The Engine

The engine chugs, sputters and dies.
an idea, an idea, my kingdom for an idea-
just one last ride, where the words
roar to life and spill out onto the page-
flows naturally like a rapid splashing river,
salmon leaping out the water, footsteps
dashing forward, freeing, pushing.

I want life to unfold one more time.
But maybe that’s my problem.
I remember something perfect,
but it was never that.

Push then, engine. Your belts may be frayed,
your pistons rusted, but
Throw me a draft that makes your bones ache
and let my words live.

Honest Poem – Moral Boy

(A/N: an attempt to compose a poem out of dialogue. Quotes are taken from an actual person that I know.)

“I want a girlfriend so badly.”
A void of loneliness will never fade.
“Is it worth talking to this girl if you’re not going to date them?”
It is not worth talking to them. Because you are not worth talking to.
“Don’t you look at every woman and just choose whether or not you’d date them?”
I do not dare to assume anything. I have my flaws, and I do not judge theirs.

“You shouldn’t disrespect the Bible. Every Adam has an Eve, and you shouldn’t be alone.”
If I had to choose between perpetual solitude and your company, I would be lonely.
“Ohhh shit! You need to sabotage their relationship, bro, you totally have a chance.”
Do Christians not believe in loyalty and trust? Or is that just you?

“You’re not thinking like a father.”
I pray you will never be a father.
“I’m not transphobic, but I do not want those people in the bathroom with my daughter.”
She’s in more danger with you than she is with one of them.
“That’s just my point of view, as a Christian.

Honest Poem – Retrospect

You remember a time
when the second hands moved too slowly
There was a time
when the bell could not have rung any later
And you loved the time
where you could run in the green grass
with a smile in your wind-tossed hair
and a song stuck on repeat.

She remembers a time
when she saw the most beautiful births
There was a time
when she saw your face dawn as the circuit clicked
And she loved the time
with the boat surfing the waves of your imagination
on the open sea, entirely free.

I remember the time
when this was all still real.
There was a time
when there were twenty different open doors
And I long for the time
when we could all choose one to walk through
Together.

Honest Poem – Sunscreen

It smells like kindergarten.
warmth of a mother,
jubilant laughter as the sun
immerses but never burns.

It feels like melted butter
rubbed onto a frying pan before
hissing batter
snakes its way into a cake.

And you look at the child
reading about gingerbread boys
on that first day
tucked between two parents.

And you wish that they recognized you.

Honest Poem – Pudding

Cliff’s edge bites at my soles
I’m looking for some footing
trying to walk before I dance
Listen for the tick-tick of a clock
to give myself a chance

To steady, steady, thread the needle
to calm the storm, angry black clouds of
“You cannot leave us” and “How could you do this”.

Like a child’s arrhythmic toddle
towards the reassuring cool
of chocolate pudding, the sweet
and the smooth, I stumble towards
peace.

But then I remember what I deserve
And the smooth blankets become unforgiving stone
And the house becomes a cardboard box
And everyone is a specter- especially me.

The forest is no place for a child
Like I have no place in the crowd of
happy chatting people. I can run,
but the cliff will give way
to the gaping maw of my mistakes.

Derek Walcott and Creepy Poetry

My Spanish professor may not be the best teacher, but he is one of the sweetest dudes I know.

So naturally, when he walks into class nine minutes late (which isn’t exactly irregular, he’s been late before) with a mournful look on his face (which is irregular, since he’s normally quite chipper), we ask what’s going on.

Chicos,” he tells us, “the world’s greatest poet passed away today.” He goes onto tell us about Derek Walcott and his revolutionary poetry for five minutes before opening up PowerPoint to a listening exercise. His mouse hovers over and threatens to start playing the obnoxious opening to the fictional “Blablabla” podcast, which will spout useless drivel that we’ll parrot back in some way, shape or form.

Yo odio el podcast.” His sneer is tinted with contempt. It’s then that a student chooses to pipe up and ask the professor what his favorite poem is. He then proceeds to spend another ten minutes searching for a readable version of the poem while I just sit and watch him desperately search.

And then- it appears- right in that sweet spot right before one is about to give up and return to classwork and right after the ineptitude stopped being funny.

The Light of the World is about the speaker of the poem encountering (and silently falling in love with) a beautiful woman on a bus. The professor talks about how beautiful and pure the feelings are, and the poem’s well-written.

And yet… it’s kind of creepy.

Because the poem’s admirably descriptive up until it gets kinda weird (from my POV). “Powerful and sweet odours?” Nooooooo thank you, fam.

“Don’t tell me that you haven’t found someone so beautiful that you fell in love at first sight?” The professor implored to our silent (and probably dead inside) class. “That you could see an entire life with them?”

“Daniel, por favor.”

I could only respond with a noncommittal “ehhhhh.”

Because let’s be honest for a second here, friends, I haven’t even planned what my next meal is gonna be, much less my entire life.

At any rate, silly little story for y’all. Cheers!

 

Order of the Soldier

I am left
unbound, freefalling
Emptier from
the loss of you

But potential flows within
untapped and unguided
A river not dammed, a
signal unheard over
NOISE.

Impulses twitch
Anger arises
hands grip the
Abyss, ready to
climb. Atten-hut?

HA!

There’s still a piece of you
Staunch, orderly, red
Static, burning in
my churning stomach
No longer in control

I honestly could not tell you if things
were better in the olden days
For I WAS jubilant for some of them
And dead for the many and the rest

But now the world stands before me
Limitless and free
And I want to run.

The End

Cast aside,
the black of my skin is caked in dirt
Once mud,
it no longer feels cool, but as itchy as

Dry skin
as dry as the desert and as deserted too
My hair
lays (Why did I do this?) unbraided, gloss long gone
come undone.

I wish
I could have taken just one more step
But no,
All that’s left for me is stillness and
The end.

(A/N: Hello again, ladies and gents! Just a quick update for you all – I’m still alive and well, I’m just working on non-blog projects at the moment when I’m not being buried in schoolwork, and there are enough tasks that everything is just… dizzying. But anyways. I’ll be back soon enough with some new stuff, to share, but until then, I hope you enjoy this stream of poetry I’m releasing.

Hope you all are having lovely days- feel free to talk about them in the comments below!

-D)

The Fix (Rough Draft)

They are painkillers
Unreal figures smile and I
laugh, laugh and forget.

The moment I put them in
it’s a relief, they flood me
with pleasure, with joy, with noise.

And I drown them out
the sound of my head back on the grindstone
the sound of the demands, the rats racing,
the hatred, the toiling, the death
The silence because She is not here
He is not here – I am not here leave
a message at the tone

Ray Bradbury would cry
as I live in a mirage