They can’t stay in the present.
Because
their eyes are three seconds ahead,
their head is three years behind.
And the light
that shines above the head,
is seven more years
slower than tears.
Poem 1
Tag: Poem
Poetry, again
I lift weights
I have mates
My least favorite fruit is dates
I’m currently looking for good insurance rates
I love playing Crazy Eight’s
When my mom gets angry she throws plates
I work at the docs, carrying crates
Our future awaits;
This poem needs someone to narrates.
The Story of a Man Snapping my Neck
For weeks on end all felt in my neck was a strain
My misaligned spine was causing me quite a lot of pain
So after months of waiting I made a chiropractic appointment
Which did much more than a muscle relaxing ointment
CRACK
At first I thought the man had killed me
for his monstrous hands hinted at villainy
I had thought he snapped my neck in half
Or stretched it out like a giraffe
I was vulnerable in this behemoth’s grip
For he could pull my limp head off if his hands were to slip
I was at this mans mercy
pleading he wouldn’t hurt me
But in the end he helped me
And made sure to announce his efficacy
https://www.healthline.com/health-news/science-says-chiropractor-can-help-solve-back-pain
This love is like the moon
This Love is like the moon: the guiding light
The guiding light that is taking me home
The moon hangs on the flowers as we roam
The brilliant moon Illuminates the night
The moon watches new flowers bloom with delight
A tale as old as time, take me back to Rome
The guiding light that dims in the unknown
This love and the moon fell victim to fright
Going on, there are wounds that we must mend
Eventually, the story must end
An eclipse veiled the moon just as we feared
It’s hell on earth and the cities on fire
The serenity of the moon has tired
Just like the moon, this love has disappeared
capstone pt. 12
That all changed when she brought me to the ocean
In those rich minutes the light was warm gold,
viscous, she let it in
floating in the sodium and the waves.
Rocking back and forth
I fought the ocean,
that colossal blue,
as it pulled the warmth from my heavy limbs,
Suspended four inches from the plexiglass surface,
blowing fat bubbles that distorted your reflection.
Time changed that though,
and warm gold became cool to the touch
sad skin
No matter how warm
Rubs against mine
Like pruned fingers
on paper
capstone pt.7
This trip turned all that thought inward at times
It forced me to really think about what i was feeling,
and to sit inside my heart
so that my hard wired head could stop
and i became content to be in my own space
content to sit within myself as I moved.
content to just watch as the world changed around me
merely maneuvering my truck from idea to idea
it forced me to process things by writing them
but it also gave me the space to think things through in conversations on the phone
but that depended entirely on cell service
the oaks
wrinkles
white walls
metallic beige
flying roaring
cutting
white walls
warm animals
in half motion
motioning
in motion
you latch on to these moments, these images, as they race in your head, as they take tight turns, as a force like gravity pulls and pulls you away. you find yourself empty save the quiet conversations and the warm silence. the moments that make you you. but how ‘bout I move them?
how ‘bout i reorganize the pantry
pull the back towards the front
pour it all out
how ‘bout when you feel those candlewarm memories
in your stainless vaccum
you feel them.
you feel the road, the car
the pull
you feel the moment, the memory
fading
into the fog
capstone pt. 14
______
Then on friday
as the sun set I tore down highway 1
past cambria
by hearst castle
frantically searching for a place to get in the water
and even as the sun dipped under the saddles I sped through
I could feel I could find it
and I did
I changed quickly and jogged past multiple signs which thoughtfully informed that this area was the elephant seal’s area not the humans area, I wasn’t wearing my glasses and it was not very bright so I only saw them as I was leaving
but I saw surfers in the water and the break looked nice enough so I ran through the grass towards the beach 100 yards off
where the grass stopped the seals started
some small but others enormous
big black bodies
pink mouths
and the screaming
but nothing could pierce the orange and purple sky
I darted through a maze of them
(entirely honestly I don’t know where the courage to do this came from)
but
I sprinted the last 20 feet to the water, threw my board down and paddled hard past the break to arrive at the silent surfers
I was a mess of limbs and heavy breathing but their boards just made small sounds when they breached the swaying surface and i settled into the salt and the sea
it was a pitchy little close out but occasionally the ocean would toss in this fast pulling right that could pick you up at the rocky point and deposit you on the other side of the cove in just seconds, forcing you to take a deep breath while you paddle back past the seals and the sand
I told this guy that I had been looking to get in the water before sunset and I thanked him for sharing his spot with me
“I’ve come here every day for a couple weeks hoping this spot would be breaking”
“oh yeah?” I said, moving closer by kicking underneath my board
“It opens up only a couple times a year, it needs just the right swell direction, if the waves are too big it washes out, and if it’s too small it doesn’t break, oh and the wind blows it out almost every day on top of that.”
A wave came and he tore off down the line
I watched the sun set from the water
splashed the cold water on my face.
And When i got back to the car I wrote
I wrote for him,
To her.
To her we are all just bodies
Blubbery and black
She pulls and pulls
The heat from our soles
But occasionally she opens up
And gives back
as he got in his truck I ripped out the page in my journal and handed it to him
Cool Pool
You know that feeling.
Like when you sense something move in the cool stagnant water
underneath the surface,
where it shouldn’t,
it is.
Like being away,
the opposite of home,
and even as you jerk your leg away
you can feel it cramp,
ripping hot.
You can feel the vessels crimp;
doubled,
twisted,
restricting you,
keeping you just within reach,
within reach of the cool,
the cool of the bottom of the pool
where the water doesn’t move
or isn’t supposed to.
foggy memories
the oaks
wrinkles,
white walls
metallic beige
flying roaring
,cutting,
white walls;
warm animals
in half motion
motioning
in motion.
you latch on
to these moments, these images,
as they race in your head,
as they take tight turns,
as a force like gravity pulls and pulls you away.
you find yourself empty save the quiet conversations and the warm silence. the moments that make you you. but how ‘bout I move them?
how ‘bout i reorganize the pantry,
pull the back towards the front,
pour it all out?
how ‘bout when you feel those candlewarm memories
in your stainless vaccum
you feel them.
you feel the road, the car
the pull,
you feel the moment, the memory
fading
into the fog.
Reams Full Of Dreams
It really just begins as a question:
Who do you want to be?
There’s no answer yet,
just confusing clues,
and time.
At some point the rough outline, the shadow, the future is visible:
now just a gossamer dream,
but focusing with time, condensing…
I pour myself into the process.
I’m buying what they’re selling,
buying a future,
buying a me.
They’re selling dreams, outlines, frames for faces,
65 bucks a pop!
Expensive. But this boardwalk is a long one.
I pick places.
Leaves?
Seasons?
Words etched in stone?
Wood?
Steel?
All the while working, working.
Pressure to be better,
be happy,
be me,
pressure to do more,
to be more,
and all the while working. Guilty
because I know I could work harder,
and be happier.
Do more.
I could cover more ground,
jump through more gilded hoops,
be better,
do more,
be me-er.
Ideas stuck on frail words
clamouring to speak out
above the clamor.
Distilling self
into neat columns,
busy with intricacy.
From a fermenting mess:
fine spirit.
Then I wait,
as a man in Massachusetts thumbs through reams of dreams.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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