Closing My Eyes
Playing the songs
Needing the feeling
The way it turns me
The way it makes me
Feel see believe in all
The things that I never
Never knew about ever
Closing my eyes
Shutting out everything
Preferring the blackness
Covering over the world
With nothingness listening
To the music which fills
Which becomes my world
Giving me the chill that I
Know I’d feel sitting here
Listening to these songs
Letting the mp3s shuffle
Their way through my
Feelings, emotions
Hearing this now
Feeling this way
Seeing nothing
Wanting more
Of what I’m in
All the while
Knowing that all
Is good and great
Knowing that all
Is well tonight
I’m not needing
Or ever wanting
More than this
What I have here
What I feel now
October 20, 2003
Manchester, NH
I closed my eyes and typed.
Appreciate Perfection
I’ve learned the hard way
To recognize and appreciate
The little things
The perfect moments
When you see them
When you’re in them
Hit record on the VCR
Inside my head
Realize and remember
The beauty of it all
At that moment in life
Savor and swaddle
And take it all in
To be replayed forever
If I don’t
They’ll always subtlety
Slip, slide, sneak
On past my senses
And be gone
Without me
Even realizing it
And instead of just
Replaying
I’ll be trying to be
Recreating
Without success
Because I didn’t
Appreciate perfection
When it was here
In front of me
In my face
In my life
But I learned
And now I love life
So much more
January 19, 2003
Salem, NH
I got the idea for this one while eating lunch in the McDonald’s parking lot on Route 28 in Salem, New Hampshire. I was looking at the giant snow bank in front of me and realized in a few months it would be gone. It made me think of how everything in life goes away so you need to learn to appreciate it all while you have it. It’s similar to how I view the seasons. I always have to make an effort to notice that the most perfect days of spring are on hand, or realize that fall foliage is peaking. Otherwise I realize too late and I end up missing and regretting it. I’m very careful to not only see the beauty in all things around me, but also learn to appreciate them while I’m in the midst of their beauty.
Cautious
Concerns Voiced
Concerns voiced
Inwardly
So stunningly
Cowardly, I know
But there are some things
Better left unsaid
Even though later
I might regret not
Projecting
Telling them
To the person in question
I’ll be kicking myself
For keeping them
In the dark
When I know I should have
Lit the light high above
Their head causing the spark
Of thinking within
That maybe this isn’t
Such a good idea
But no
My social mores
Keeping me less
Likely to speak out
To avoid a scene
Especially one that
Might demean
The person I’m trying
The person I’m hoping
To eventually help
January 12, 2004
Manchester, NH
The title line of this one was from the notes of another poem I wrote earlier tonight.
Riding the Red Line
On the subway
On a hot summer night
Riding the Red Line
Outbound to Alewife
So is everyone else
Standing in the packed car
Staring blankly at the
Reflections in the window
Stealing looks every so often
At the pretty mid-20-something
Sitting on the seat near me
Noticing that she is
Glancing sideways
At the paper the person
Next to her is reading
Well not so much reading
Since he’s got his eyes
Looking to the side at
Someone else behind me
Everyone is pretending
To look somewhere neutral
Everyone is experiencing
Ulterior motives checking out
Everyone else around them
Trying to be all sneaky about it
With each stop
The people change
The dynamics change
Keeps the subway car
Fresh and interesting
Just as long as she doesn’t leave
I’ll be happy standing here
Packed among strangers
With wandering eyes
And stealing glances
Alongside them
On this hot, hot night
June 24, 2003
Manchester, NH
This happened tonight. I was on the Red Line coming back from the Guster concert at Boston City Hall and there was this very cute woman sitting nearby. I was glancing at her occasionally and I noticed that she was looking at the book that the girl next to her was reading (ok so I changed the poem a little, but hey, I’m allowed). She, in turn, was glancing at other people out of the corner of her eye.
Dandelion
The flower of speech
Formally exquisite
In its own right
Of the beautiful language
That we all share
Has died and been
Replaced by a dandelion
And we’re told to deal
You have no idea
How much it angers me
To open my Palm and see
A word like ‘ponderous’
Or maybe even ‘fastidious’
Listed as a Word Of The Month
Words once commonplace
Have all been replaced
We’ve all shelved Moby Dick
For half an hour with Andy Dick
Closed our books and picked up
The TV Guide and clicked on
One of 500 channels of warmth
I for one won’t capitulate in this
We’re dumbing ourselves down
And the idiots are gaining ground
You killed the flower of my speech
So give me the dandelion in its place
I’ll observe its overt simplicity
And your usual inert complacency
Hold the stem and let the wind blow
Assuaging my fears as I watch the flow
Then I realize that each seed will plant
A whole new generation of miscreant
September 11, 2003
Manchester, NH
I hate it when I use a “big word” and no one knows what I’m saying. Same thing when I use the word “whom” in the correct usage and people look at me like I have 10 heads.
Massh
oles Heading North
Another Friday late afternoon
In the early part of August
I-93 is at a standstill yet again
On the border of New Hampshire
And it’s all because of them
All the Massholes heading north
Looking around at the other cars
Which are sitting still around me
They’re all from Massachusetts
We’re the minority of plates
We’re just trying to get home
Why do they do this to us?
Sitting and hating what they’ve done
To me, to us, who live up this way
Making us sit in the thick of them
Making us take hours to get home
While they jockey for position
To get to the mountains or the lake
Then again they even do this to themselves
Every weekend going to the Cape
The traffic starts in Boston and just
Radiates outwards to all places nice
Causing traffic and delays everywhere
Just follow those damnable Massholes
August 12, 2003
Manchester, NH
I am in the precarious position in that I still mostly identify myself as being from Massachusetts. I’ve spent all but 2 years of my life there so I guess it’s still home in a way. The problem lies with the atrocious drivers form the metro-Boston area that think each and every one of them have been crowned King Of The Highway. It’s beyond unbearable trying to get home to Manchester, New Hampshire on a Friday afternoon when they’re in a hurry to get up to the lakes or the White Mountains. All because of those darn Massholes.
Fresh Linen
Tired
Oh so tired
All I want
All I need
Is my bed
Fresh linen
I know it’s there
Can’t function
Anymore
Trying to
Trying to
Focus
So hard
Keep them
Eyes open
Window down
Radio up
Way up
Hands on
10 and 2
Eyes defiant
But I’m
Fighting so hard
To stay
In control
Lids almost
Almost down
Blurred
Vision through
Fluttering slits
Darkness
Elation
!WIDE OPEN!
Extreme fear
Racing heart
Clutch harder
On that
10 and 2
Still in lane
Busy road
Bright sunny
Sunny day
Gotta get home
Gotta get to bed
Comfy bed
Fresh linen
Thinking about
Fresh linen
Eyes are sneaky
Taking the chance
Slowly edging closed
Tapping on the wheel
A little less often
Movements a little
Little more labored
Head bopping
To the music
Slightly slower
Each passing minute
Each passing mile
Each passing car
Back to the expected
Fluttering slits
Trying to fight it
But
Sleep always wins
In the end
Eyes closed
Elation returned
Body shutting down
Not caring about
The inside
The outside
The inside becoming
Becoming the outside
Anything
Except for
The last thought
Fresh linen
August 1, 2002
Chelsea, MA
Dent in the Guardrail
Each ding, each dent
In the guardrail
Every parallel
Set of rubber lines
Is a flashing of life before the eyes
Feet jammed deeply on the brakes
Immense tightening of the thighs
Each breath could be the last they take
That is if they had the time
Or the ability as the instincts
Kick in
Take over
Fingers digging deep
Into the vinyl
Of the wheel
Turning and trying
To keep alive
Despite the laws of physics
Slamming the gavel down
Passing judgment
Before they’re able to react
Whenever I see those leftovers
Of a last-ditch enactment
I think of the unabashed terror
That someone experienced
And wonder if they made it
And how that double line
Of melted tire on the highway
Has changed their life
For better or for worse
That is, of course, assuming
They still have one
Because the end of the line
Just might have been
The end of the road
For that frightened to death driver
Which now serves as a warning
To everyone else who cares
Who takes the bother to notice
And heed its cautionary advice
April 25, 2004
Manchester, NH
Just one of those things I think about on my daily commute.
Continually Constant
The life that never changes
The ones who live entrenched
In the continually constant
And are unwaveringly steadfast
In their desire in their need to be
Living the perfectly straight line
Are the ones who are stuck on
The road that others paved for them
The road re-driven over and over again
Never wanting to drive off that road
Never thinking about what else may
Be out there because they’re scared
Of the unknown of it all
Of the chance they might fall
Off the road they’ve known
Off the road always traveled
In a way I feel sorry for them
The ones who won’t deviate
Or change their sameness
Not even for something new
And wonderfully amazing
Because it’s different from the
Laid-out organized orderly life
They’ve known since whenever
I used to kinda be like them
Back when life seemed almost
Perfectly predetermined for me
But I’ve since broken free
And I’m living life just for me
August 23, 2003
Manchester, NH
The title of this has been in Line Ideas for more than half a year at least. I just ran with it tonight and ended up with this. I’m not sure how I got here; I just put my nose in my keyboard and kept writing until it was done. This is a commentary on those 100% straight-laced people who are determined to make sure their lives never change an ounce.
Mass Corona Injection
Way up there somewhere
The sun is having a lot of fun
Happily or angrily shooting
Spewing a coronal mass ejection
Huge magnetic storm coming
Heading right for us on a collision
All over the news I’m hearing
I guess we’re not avoiding this one
After work I find myself stopping
At the store to pick myself up a six
And have a mass Corona injection
Ok, so I’m kinda sorta dyslexic
As I lay in the backyard staring
And think about things of importance
As I wait for something to happen
Like the universe and thinking things
Until I eventually fall asleep
With the bottles around me
And an aurora dancing
So quietly
So spectacularly
Above me
October 28, 2003
Manchester, NH
Tonight one of the most powerful solar storms ever recorded will be hitting Earth. The dyslexic part of me got the rest of my mind thinking and writing. This is definitely a work of fiction (I hate Corona).
Romantically Drowning
It’s much more romantic
If you drown in the ocean
As opposed to drowning
At the bottom of a bottle
While our lives will never
Be made into an epic story
Featuring a luxury liner
We’ll have to be content
With drowning in the other
More sociable, slower
More fashionable, happier way
Where it takes years off our lives
Where it takes years to finally die
All the while smiling
And blissfully unaware
Until we wake up
And we’re at the bottom
With no way back up
To the daylight and
The surface above
And the realization hits
That we can’t swim
So we just give in
And let the liquid envelop
And swallow us whole
As we sink below
One last time
Romantically downing
In our own special way
Happily smilingly thankful
For the dizzy foggy end
As everything becomes night
July 27, 2003
Manchester, NH
The other day I jotted some notes while driving and it became this.
Delayed Waylaid
Delayed waylaid
Once again I’m in
The doghouse
With myself
For forgetting to do
All the things
I wanted to
Get done
I wanted tonight
To do so much
And I let it go again
Like I always tend to
Like all the yesterdays
That I’ve lived through
Like all the tomorrows
I haven’t yet come to
Maybe someday
Just not today
November 8, 2003
Manchester, NH
It’s “Describe My Day” day.
Inaction
Can the chance
Ever be recovered?
No it can’t
Maybe partially
But never fully
If you don’t take it
You will lose it
To inaction
And the time in between
Lost the chance
And the dream
Leaving you with
The ticket in your hand
To remind you
To haunt you
Of the time
You let it all
Slip on by
February 28, 2004
Manchester, NH