Fresh cup of tea in hand, I sit down to stare the blinking cursor once again. A simple but none the less daunting task for the individual who lacks the talent. That individual being me, of course. I could ramble about the steam hovering over my mug and burning the tips of my fingers as I test the water. But I will spare you the monotonous details of yet another mug full of mine.
I came across some old poems today. I lingered in the memories of my poetry writing days and missed them dearly. But as my general progression goes, they stopped becoming anything of substance after bashed for containing the mere essence of what they were. I’ll throw in three of my favorites and I will pretend not to be my most terrifying judge.
Too slowly time ticks
with burning bridges aflame
Far too fearful a fix
and sleepy sorrow to blame
Too broken not bent
In a fierce kind of fear
Indeed, a smile is sent
But your smile’s a sneer
I remember standing at work scribbling that one on the back of some receipt tape, trying my best to be discreet. All done during the days when standing post at the self-checkout machines was what I actually did for a living.
Tonight the solar slumber creates constellations from scars
We are a universal blunder, merely dust of fallen stars.
Do you feel so small, when lost in a star’s gaze,
When a brilliant boiling ball steals worth where he lays?
In a disappearing distance, blind to tired time
I see revolutionary resistance, perfect power undermined.
It’s looking at the ancient, locked painted streaks in the sky
What is time but a fixture, malicious in the mind?
We stand on borrowed ground, grains of salt to the sky,
Underneath a smoke filled cloud, with a constant questioning why.
Astronomy class did wonders for my mentality… when I showed up that was. Too many stoned trips to astronomy and my mind was blown to the point of no return, literally. I never went back to that particular class after half way in to the semester. I couldn’t tell if it was my creeping realization that I contained a despise for college, or the fact that the professor very seriously resembled my Uncle George as a twenty year old man. I always say it was because I couldn’t comprehend the complexity that is the universe and space… which is completely accurate I might add.
World of Glass
I have found myself in a world of glass
Stepping stones show the way
But to move takes sinful skill through the depths of crystal gaze
I can see myself in the flowers
Opaque to the naked eye
Made of boiled sand through the lightning’s thundered cries
I make a move forward
But a shatter shoots the sound
A slice through the fleshy foot I wear on this beaten ground
My step broke a moment
A moment made to tease
I scared away the one good hope in my mirrored broken breeze
I take another step
But my reflection grows through air
My sorrowed eyes have haunted worlds filled with lacking care
Now I have acquired
A fearful tiptoed walk
My weighted step cracked down this fragile boastful block
I’m careful to the slowing
Whispering of the wind
But the scars still settle over my hallowed glass skin.
Also written on the back of some receipt tape standing motionlessly at the self checkout machines. All in all, I am glad those days of mindless machine tinkering are over.
And so goes the best of my poetry writing thus far in my career. I will stay hopeful that the future me holds some abilities not yet discovered in the field of poetic structure. I miss it genuinely.