To Fall Again

Wasn't it last year this time we wandered conversations
like familiar roads we walked, blindfolded - our bodies felt each turn
and twists of mouths and furrowed brows for dying seasons
that were laid out for us to view and mourn the passing?
And we'll recount the memories of long gone passages
that lead us to this place, where as before, we readjust for loss.
Inaudible, the tones we speak and roam in smaller space
just as we did last year this time, and as we'll do again the next.

Candles

No candles or fanfare
no fireworks or parades,
just a simple afternoon
just like any other day.
And like any other year
I won't feel any change -
not the slightest difference
that my being might make.
and if I had some candles
on this imaginary cake
I would still make a wish
to myself to celebrate.

Blue Sea, Black Tide

You don't need to worry, children -
you don't need to worry so;
They rubbed the blue out of the ocean,
but the ocean will still flow.
They took the white from clouds above us
but the clouds move to and fro,
So, no need to worry, children,
this is all we need to know.

You don't need to be alarmed now -
you don't need to be alarmed;
a shadow falls upon the sea
but it's not meant to do us harm.
They say it will avoid us
just like an angry swarm,
So no need to be alarmed now,
they say we'll be well-armed.

Now the tides are rushing black here,
a brownish black that flushes in;
birds, earth-bound, sink in slowly
with flightless wing and burning skin.
The fish have left the waters
with fired gills and peeling fins
Now the tides are rushing black here,
the blue erased from deep within.

Is there time left not to worry?
No - the hours are too few
to turn this shifting black tide
and replace the broken blue.
We were all told not to worry
but the darkness has imbued,
under the skin and hidden surface
into the truth we always knew.

My On-Ramp

I recently came across a book of poems and short stories by New Jersey authors, about New Jersey subjects, for (but not exclusively) New Jersey folks. The anthology is called - what else? - What's Your Exit.

And it's brilliant, even if you have never stepped foot in my little state...or should I say, especially if you've never been here...because each poem and story paints pictures of what it is to be from the Garden State. And let me tell you first-hand, it's not fist-pumps, orange tanner or loud-mouth obscenities.

This book is so exciting to me, not just for the excellent writing and variety of styles and subjects, but because it combines two things I love so much - my home state and creative writing (especially poetry). And it inspired me.

The blog you are now reading is actually an extension of my original blog The Humble Pen. (Come visit me there, too!) I realized how much less poetry I write these days, how much less poetry and writing-related posts made it to my original blog, how I suppressed this part of me without even knowing it. But I'm hoping that will change, and maybe it will be found Between Something and Nothing.

So, I'm getting on this proverbial highway and I'll see where it goes. Won't you come along?

Wayward Soul

I have been climbing along
this sodden pathway at night,
empty and void of all light -
weak earth believed to be strong.

Miles to go and behind,
Miles that stretch like a stream,
Widened by floods of a dream
Lengthened by tears that remind.

Render the person inside,
an image that no one sees:
steel-hearted delicacy
stalwart beauty and bride.

Etched on a wayward soul
the time to begin has come
and after the rain, there's sun;
then, paid in full is your toll.