old man.) My last break was during the month of April as I participated in NaPoWriMo for the tenth consecutive year. In each of my breaks, including the last one, I noticed that I wasn’t as down in the dumps as I normally am.
That’s when I decided that I would permanently deactivate my Facebook account.
I have selected a target date of Labor Day to finally and completely rid myself of this oddity that has oddly become a sad, compulsory element in my life. That gives me time to ensure that I find other ways of keeping in touch with online friends dear to me; friends who make me laugh, who make me think, and who make me want to become a better person – but not necessarily friends who I wish to see every day, as I still lack the social ability to make that a comfortable experience for me.
Also, I suspect that this won’t be the only social media that I give up on. In fact, the only social apps I’m certain that I’ll keep are my WordPress site and my poetic Twitter feed that links to it. All other apps are open to further evaluation.
It may seem trivial to some who read this, and I totally get it, but seeing how Facebook was (and in a way, still is) my social surrogate for the past decade, this is a big deal for me. The fact that it should not be a big deal is one of the main reasons why I must make this change. Lieutenant Barclay was compelled to severely curtail his holodeck usage as it was impacting his ability to exist in the real world. Those peers who initially mocked his oddities made a good faith effort to accept him, and he did the same for both them and himself. It was far from perfect, but Barclay formed lasting friendships.
I’m no fictional character, but I am compelled similarly, for vaguely similar reasons. As always, thanks for putting up with me.
***
The weather-guessers were wrong
about the heat wave.
In fact, there was light precipitation.
Preferring the rain, I am relieved.
I don’t even know why I wrote
“precipitation” instead of “rain”.
I’m no meteorologist.
I guess the unscheduled rainfall
wasn’t up to my lofty standards.
It was a halfhearted rainfall,
followed by an indifferent sunbreak.
Felt more like angel’s spit
than the weeping we’ve earned
for this crapsack existence.
My hemisphere turned
fully into the true glare
of sunlight, and everywhere I turn,
I glare at two shadows
of the Four Noble Truths.
I see only suffering and
man’s indifference to it.
I see children crying in pain,
fear, hunger, and terror;
if they’re lucky, they’ll just receive
the mercy of ignorance
in the form of being ignored,
or perhaps they’ll only languish
as the butt of cruel jokes
they’re mostly ignorant to.
I see indignant adults
viciously targeting them
for exploitation
or other vile indignities.
I see servers and protectors
silencing them permanently
in brass precipitation
because that’s the way
it’s always been and apparently,
that’s the way it needs to be.
The days grow shorter now.
It is the nature of our earth’s tilt
in reference to our position on it
as we continue our
inevitable journey around the sun.
Our share of daylight
will gradually be transferred
to our antipodean brothers and sisters,
in the way it’s always been.
Centerline keeper
Breath my air
Inhale, share
Mutual dreamer
Centerline keeper
Move in close
Feel repose
Outer gate-sweeper, brace you
Centerline keeper
Closer still
Overfill
Tender will-seeker
And you want this?
I know I do
Centerline keeper
Nose to ear
Hush your fear
Uncommitted leaner
Centerline keeper
Concentric girds
Say the words
Sensitive feeler, face you
And do you want this?
I know I do
Limerence
Is it
Limerence?
Is it
Only
Limerence?
Is it
Only
Opening us to
Loss of contact?
Ignorance
Was it
Lonely
Opening to
Mutual attract?
Limerence
Do you want this?
Can we will this?
I can feel the sun
In the curve of your smile
And I want the day to grow longer
And I can see the fun
In the swerve of your style
And all I want to say,
You know, is to conjure
Cupid, Aphrodite, Eros,
Frigga, Hathor, Juno,
Flora, Sabine, Persephone,
And the whole damn team
And the whole damn team
Just to make you say
You share the same space
And feel the same way
Are you inspired by the way
I admire your existence?
Do you require further sway
Towards desire or assistance?
Are we both liars who display
A misfire of consistence?
Renewed, I aspire to today
Rising higher, void of distance
Limerence
Is it
Limerence?
Is it
Only
Limerence?
Is it
Only
Opening us to
Loss of contact?
Is it ignorance?
Was it
Lonely
Opening to
Mutual attract?
Limerence
Do you want this?
Can we will this?
The path beyond the garden
Beyond what I thought I knew
Beyond a life filled with
Dewdrops alive with you
When I relied on a new
Love supplied by you
Beg your pardon
Beg your smile to rise higher still
A spring rain brings a tap
On my windowsill
It brings pain and sappy need
To say the words with a greater will
The season of renewal
Where the flowers grow
And the lovebirds sing
Where my heart didn’t know
What our world would bring
And the sun didn’t show
The clouds gathering
Fate may be cruel
But I’ll face it with a truth
That belies the fear
Can’t replace what a
Youthful heart supplies to steer
Our airspace closed with
A soothing baptized revere
It would be foolish to build a life
On a starry night shared in the throes
Of what we know is obsession
Is it?
And it would be a sin against nature
To win you on surface-level physics,
Playing Loki to discretion
Only
Is it?
When did this spin out of our control
And grow, filling its own chasm?
When did we spin and invent
Our enlightening phantasm?
Lonely
Was it
Formed when we were born
At the event horizon of an orgasm?
When did we spin out of control
And grow into this unwieldly thing?
When did we begin? Was it
The beginning of spring?
***
Written for NaPoWriMo Day 30 prompt:
…write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinating fact. It could be an odd piece of history, an unusual bit of art trivia, or something just plain weird. While I cannot vouch for the actual accuracy of any of the facts presented at the links above (or any other facts you might use as inspiration!), I can tell you that there are definitely some poetic ideas here, just waiting for someone to use them.
The strange and fascinating fact I used is that the fighting style Wing Chun literally translates to Spring Chant or Eternal Spring.
Sorry for the late ending. I’ve been really busting my hump at work and haven’t had much time to write. But I’ve been tinkering with this one off and on for a while.
Postcard in Praise of My One-Time Online Secret Girlfriend
Why are you here? Why am I? Why are we? Even though we’re both evenly among our peers in our late twenties, this feels… odd. Oddly uncomfortable and weirdly familiar in keeping welcome company. You seem to be enjoying this bass-boosted noise even less than me, if that were ever a possibility. You say nothing as you gallantly support the nightclub wall with your back, your face screwed into a question mark. You’re puzzled by how different I am IRL than online. You’re with your girls and I’m with my homie, but I spot in your eyes, a symmetry. Or is it synergy? It’s a mystery, but I can see that you too wish it were just you and me. I have poor self-esteem, so I don’t take these vibes lightly when they come to be. You speak softly, drowned-out by the club cacophony, yet I feel your words settle next to me. I won’t forget how you let me hold your hand gratefully, us both grateful no one else could see.
***
Written for NaPoWriMo Day 28 prompt: “draft a prose poem in the form/style of a postcard.”
You’ve made a unique
and challenging choice,
for not all Barrys are alike,
and this Barry in particular
has some particularly odd bugs,
or as Barry likes to call them,
“features”.
Here are some helpful guidelines
to keep your Barry operational
while minimizing withering glares,
mopey brooding,
and angry muttering
of rude things
under his breath.
Caution: depressed
and highly flammable.
Do not enjoy around
children or pets.
Or other people.
Do not mix with bourbon,
unless you’re eager to learn
the unvarnished truth about him,
yourself, and
that girl he’s secretly crushing on.
Can be rendered inert,
philosophical,
deeply meta,
and rather giggly
if combined with marijuana.
He may also refer to marijuana
as “jazz cigarettes” because
he just heard that squares
called them that in the 60’s
and he can’t stop giggling about it.
It is highly likely that your Barry
is under the influence of
jazz cigarettes at the moment of
creating this third-person,
self-referential missive.
If your Barry wants to tell you
about the path beyond his garden,
do not interrupt him
or tell him you heard this story before.
This can lead to resentful muttering.
But the most important warning:
just be kind – not just to Barry,
but to everyone you encounter
– because none of this matters
if I’m right and we only live once,
but if I’m right and we only live once,
nothing could be more important than
leading and leaving with kindness.
Thank you for caring for your Barry
no back-sies!
***
Written for NaPoWriMo Day 25 prompt: “write a poem that takes the form of a warning label . . . for yourself!”
(Full-disclosure: My new job and surviving on three hours of sleep per night had me shuttering the doors early on NaPoWriMo, but one of my most respected poetry friends kicked me in the butt. She said I have poems to write, and so I guess I have a few back-payments to make.)
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 