One Windy Winter's Eve

I was a few seconds late
so you stood quietly alone
braving the cold wind
but feeling slightly embarrassed
and somehow standing smaller
hoping that no one would notice you
but I watched as your coat collar popped
and strands of ruddy helices
crossed your squinting face
and splashed against pink cheeks
you always say
it's too long to do anything with
under pretense of maybe cutting it
and wishing that someone would do it right
but settling to tying it up
nice and tight until it hurts
a shiver to hop let me know
you were more than ready
to be at my car door
so with pedal to the floor
I made my way to the sidewalk block
on which you stood
and made the excuses I always do
for why I'm late
so you feigned annoyance
and described your stay
ending with how silly it feels
to stand alone
as I turned the corner at the light
and headed for home

I think it's finally finished... To my sweetest:

on the eve of inevitable acclimation
there began a slow descension through a pouring down
a long drive home
and long roads snaking around mountains and valleys
and they sat so quietly because
it was too loud for talking
and they began to remember
how it felt to be falling down
and then a glance
and a whisper
a soft touch from slow hands sliding down
from shoulders to arms
then from legs to knees
subsequently splitting them in between
until the fleshy places between her knuckles
were missing the fingers that played her open spaces
like piano keys
and both hands slid together
like jigsaw pieces
leaving no air in between
and together they breathed
and he began to think
she's my pretty little constant
in my petty world of inconsistancy
and as the long road went on
she waxed happy
and the corners of her lips
crossed the boundary between mouth and cheek
and her feet moved from floor to dash
and back to seat to settle in
to a moment they wished could last forever
and then pretended like it would
like the earth would stop its spinning
and the rain fall so still
and all the movement was in their fingers
and their eyes aligned like lips
as if to kiss but forgetting the words
and so lingered instead
and the lines along each edge and dip
read like a horn blown
that filled the air inside
and rushed like wind beside a road
while time slowed to still
and they became like ghosts
haunting the gloss of an old, forgotten photogragh
wherein sit two no one knows
but who don't care at all
because faded colors and cracking windows
mask the lines along the hourglass frame
and how each open pane stops the falling sand

Yes, I am aware that I have shamelessly stolen a line from MEwithoutYOU (well, there's a little shame here). However, in my defense, it was an unwitting pilfering; the line slipped into my head, and I reviewed it and thought it fit perfectly before I realized I'd heard it somewhere before. And even then, I still I thought I was only stealing one or two words. So I looked it up to see what the lyric really was and saw myself swiping the whole line. But, hey, I can't help it if Aaron Weiss writes such fantastic things that chunks of his thoughts float around my head, popping up when I least expect it! Besides, I would argue against it being plagiarism in light of context. In my poem, the line is surrounded by happiness and just drips with gooey romance. Aaron, on the other hand, uses it to convey sadness, loneliness and emptiness. Ergo, I'm keeping it. Plus, I'm assuming most people don't know what line I'm talking about. So for them, this discussion is moot anyway. But for those of you who know of which line I speak and care enough to cry foul, please reread the preceding paragraph until you know longer want to say anything.

Keep a Weathered Eye Out for the Pirate Who Says Yarrgh

spin like a disk
glistening in the sun
a record moving across its needle
to bend the bars around like arms
and make a blanket
and bedding to sleep in
and sweep all the dark underneath it
to soften all the grinding in your teeth
keeping your restless tongue behind
because enemy lines sneak
and slip around pointed corners
heading straight for your mind
So forget all the lies
in favor of flying low
with windows blowing in from trees
and leaves reaching in to touch your sides
like some sort of kiss on a cheek
to create a button to rewind and stop the tape
and make a way to swim through time
or freeze with every frame
so you can linger with each good memory
and discover that you're sane after all

The Reason We have Rush Hour

An excess of idiots driving excessively idiotically.

Ode to Aqualung