i left the ocean
crashing pulling, so
oblivious, and i
dragged my wreck of
salt and hair and
said goodbye to the
grains and shells
the jellies,
surfers skaters punk kids
drunks,
drove out thinking, one
child builds a fortress and
guards it with her life
while the other runs
with knowledge that high
tides will always win…
left driving
with “flashback weather classic rock”
and tried to set in motion:
the impossible comes to life.
Category: stream of consciousness
-
coming home from the beach (impossible)
-
like an 84-year old chord
gentle rub rub
of the dock
trees sway
oh that cityfied night sky,
all purple
and lit from within,beyond that
one year dusted, it
shivers neon, reminding.
“Rusty Scupper
Restaurant”when i had but
change in my pocket
when i had but
blues on my side….around, and out
B.B. King
and Lucille
“the thrill is gone
the thrill is gone away.”then. clapping.
echoes the air like an
84-year old chord.
-
grass is always greener
all it takes:
one soft ocean wave
one swift approaching storm
one sandy toe
one face leaned backit’s enough,
those dark brown eyes
one quick glance
one wrong word
one minute aloneone single
flutter of the belly
is enough to…
-
family resemblance
sometimes i look at pictures
and i study the faces to see
who has what nose
and who has
what smile
and
sometimes i look
just to say hi all you
relatives who
line my face with genes
and past choices
and
sometimes i look at pictures
to witness
how much has changed –and
sometimes how little…
as if my face
was made in stone.[AND btw… on a different topic, way to go team USA world cup soccer!!]
-
secrets writers keep
i wonder
did she ever
edit thoughts
as if to say
“i always think of
garden blooms and
my children
and not of pain
and death
and worse than all
loneliness”
did she ever
write such verse
in mind alone
and then turn around
and type instead,
“how lovely is
this day….”
-
watching summer Baltimore
crabs steamy with Old Bay
mixed with the scent of heavy
humidity and a wind carrying
a storm from the west
I sit on stairs watching
summer Baltimore languish.
-
these boys in my head
these boys in my head
vying for attention
fighting
and pulling me
this way and thatthese boys,
one (maybe more than)
who was meant to be
one who was
for the time being
one who
knew all along
and one…
-
lightning in the distance
and so it ends
lightning in the distancewe all have brief moments of
white hot
sand into glass
prism light – these choiceswe all are in danger
of ending a
flicker in a sky
between clouds shyly
aware that some
won’t ever hear us
thundering.
Poetry by JC Snyder 