Composed 6/21/20

Description: An old, unposted poem as I muster up inspiration to get back into the writing game…

is not an absence
it is an abundance
of words that congeal inside my lungs
when truth is stranger
and sadder
than fiction, than satire
we are
personally, professionally, socially
no wonder
no one can breathe


When All Are Asleep

Composed 6/24/14
Description: Am I dead? In fact I am not, though the inactivity of this blog surely made you lovely few devoted readers of mine wonder. I have no great excuses for this. Indeed, I did graduate college in early May and have been stressing over the uncertainty of my future. However, I have had ample time to write (and, indeed, a few ideas even)… I just have been lacking muse and motivation as of late.

However, this evening some verses did occur to me quite clearly. I hope you enjoy, and I hope to get back on the blogging bandwagon.

It’s in the night in the silence
That I find my muse
When other minds rest, unhearing
And for some soft hours I am truly unobserved
The only mind churning among inanimate beings

It’s so freeing to not be judged
For even in my silence others wonder
And think of me
But now I am truly allowed to make my own way unobstructed
To recline or run or think of silliness
Or the mystic workings of life

And yet it’s embarrassing that in this freedom
My strangely clear and vibrant mind
Splashes colors that end in an image of you
That the words in my mind fall into sentences
Describing scenes and sorrows of the past

And I give up my freedom
To grasp a few spare lines from you
That, despite my efforts, falter and fall within moments
While my mind hums the line
People never change

I am alone
Thinking clearly
Remembering rejection
But strangely at peace
When all are asleep

Single with a Car

Composed 9/2/13
Description: Simply, this was my night. My roommate’s boyfriend is in town (without a car), and his friend was busy so I picked him up. Then I had to (eventually) drive him home. I ended up writing this in an attempt to stay awake while I waited for them to finish visiting. Figures, as soon as it’s done, they’re ready to leave.

Leaning on the edge of madness
that comes from exhaustion
and the prohibition of sleep
Listening to the silence
that comes from lovers staying private
deafening to the mind of the lonely
and impossible to break
though you suffer
because doing so makes you
(not the time, not the rules)
the villain
But how can a villain not arise
when tortured
with consciousness
and listening
and knowing?
And then having to drive
The tormentor home?