Thirteen Days

Day one. Breathe electric air and smile
The second day: you climb upon a chair.
By three you're stacking blocks in tiny piles.
Four, you're zipping up and down the stairs.

Day five. A corner office boasts your nameplate,
So travel every continent on six.
On seven, snare your sweetheart. Say it's fate.
The eighth day, buy a lake house just for kicks.

Day nine. You'll raise a child of your own.
Come ten, relax. Enjoy your golden years.
On day eleven: write your lessons down.
By twelve, you're missed. There's laughter. There are tears.

Remember me those moments in-between
Until we reunite on Day Thirteen.

8.13
s.d.

Night on the Mission

A tilted eyebrow, glimpsed that sultry night
Meandering through bleak, insipid haze
Amongst the skinheads, ashes, Miller Lite
By dim-lit corkboards circling hipster greys
Some splattered words amidst the muted noise
As unlit candles, sharing cigarettes
A fancied trip to Vegas with the boys
For silken dizzy crystal minuets
Within a scarlet smile turned to blue
The softened spikes left hints of molten rust
From hill to hill, omnisciently we flew
Until black morning chewed us into dust
     If I'd been weaker you would still endure
     Some welts upon your consciousness, for sure

10.10
s.d.

MD Unwinding

It’s party time; down Route 100 East
We roll until we find the haven’s door,
Prepare ourselves an alcoholic feast
And argue over who’ll sleep on the floor.
Friends of friends amass upon the scene.
I slip the tumult, close the screen behind
And contemplate the Chesapeake. Serene
In starlight, it implores me to unwind...
Atop a nearby pier, a silhouette
Suggests a woman in like-minded state;
I join her for a conversation. (Let
Impending dawn and rumination wait!)
     We share a while, alone, among the boats
     And laugh in learning neither of us floats.

5.09
s.d.

An Unremarkable Evening

The last time I made love, the chilly night
Enshrouded me in garbled secrets that
I never shall discern. And so, the trite
Old ritual morphed into idle chat.
“I had a splendid time tonight,” she said,
Then grimaced at the shadows on the wall.
“Yes, it was nice,” I blandly claimed. Instead
Of cuddling me, she curled into a ball.
My saviour was the queasy yellow moon--
That phosphorescent beacon of the skies.
I sensed that other wand’ring souls had hewn
Its crags, with longing gazes from their eyes.
     Inferring kindred spirits in my boat,
     I drifted, calmly, on a peaceful note.

5.09
s.d.

a quiet death

a quiet death, a momentary lapse
of reason, slurred cognition, vision blurred,
the fearful soundless waves, the mental traps
relinquished, love now vacant, life absurd.
     a broken shovel pounding, blazing stove
     for charring hopes and melting timeless dreams,
     forgotten, acquiescence now inferred.
     a creature of the dirt, a plundered trove,
     a catastrophic ripping at the seams
     of microscopic dignity, deterred.

or on a freezing star, intrepid soul,
with fervour, condescending all the while,
still glowering at mem’ries, filthy pile
of hate unfurling, rage beyond control.

4.09
s.d.

Sometimes, There's No Right Solution

A riddle I am never meant to solve
Perplexes me tonight. This paradox
Involves a foolish man with strong resolve,
And woman locked within a cosy box.
Dozens of keys are in the man’s possession.
He tries with passion; not a key will fit
The tricky lock. The woman staves depression
Off and fiddles with the catch a bit.
The time goes by. He finds a key that seems
To work, yet swallows this and then his pride.
But equally as strange, she always dreams
To leave, undoes the catch, yet stays inside.
     I’m stumped by this, but other puzzles yearn
     For solvers such as me to take a turn.

4.09
s.d.

Friendship Love

She is my lover, and yet, I’m her friend.
Or, could it be the other way around?
This modicum of happiness I’ve found
Is laced with regret. No, I don’t pretend
To understand nor offer hand to lend.
Pensive, prostrate, I strain to hear the sound
Of sweet relief. It’s muffled underground,
Perhaps? To dig a hole, I’ll not intend.

But still a question lingers in my mind:
Could clarity make all of this as clear
As night from day or ice from roaring fire?
I quiver; sometimes friendships are the kind
That fade, yet others lead to strong desire...
So maybe it’s the title alone I fear.

4.09
s.d.

Whisked Away

Today’s the day you’re whisk’d away to Rome
A caravan to Marrakesh for you
A chateau in Geneva for your home
And rented rooms in Monte Carlo too
This afternoon in Paris fine red wine
Then walk along the Auckland ocean pier
In Budapest by evening time you dine
Then taste another city far from here
A world expanding fast cannot stay cold
This science puts a smile upon your face
Go on and in your heart forever hold
Some warmth for this dilapidated place
     If constant pain and anger make you numb
     Escape and see the best is yet to come

3.09
s.d.

Tossed Opportunity

A golden opportunity he tossed
When forward-looking hindsight mark’d the day
Then realized affection had its cost
And “no love lost” he found a subtle way.
Since countless iterations in his mind
Betrayed excuses beyond his control
His patience waned and willpower declined--
Humdrum glum-filled gloom became his goal.
‘Twas then the hour of reckoning ensued:
He hid behind a wall of self-deceit
Deprived himself of bev’rages and food
And floundered in a puddle of defeat.
     Yet one small comfort he allowed himself
     Was stretching for a memory on the shelf.

3.09
s.d.

Equilibrium

He thinks about the sands, the skies, and space.
She wonders what is playing on TV.
He dreams of someday living by the sea.
She loves the city for its rapid pace.
He calmly stares into that pretty face.
She looks askance and steps away from He.
He sighs...and feels empty being free.
She cries...and picks dead flowers from the vase.

A day goes by...a week...a month...a year...
A stronger Man now waits beside the train.
A wiser Lady charges through the crowd.
The Man ascends the platform that is near.
The Lady screams out madly to explain.
But I can’t hear what happens. It’s too loud.

3.09
s.d.

Hands and Gloves

I.

Her hands are soft and swollen like a peach--
The juicy kind you won’t find every day.
For everything she needs within her reach
They serve her well; and yet to my dismay
They wield an enchantment over me--
The scary kind that makes my heart beat fast.
But I’m beyond her reach. They cannot be
Responsible for every spell they’ve cast
And so she gently postpones their demands
And hesitates until a later date.
There’s tenderness and mercy in these hands--
The loving kind that might be worth the wait.
     For now they hide in gloves of winter style--
     The woolen kind that spring will render futile.

II.

her rosy scarred hands
clutch the steering wheel
tap keys at the piano
write clap type and
accomplish mundane tasks

they wield an enchantment over me--
     the kind she never asked for
     the kind she doesn’t want
     the kind she won’t throw away
so she puts on gloves for now

3.09
s.d.

Every Morning I Awaken

It’s every morning I awaken cold
A curtain crack first sunray tiptoes in
Deceptive light no warmth just my chagrin
As winter bitter numbness seizes hold
A sacrificial slaughter masked by gold
Of chilling daylight now to freeze my skin
Arrested breath a spectre trapped within
Assaults my spirit stirring fears untold

My courage dwindles knowing this defeat
Of soul is dangling o’er me as a string
That I must sever soon to feel well
My heart will surely welcome home the heat
That coming spring and newfound love may bring
To this lethargic logy prostrate shell

2.09
s.d.

Ashumet Pond

The water glistens, summer sun imbued
In zigzags on the surface of our pond:
Ashumet. Two wood ducks commence a feud
For one small crumb; I’ve learnt that they are fond
Of toes and if you look away they’ll peck
At them. Below us, sand that’s coarse and thick
Is lad’n with rounded rocks. Half-dazed, I check
Around; I lazily reach and grab a stick
And toss it. J--, with tail wagging, could
Retrieve it... Down the dock and off the end,
J-- swims out to a soggy piece of wood.
Wrong piece! An earnest try from man’s best friend.
     Dusk comes. The sun, quite humble in defeat,
     Implores us both to go inside and eat.

2.09
s.d.