Poetry is a window into one’s personal experiences, both internal and external. The sights, sounds, and pulses of life can be immortalized in verses that stir the soul and instill hope, happiness, and sorrow. Remember that words heal as well as hurt.
Hey… It’s me again. Man, it’s dark up here… Do you mind if I keep this hatch open? Might scare away the mites and shadows that gather here in hordes. And look at you… Just as I remember. Okay, a bit dustier. I know, I know, I’ve been terribly busy doing this and that. Growing up. Don’t fret, I always love to see you. The way you’re always gazing with that same longing expression. Those eyes that once saw adoration. Adventures and imagination. Oh, did you know I got that job we always dreamed about? I’ll be sailing for real now, a specialist in the Royal Navy. Bit larger than the ships we used to pilot, made of pillows and duvets. Though I imagine it might be lonely. At least for a little while.
Hey, do you know where that treasure box is? A bit like yours but a tad smaller. You know, the one with all those coursebooks I filled out in school. All the novels we read when we were younger. Certificates and tidbits, pieces of the past. Viciously protected and easily forgotten. I could have sworn it was under the TV but I can’t find it anywhere… Maybe I’m blind.
I wonder if you move around up here. Dance when nobody’s watching. Do you go and visit all those lands we used to dream up? Mighty spaceships and colorful jungles. Play was endless. Life seemed so much wider… The other toys were taken — I’d started to look like a hoarder. They’re in good hands — the neighbor’s kid. Oh? Why did I keep you? I don’t really know. It could be that I’m sentimental. Or maybe I’m just scared.
Ah, there’s the box I needed. Well… That’s everything. Till next time, Teddy.
She’s wrapped around the toilet, face pressed into the cold, plastic lid, tapping nails against the bowl– yellow where the press-ons have popped off– a fast rhythm, like the heartbeat in her head.
She can’t remember switching from fast food to dry heaves, but she does recall her folks’ hazy hours-long road trips in the old broken-roll-down-window machine. Cold coffee in paper cups, sulfur and spray deodorant, AM talk radio hosts cut up with static and bursts of fresh air as ash leaves the front windows. Memory is sticky in her lungs.
There she sits stinking of sweat and smoke, near empty pack tucked into her bra; shoes kicked off by the stall door, stationary as the world moves around her like lake water.
For the first time in forever, for the third time this week, she prays to God. Swearing, cursing and bartering: she’ll be nicer to the new neighbors– and the old ones too– she’ll swear off drinking on work nights and start working on herself tomorrow if he’ll just make it go away.
But saliva rushes against her teeth, and there’s lightness in her pounding head, and her stomach muscles quiver, and tobacco lingers in her nostrils, and she knows he can’t help her tonight.
Felicia, You tell me that I shouldn’t worry, but that’s not your decision. Every time you text me, you’re distressed from work or family wars, You put yourself down even more, then assure me that you’re “fine.” So forgive me for wanting a clearer vision.
I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt to see you so depleted. Every day, I wonder if there’s something more that I should do, To solder all this pain in you, but you dissuade my efforts. And so this endless cycle goes untreated.
You dress yourself in apathy like it’s the only thread that fits. A hundred other options would be kinder still in form and shape, But you wear caution like a cape and pull it tightly round you. You can’t defend yourself with smoke and tricks.
Anytime we plan to meet, you’re full of smiles and bubbles. I’m reminded of the younger girl who hoped and dreamed of joys, Who clawed and fought for stupid boys and cared deeply for animals. And I really think that soul is worth the trouble.
We dated once, an eon past, in schooldays of simple mirth; When hormones fused and wrested us, as deep a love as youth allowed. You have another boyfriend now who treats you like an afterthought, But you cannot believe that’s all you’re worth.
You ask me often how I would feel if you were to disappear. How is it that you can chuck about these words so easily? And threaten loss so breezily when I would be destroyed… To think that you had given in to fear.
Let me take this time to say I love you without discretion. Not romantically, our lives are dragging us on different paths, But a part of me is built to last on the foundations that we share. You are my family, always, without question.
So I will wait until the weather blows this raincloud blue. It’s futile fitting plasters on this formless mass your hurting takes, For I’m one man with no more stakes than any other Samaritan. But rest assured, I’ll never give up on you.
Come, all children, and take a seat As I tell you a tale of tricks and treats. For do you know the tale of Mr. Jack? Well, better keep those socks on your feet.
’Twas an extraordinary night, on the eve Where souls can cross with ease, Between here and the spectral plane To witness the goings-on of you and me.
Then, from yonder! Within the woods, A ghoul, most peculiar, there stood. Roaming around, without a care, Looking as if he had barely reached adulthood.
“Ah, another year, another bore. Whatever is there to come for? These breathing passersby care not one bit As they wander, listlessly, on the ground floor.”
“They cackle with glee, and sing with mirth, While my body lies beneath this earth! Well, no more! No more, I say! Chaos and confusion, I… shall… give… thee… birth.”
And with that, our poltergeist flew from the trees, Racing through his mind, many mysteries Mr. Jack was gleeful to plague those humans, All in order to disrupt their reveries.
From shrubberies, doors, and around high dormers, Look at Mr. Jack! He was a born performer. He’d howl, levitate, and steal any and all treats, From all types: witches, robots, and even black cats on the corner.
A spider here, a fake door there, a crooked entranceway– Clear the cul-de-sac, off the streets, the town was in disarray! He tipped chairs and filched hats from anyone he saw, While his mischievous acts put horror and havoc on display.
As the night waned and the innocents had all gone home, Our ghostly menace found himself left all alone. Sure, it was fun to tease humans on this one dark night, But now, he was left feeling colder than his tombstone.
“Maybe, just maybe, I went a little too far with such measures…” He mused sadly, recounting his misdeeds amidst ghoulish leisures. The laughter, cheer, and excitement, once making the air so electric, Had been sucked away, leaving the town devoid of any pleasures.
Quietly to himself, he made an invigorating promise. His new plan, it wasn’t going to be as thoughtless. He hurried back across the divide just as the sun rose, amber, And the living roamed once more, feet firmly on the surface.
As days turned to weeks, to months, and finally to a year, Our once-spooked town was traveling forth without fear. Lingering thoughts of mishaps past and horrors forgotten Weren’t going to spoil the night around these parts, no dear!
And from across the plane floats Mr. Jack, with new determination To make things right, better—and a little cleverer. With renewed motivation, He decided to tone things down—last year, it got out of hand! But this year, this year! He’s ready to begin new machinations.
He spied treats and candy everywhere he went, And there his attention was now being spent. “What’s Halloween without a little trickery? I won’t go overboard this year, but I’m not that innocent.”
(Image courtesy of Susan Flores via Pexels)
Mr. Jack smiled to himself as he played his part Hiding, disguising, mystifying; now this was art! Sure, there were no screams of fear or wails of anguish, But he did feel some joy in his undead heart
When he noticed others surrounding his victims, Laughing and cajoling at the unexpected outcome Of a bewildered child, who was counting his delights, Only to find the broccoli head his candy had become.
“Next year, I wonder if I should expand my operations?” Mr. Jack debated, heavily immersed in his internal conversation. “Why should I only keep to this one town three years in a row? Next Halloween is going to need even more preparation!”
You were mine while it lasted
In body, in sheets, in endless glances.
You were mine in the frozen hours
Of two hearts determined to love
Timelessly,
In the yesterday of today and
The today of tomorrow,
Your silhouette in my mind where you live and relive,
The memory of my mornings.
We are no longer…
We are sand in tides
Playing with moon cycles
So as not to forget the seconds,
The love within watches.
Yes, that is what we are…
Love in life
Without knowing the end,
Because on our bodies
You left a mark
Which forgetting cannot erase.
It’s 4 AM, I’m awake again. What have I left undone? Whoever said my life should be Always on the run?
I push and pull to get more done. With barely time to knot my tie. Turn around, the day is gone; Left me at a loss to end…
By a rhyme.
I want to do it all in the minutes I have. Read those books, write someone else’s memoir. Show the patience of the Parent of the Times. Pat myself on the back for anything I finish at all
By day’s end, even dishes or my bath.
And nighttime, I look back to see how little got done, How much I have left to do.
Mostly, I see, in the middle of the night, All the really big things I passed right over— Something spiritual, generous, a mitzvah? — And forgot to do; so they didn’t get done.
By anyone.
And tomorrow is not just another day. It’s the dawn when everything has to be done.By me.
