Take Me Back

Gate falls. Pulsing red

lights. Tall, white

 poles passing.

Desperate to smell

salty ocean breath

Red, orange and

purple hues

swirl. Listen,

aquatic rythym syncs your breath.

Captured castles await you

Knee deep

can’t reach, crashing,

rushing,

and sucking

stinging eyes, almost lost my suit

Shades of red

skin. Frizzy hair, untamed.

Steamy

five o’ clock shadow.

Heavens flash and rumble,

run for cover

El’s drive-in.

Generations rave.

Fried shrimp,

cole slaw and ketchup

between the bun.

 

Purple awning dawns.

To the pier and back

with mom.

Tiny footprint engrave the tracks.

Gritty toes, a trail of sand,

seashells in the sink.

Hot cocoa melted marshmallows

soothes the lingering chill.

Hints of Me

I'd walk from Cork to Larne to see the forty shades
or all the way to China for a glimpse of ancient jades

Life after death, eternal living
Chaotic to calming, life giving

Critters in disguise
To the predator's surmise

Squeeze, juice, or slice
A fragrant spray or over ice

Starbucks, Garnier, and BP
attract with hints of me

George, Abe or Andrew
Out of print: two

Hug the tree, bend the knee
Refuse to reuse

From Titletown to Emerald Isle
to Stephen Kind's The Mile

Flatter with purple, magenta or red
Deuteranopia paints me dead

Ensalada, melon and tea
Blue and yellow matrimony-y

"Lu se" in Mandarin Chinese
Not so good in macaroni and cheese

Relationship with the Dead

Desiring relief of
endless grief,
Mothers come,
searching the name of their son,
longing for one last
conversation.

Hand placed
upon the engraved,
now
representing
just a name
absorbing grief.

Say goodbye,
longing for
the name
to come alive.
Instead to find,
a wall
with names engraved
staring back
in your reflection.

Risk

Nerves like hot wires.  My heart smells impending rejection. Pensive, I lie awake contemplating the risk I am about to take. Bittersweet anticipation swirls throughout my body as I picture letting ten, nearly complete, strangers a glimpse into my soul. Eight short hours to pass until my poem, wrought with my heart's deepest thoughts, awaits the critique of my professor and classmates. Although the critic I fear most is in my head, poisoning the little hope I have. Words flail against my innermost, unguarded thoughts. Hoping for the honest critique of my fellow comrades, I want to quiet his voice for good.

Deep reflections unconsciously embedded in the recesses of my soul sprout into daylight.  Threat to this newly formed life constitutes more than correcting syntax and grammar; The real threat: the critic’s voice propelling fear as I write honest details, breaching my level of comfortable vulnerability. Vague and abstract thoughts build a barrier of ambiguity, impervious to my insecurity.  Another voice comes through loud and clear sharing truth that compels to risk again: A good writer is specific, detailing concrete images and experiences scaling all five senses. Then these words resounded within the walls of my mind:

"Playing it safe may keep you from scrapes and bruises, but never gets you anywhere. To accomplish great things, one must risk every last drop of confidence for the holy cause. Success is born out of risk. If you fail, life is not over. You get up and keep going. And, pray of course that God will guard you against unnecessary suffering."

Surprising passion erupt in me as I discover the depth of untapped ambitions for writing. A summary of the experience I describe as the most enjoyable pain I've ever experienced. Sacrificing typical pleasures, my daily focus narrow to five simple tasks: Sleep. Eat. Class. Work. Write. ...Do over.