Torches together, torches forever

...or if you'd rather be a window id gladly be your frame...

here are some poems i wrote last year during Creative Writing...

A Place Called Sorrow

There is a man who lives in that apartment.
He's been there a while now.
Every day he leaves just to get back in.
He walks quickly just to feel insecure,
to realize how much he misses being home.
He walks as briskly as an older man can,
Through the tennis court, past the unusually dirty pool up the small stairs back to the familiar place.
As well as he knows the loose board's creek in the entryway
and the leaky faucet, he knows pain.
He lives with pain for a while, a roommate he is thankful to have forgotten.

He kicked him out one night,
it was after a heated argument.
That was a good day for the man.
He is happier and heavier these days,
no longer the frail man of his former temerament.
The morning after that good night, he painted a picture of something new.
"I'll no longer go there." he promised himself scratching the canvas with a dark color and smiling a little smile.


here is the second part to it that i wrote many months later in realizing i had lost the above work...which i found this week.

A Place of Contentment

another park bench, or the gazebo where the young couple is hiding love?
a cane now presses against his leg, a sign of things to come.
the lord smiles still, at this tweed jacket of a man.
those channels still grip his face, a little deeper now,
a little more time takes hold.
never gray, this morning's filled with promise,
tonight is cards with Roger and the boys.
still no letter, still no word.
the lord looks on these dull faded eyes,
he looks and sees a servant, late to bloom but oh father thank you that he has.
once a thorn, now a flower,
the bastard now a son.

The man I speak of defeated something huge in his life. Something that had potential to crush him, make your own story to fit his pain and one of how he rose against such a force.


The humanity!
Abraham's children litter the skies at night
while beasts of our time gaze upward.
Up past the lights and sound and past the heavens.
Pondering origin and what the future may hold.
They ponder why and who we are because they know not their inner yearn.
Ignorance isn't bliss, it is torment!
Taking heed to such advice yields no more than fists full of sand.
A phantoms grasp at buried gold.
In tombs they held it fast,
breached by men who dared ill curse.
Their measure weighed and soon found red.


WALDO

Dripping
Dripping more,
Dripping more than just before
He leapt forth into the lake,
Soaring quick for his balls sake.
A giant splash of displaced sludge,
Lake Sammamish holds its grudge.
Polluted bath of toxic slime,
Home to chemicals and to time.
Unconcerned with pH tests,
Inner-tubes or life-vests.
It's a rubber toy that he seeks,
Instinct tugs at drooling cheeks.
Emerging proud he's proved his worth,
Trudging out from dog-made surf.

that will be enough for now.
adam