Untitled

All I want
is to lose myself,
to drown in the ink.
If life could be still long enough,
if I could find the right cliff,
my words would flow forth
like a war cry,
like a kiss.

Sometimes

Sometimes, the best thing
is not friends or laughter.
Sometimes, the best thing
is not your crutch.
Sometimes, the best thing
isn't there when you need it.
The best thing, you see,
is the reason you are here.

First Impressions

 Not sure how I feel about this one.



I have this dream,
a fantasy, if you will.
She walks in like a cloud,
you can sense her presence,
feel her around you.
It smells like rain...
spring rain and woman.
She takes a seat at the bar.
I sip my gin, and wait.
Dark eyes roam the silence
as she sizes us up,
daring us to move,
but we can't,
and she knows it.
She sips.  We gulp.

Aphrodite, she said
That's my name.

I'd been so far gone dreaming,
her words hit me heels to the sky.

But you could call me Rose,
if you'd rather.

My tongue chased my thoughts
away from her eyes
and roused up a voice to gasp
hello.

Hey, Hank...

A poem, he said.
A poem for the ordinary life,
the day to day unfolding of
ordinary things.
Of steely resolve in the face of
the mundane;  a poem,
he said, to show the world
the easy glories of the working man,
the daily grind, the small things.
     
There's too much of this
peace and love crap,
too much wishful thinking.
Where are the realists, the cynics?

He didn't know shit about work,
but I kept quiet. 
He had his dream, and
I had mine.

Monday Morning, 4am

and should I write every thought,
I would become lost in the bright of your eyes.
I don't want to be lost, I want to find my way back
to this place time and time again, and
sink once more into the silent depths.
This is not where I know;
not where I've been.  My god,
I can't even breath, not until
I see my eyes reflected in your own.
If I've been here before, it was
but a dream, and this now
my waking thought, that
I would spend my life in slumber
to dream this dream again.

Young Love

If these words were a gun,
I would shoot you dead.
If mere verbs could paint
a picture in your head,
I'd give you Guernica.

I'd show you how Jesus bled.

You think you're so clever,
oh darling young damsel.
My dear,
Crawl your ass
out
of my bed.

To You, Wherever You Are

Every sunrise, I feel your hair tickling my face,
and teasing me awake
The days fly by so fast,
and I slip through them half awake,
my mind lost in some distant dream
dreaming of sunrises and sunsets
and knights in shining armor
"Those are hard to come by today,"
you would say,
and the then we'd waste the night away,
until those glorious sunrises,
until goodbye broke the ever growing silence between us.
Goodbye seems like such a long time...
such a long time away.
It's always the smallest things that pull me back,
that unwind my mind back
to memories of sunsets and soft skin.
There aren't really words to say what this is.
This good bye, this farewell,
is the last.

Learn to fly

I hear the best way to fly is to jump out of the nest. Sharing what I write in a public forum seems like a nice leap. Here's to hoping that I learn to fly, whatever that means.

My name is Austin, and I've been a self-confessed writer for almost 8 years now. It hasn't always been steady, and rarely any good, but I would like to eventually have written enough bad poems to have a few good ones. I'd like to be published, even if it's just on a small scale. If nothing else, I'd like the things I've written to reach out and touch someone on some meaningful level.

Feel free to leave comments and feedback on anything I post, even if it isn't nice.