My Calendar

What day is it?

I do not know, I’m sorry.

My calendar hasn't changed for longer than I’d like to say,

And the picture of a kitten,

Poised in a basket, starring out into my empty room,

Has been there for the past few months.

I’d occasionally flip through the months of the year

And let the puppy with his head cocked,

The dog with a kitten perched on top of his head,

All got a glimpse of me and the pale white wall behind.

That’s all they’ll probably ever get to see.

He is extremely cute, the kitten of this month, that is,

But I've begun to feel his eyes on me

Whenever I am around

Even while I’m falling asleep.

Poor thing, he is bored.

He wishes I would change the month

And that this window would close,

So that he can stare out of a different window

Onto a different landscape.

Or maybe just a different, plain, sparsely furnished room,

Occupied by some different boring boy or girl.

The Life of a Puppet

I feel sorry for you,
Your shaped plastic, paint and thread,
Sentenced to death by hanging.
Brought back to life by the strings
That broke your neck
That now move the plastic jaw,
Arms and legs of cloth.
And dance you around on stage.
You only come to life through the hands of the puppeteer,
Who's skill is limited,
And emotions are hampered with translation.

Steal a knife,
Cut your bonds,
And escape your jail of children shows.
Stun your jailer with your cry for freedom,
Leave this life to build a better one.

Someday soon I hope to be sitting in a cafe,
Considering the politics of drinking coffee to fast or to slow,
And see you flash by on the street.
Free to be your own puppeteer,
Expressing your emotion without translation.

Saturday Morning

I sat in your living room

Listening to the buses and cars

Drive by, nine floors down,

The sound filtered by the sheer curtain

In front of the open window.

My tea tastes strange,

I haven’t taken the teabag out yet,

And the taste of metal has stepped from the spoon,

With the tea leaves, into the hot water.

And you keep talking

I came to listen to you talk.

Lean forward in your chair

Hold the paper still on the table,

Now fling it around in your hands.

I’ll stretch and suppress another yawn

As I try to follow and understand.

A Ship In a Storm

Are you ready?
The sun is setting
And yet you stand still,
Save for the movement of your chest,
Like small waves on the shore.
The sky isn't red this night,
No Sailor is taking delight.
They've taken the pub,
Where I'm watching you from.
Your hair is up,
It isn't caught by the rising wind,
Those sails are hoisted.
But still you pull, then turn into it,
Waiting for it to begin.

Istanbul

I came here to press pause on my day
Well, actually if I go home
I'd find myself just sitting there any way
Staring at a disconnected screen.
So I'll sit here in the sun,
Catch a few rays and listen to the sound of the waves
And forget the troubles
That are accompanied by it when it's done.

I've found a spot between lovers and some young boys
Who've cashed into their prize of alcohol
They hid between the rocks and some stories.
So many stories these rocks must know,
The storms, warm days and cold days of winter,
All piled up on top of each other
So many we could never know.
Out there on the water the islands are moving,
Leaving scars on the surface,
And us wondering what they're doing.
In the distance the city is hidden by its own haze,
To discover it I'll have to move through it,
But that I'll save for another day.

Hot Coals

I am far to angry to be writing
And I find my self in danger
Of revealing more than I need.
All the reader requires to grow their wold is one little seed.

How come so little posses the mind with such power?
Explain the physics behind the velvet curtain
Of your eyes.
Take the little you do know and spread them thin.
Compete with the galaxy for being being blown out of proportion.
As I let out a sigh,
No more will I believe the lies.
And I've come to realize
I stopped caring, some where in the middle
That part of me did die
And I've left you with me, a riddle.
Something you've done
Just a twinkle in the eye.
So let me in, or juggle me yet,
And let these fires stew.
I will not say that I know best
But don't you dare say that you do.

Leaving Friends

It seems so long ago
Yet it is only a semester that separates
But we're gone now
How strange to think back.
We're still around
And I'll see you one last time before I go.
But those evenings are forever lost.
Those nights where we sat in your front yard,
Drank to much
And talked of Love, Girls and God.
It's hazy now
And I'm coughing in a cloud of smoke.
One last time the night hours will pass
And we'll smile, laugh and reminisce
On the good times that we once had.