Places

There are those places we go
Present yet able to coexist
Outside ourselves for moments
The hum of the tires on the road
Engine rhythmic like a metronome
Music letting memories flood
Into your wandering mind
As you drive for hours on end
Leaving that destination that
You didn't want to say goodbye to
Or that dimly lit bar that sits
Lonely on a street of empty lots
Patrons furtive glances avoiding
Unnecessary eye contact yet
Knowing each and their story
Over straight whiskey and failure
Smells of stale beer redolent
We can drive and be numb
Drink and feel nothing again
Or we can feel even though
It's heartache and pain mixed
With the faint stirrings of something
Unexplained

February 19th

Snow spread across the ground
Pristine and white and bitter cold
A portent of nothing, of blankness
Clean slate is what it should herald
But instead seems a dying of things
Spring, distant and unobtainable
As winters grasp clutches firmly
Shivering deep into my bones

Fall

Flailing
Falling
Pushed from a cliff
Reaching not finding
That tree branch that
Juts out and helps
Me stop my descent
So downward I go
Tumbling
Trailing

Impossible

Impossible
To let go
Though I know
I need to
Find a way
Holding tight
To what will
Obviously
Never be again

Winter sunset

Bright pink brushstrokes
Haphazardly strewn
Across a grey - blue sky
As the low winter sun sets
Laying to rest this day
In preparation of its
Imminent return
If only I could do the same

Reality

What is real...
Nothing seems
To be anymore
Only varying
Degrees of
Surreal or at
The very least
Misunderstood
Perceptions cracking
Like thin ice

Home

I rarely feel at home
I did once or twice
The knowing you belong
That someone wants
You there and needs you
Sometimes it's a person
Creating that longing
And others it's a place
To walk the verdant fields
Soft rain falling on my
Upturned face as I go
The smell of peat smoke,
Wafting through the air
Drawing memories forth
Even alone I won't feel lonely
The streams torrid and blue
Trout swimming quietly
Or just sitting in the park
Eyes on the lovers strolling
And the kids playing loudly
Whether city or country
To be back in Eire
To try to create for myself
Some semblance of a life

Tangible

Tangible, what shouldn't be
No recession or abatement
The bark of a tree, rough and real