Category Archives: sadness

by

Running Late

Jacket is slowly retrieved,
carefully put on.
Scheduled appointment time
has long since come and gone.

Waiting for an indication,
some reason for this to-do
rather than being left alone
by myself to sit and stew.

Simple words remain
unsaid.
Billowing images rise
instead.

Thoughts fly
to delirious heights;
trailing hurt and anger
ready to ignite.

No explanation given
for the unexpected delay.
Patience wears thin
with the lengthening day.

Minutes pass,
magazine pages are read.
Still no one comes out,
nothing is said.

Jacket is buttoned,
zippers zip.
Do not reschedule.
Never mind a tip!

by

Cat and Mouse

It’s a game of cat and mouse.
You hide.
I seek.
You disappear,
appear,
vanish
and reappear again.
All while I am
one step
behind.

A magical illusion occurs.
I see a rabbit
lifted from a hat.
I fail to see where it goes.
I fail to see where it goes
when the magician releases the long ears.
When you stride off
I fail to see where you go.

I sigh with relief when I see your smile.
I think it is over
but off you go again.
The pattern repeats.
There is no end.
It is a game of perpetual motion
but I do not want to play anymore.
I am tired of chasing you
chasing dreams
chasing hopes for the future.

Rules keep changing to meet your needs.
Your hungry craving
to hide in the shadows
leaves me tip toeing
through muddy streets and
entering places I did not know
anyone could go.
I am scared you will
get lost and forget your way
out of the corner
that draws you
from the light.

I am afraid
that I will only fit
going in
and will not be able to wiggle
and slither
myself
back
to the light of day.

It is exhausting.

I don’t want to play anymore.
You are so engrossed.

The game has taken on
a life of its own.

by

Majestic Mountains

Distant majestic mountains,
intimidating mass of rocks.
Go around or journey over?

A menacing challenge.
A delightful pleasure.

Colorful meadow flowers,
scent of pine,
crisp air, tease the senses.
Brilliant light dances
across water and snow.
A gift of remote peace and tranquility.

They stand
witnessing people who come and go
scrambling,
climbing,
clinging
to their chipped but resolute rocky shoulders.

They stand
impassive to activity on their slopes,
people, smaller than ants, disappearing
in their crags and crevices.

They stand,
power contained deep within
may be
unleashed unexpectedly.

Beautiful sentinels
give glory with their presence.
Reminders that
sometimes
just being
is enough.

by

Pulse

The pulse of a building
illuminates an inky night sky.
Lightening fast flashes
burst bright across a starless backdrop.

An undecipherable Morse Code signal
beams up and down the height of a skyscraper.

Flashing, flashing, flashing

A cry for help?
Or a beautiful electric melody
strumming to the beat of the building’s core?

The energetic light display,
seemingly erratic pulsing,
takes on a pattern.
A distinctive style mesmerizes,
a pattern holds attention
anticipating what will happen next,
a pattern hypnotizes with it’s unusual splendor.

Surging electrical charges deemed dangerous
must be brought under control.
Pulsing lights defy static,
unblinking form of surrounding buildings.
The rampant, pulsing life
needs to be reigned in,
uniqueness sacrificed.

by

Falling Tears

Tears are falling all around me,
diamond sorrow beads
silently spilling over flushed red cheeks.

A room full of emotion
becomes a sauna as numb people gather.
Perspiration dots foreheads,
dark circles stain arm pits.

Words of comfort are spoken
while words of sorrow are swallowed
along with stagnant, suffocating air.

A youth walking
in the shadow of addiction
stepped across onto the wrong side
of the line.
In an instant his soul sped away.
Life evaporated.

Anger rises above grief.
Anger at the monster
that has come into our homes.
Anger at the beast
that has enslaved our loved ones.
Anger at the powerlessness
we have in the face of this horror.

Hot tears stream.
Heaving tears overflow.
Shocked tears splatter.

Tears are falling all around me
diamond sorrow beads
silently spilling over flushed red cheeks.

by

Jack

Sweet stories
written through passage of time
float in the room.
An accordion rendition shared just so
squeezes in and out amongst memorabilia around the dwelling.

A birth tidbit distracts from pain in the moment.
Cherubic cheeks and bright eyes initiate brief anecdotes.
Photos lay in neat rows on the table,
frames polished and bright.
“They’ve taken them from his walls.
This one – she was a fighter. Ugly little thing,
fat head, big nose.”

Jack is gone.

A catch in her voice.
“We thought we’d have so much time together
now that our lives have quieted.”

Bare branches of the lilac hedge are stark,
unadorned with flowers or leaves.
They look brittle and frail
like the wisp of woman before me.
“I planted that from little slips taken from the farm.”
The shrubbery encloses the yard.
A thicket of tangled growth
hiding this slip of a woman from her neighbors.

“Jack and I met before the war.
I was working the switchboards.
He saw me standing by the mess hall kitchen sink
after dinner one evening, hands in soapy water.
‘What’s a guy gotta do to get a smile?’
That’s how we met.”

Jack is gone.

The hands with onion paper skin shake.
Sudsy water flashback hides the lines and blue-green veins
but not the grief.

“He built this house.
Realized quickly he may have taken on more than he could handle
but he saw it through. That’s what you do. You finish what you
start. We had a lot of good times
here in this old house.”

Jack is gone.

Black and white photo of a handsome young man
smiles from his perch on the countertop.
Thick black hair is swept roguishly to one side,
army attire impeccably neat.
His easy chair in the veteran’s home sits empty.
The walls of his room are bare.
A whispered tribute from his family home
sorts through memories.