Poems · writing

Possibly Everything

Cleaning up corpses on the freeway,
Bloody spatter for miss November.
Moving on from Hollywood.
We’ve missed November, I’ll start when it’s over
And over it’s been in my mind again.

So it goes, lost in the wind.

Circling back, dropping the pin,
In a room too full to notice it’s ran out of gin.
Startled into recompense;
Turning it over til it all makes sense.
November was missed and I’ll start again,
Buckling under the rain.

So it goes, running thin.

You’ve grown too fat, you’ve gotten too short, the mind scolds the broken heart.
She’s working around it but nobody notices the note left out in the bin.

So it goes,
Missing November,
She found it hard to remember,
Her way back into life again.

So it goes.
Don’t stop me.

This one was kind of a mish-mash of ideas on my drive home late at night, hence the sort of jarringly different stanzas as the tone of it changed once I got home to work on it.

I tried adding little transitions between stanzas as a way to make it flow a little better. Not sure how well it worked but I liked it enough to publish it, so.

Thank you for reading!

-T.D.P.

Poems · writing

The Hazards

I want you to know that I’m trying to hate you.

To put every little thing you’ve done into a box and throw it into the river that made you realize you still loved me.

Let it sink to the bottom along with your near-death and dissolve into spent memories settling into the sediment.

Sway and move with the current.

Lost love,

Lost time,

William and Margaret,

A watery marriage bed,

Left to drown under the force of a Mother’s love.

But I pulled you and I called you here,

And now instead of saying goodnight, I’ve finally found the breath to say goodbye.

Poems · writing

Bitter in its Sweetness/Estranged

Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud; 

You left me and I’ve nowhere to go.


You carried my heart with you,

You carried it in your heart.


When the door closed and the sun set


You took my heart with you,

You carried it in your heart.


You told me I was whatever a moon has always meant,

And whatever a sun will always sing is you.


You carry my heart with you,

You carry it in your heart.


And I wish you would bring it back.

Poems · writing

Tryhard

Sometimes I convince myself that my teeth could bite through metal

That the razor edges would do nothing to the soft parts of my mouth

That I wouldn’t bleed

Sometimes I think that I could crush glass between my fingers

That the glazed sand would find no purchase on my soft tissue

That I wouldn’t tear

Sometimes I imagine that if you were here I would be able to stand it

That the sound of your voice would be nothing but a residual melody in my mind. Your face an inkblot.

That I wouldn’t crumble.

But I know, I know, I know.

The moments tick by and I know.

I bleed, I tear, I crumble.

I am no match for the dreams that play in my head

Poems · writing

Unintended Consequences

Push and pull

Out of control

Well let’s go since you seem to know

The way.

Between the click of the light and the start of the dream

When it ends,

Before it ends,

Will you keep me here in your mind

For awhile?

(Hidden away in the pocket of a daydream)

How much is too much to ask of you

I was hoping we could talk it through

Before you’re gone with the morning


Not sure I need to mention it but just to be safe: line five is from the Arcade Fire song No Cars Go, which is sort of what propelled this poem.

Poems · writing

Empty Space

I used to cry over the lines

At my ability to draw outside them.

Whether it was pen,

Crayon,

Marker.

My concentration would slip

A breath,

Hairline fracture,

And imperfection would strike again.

So why, after all that,

Do I find myself stuck

Wanting nothing more than to escape

Those lines I tried so hard not to break

Poems · writing

Apparition

I think of things that scare me

Sometimes in the dark of night

A scratching at the window

Is all it takes to switch on the light.

I creep around, keeping watch,

Making sure every bolt is safely locked.

I know it’s a silly notion,

Living on the third floor,

But

Sometimes still I imagine a shape,

Silhouetted beyond the balcony door.