Poem and Rose

Many More Dawns

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 06:09:00 +0000

In the prevailing beauty of many moments,
I relinquish my dread of aging into decay,
They are more lovely when I let all my feelings wash over me.

It's not that my whole life is yawning in front of me,
I like to think it stretches over magnificent waterfalls,
and cuts through scenic routes, gasping for wonder.

Hand me the crayons for my coloring book,
stand back while I blur the lines,
let's fill the spaces with our laughter.

An Old Marching Order

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Sat, 01 May 2010 04:51:00 +0000

The rain spits all around with great gusto,
and my fabric gives way here and there,
the water hydrating my bones in spots,
my fear of the storm grows outward into admiration.

Taking Flight

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Sat, 01 May 2010 04:36:00 +0000

Open sky and soaring greens and yellow,
I try to chose mine as you beckon me with all fervor,
my mind takes wing, like a fly buzzing frenetically,
to and fro with some hidden purpose, yet all the while
the door is shut, there's no way out.

Oh please understand, I've always intended to end up,
bound in your web, yet I can't seem to dream the same each night.

Good Morning

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 16:59:00 +0000

I remember the fleeting taste of breakfast,
minutes following, my tongue shrinking back in confusion.
A mix of food and a man-made mint sensation fight for control.

Not All There

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 21:50:00 +0000

It's a dark night, one where the lamp is surrounded by black,
I can find a couple of good excuses to complain about,
ways to relieve my dissatisfaction onto another shoulders.

And all I seem to feel is this warmth which makes me so isolated,
a stagnant air, cozy,
I begin to long for something sharp,
definite, an icicle, or cold steel.
A pin prick to be sure I'm all there.

Thought Geometry

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 13:58:00 +0000

As the clouds begin to blanket the day and scatter during my dreams,
my days repeat themselves, with tiny variations,
so as to create a pattern, for the all-encompassing, general memory,
feeding my advantage as a slow methodic.

This is who you are and all of my fighting confusion
never stood a second in the presence of definite answers,
the years gain dogged uncertainty, flopping between an instance,
as my reference earns momentum, and a long, windy corridor.

Where do I see myself tomorrow, today?

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 19:26:00 +0000

Holding pace with my bus,
I began to relive the sensation,
passenger passing by so many cars,
until I had reached complete spatial displacement.

I transited into my commuter seat,
leaving my driver shell behind,
dead at the shuddering stoplight,
the reality of it was not illusive,
just irrelevant to my senses.

Bugging Me

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 06:46:00 +0000

Antagonistic beetle, shelled by whispers,
sees himself in a world collapsing,
even in that tiny body, perspective is king,
no matter what the nearby giants are doing,
sleeping or screaming, disaster is a must.

The Older We Grow, the Greater We Fear

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Mon, 18 May 2009 23:27:00 +0000

It is envy that makes us hold our breath and fix our eyes,
if all we hold is desire, we carry an empty bag,
how often do I merely stumble over my dreams
on my way to wash up,
perhaps it's easier to forget as we grow up,
not because there is more to think about,
but we would rather think less about so many things.

Horizon

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Fri, 08 May 2009 05:21:00 +0000

Silly shivers run up my neck when the right note is played,
and when you speak my name I smell a new book and crack the binding,
all in anticipation of a worthy tale to follow,
I hope it lasts for my whole life.

High Sea, Still Waters

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 07:03:00 +0000

Open the door and the breeze stirs your hair,
take a few steps forward and the air whistles in your ears,
I walk through a changeable day with clouds chasing neighbors,
squinting wherever I look as the sun pierces its cover,
and then the sky is blue, and the light is contrasted by a new found chill.

O how I long for atmospheric visions,
wandering with a staff to uphold me as I sway side to side,
drinking the navy blue and enjoying the fragrance of the healthy green,
fighting for focus and chewing my thoughts with savor and leisurely deliberation,
captain sail on, and on, and on.

Having Arrived, Here I Would Want to Be

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 02:15:00 +0000

If I reach the old age,
I will set aside hours to tinker,
tapping my cane on the staircase,
I'd rather test the sound of the supports,
then look to my own.

Reaching that state where I dream when I wake,
and stir my sheets when I sleep,
I will smile faintly and read from a distance,
squinting when thinking takes time,
if it doesn't ring in my mind, it must not be true.

A Dance or a Hearth

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 19:00:00 +0000

I describe the twists and flashes of color,
sweat and aspirations that peek at me
from your eyes and the wave of hair,
but I have no idea what makes you beat
and talk in the manner you do:
at your core, I do not understand you.

And this goes on and on for all whom I've met,
but one, darling you who makes sense
of so many senseless things,
I gravitate to you in these,
as my heart understands, though my mind does not:
I feel and know home, yet I cannot encompass it with definition.

Which is better?

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 20:58:00 +0000

I dreamt of a satisfying breakfast,
prepared with my own hands,
it was a wonderful land,
but difficult to breath in.

I daydreamed of a colorful lunch,
brimming with the smiles of friends,
surrounded by familiar furniture,
but I was distracted by something it reminded me of.

I told a story at a gathering of the perfect dinner,
filled with a gourmet buffet,
gold and silver glinting in the studio lighting,
but it was ill-preserved, and the air was stale.

Lost in the Wake

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 00:39:00 +0000

Black gradually dominates my view,
Smeared across the space above,
And I fall, will and the rest of me,
Arrested, caught in a dream,
With so many happenings repeated,
I could remember this in my sleep,
But as I awake, I cannot recall
The gravity ruling relative to each weight,
So everything floats with a ghostly, clouded reason,
Robbing the natural colors from all I say,
Replacing them with odd florescents,
I will just return to sleep on it,
Perhaps the next time I rise I will retain the laws,
These stories are meant to be shared, right?

A Little Unfolding of the Hands

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 06:02:00 +0000

"Take my hand" is a kind gesture,
but repeated enough the muscles atrophy,
disabled by the dulled motion,
like a mother shielding her children
from the slightest of ills,
only to watch them sink fast once she lets go.

This behavior only reinforces itself,
perpetuated by habit, punctuated by fear of exposure,
punctured by natural courses, perpetually denied in my eyes,
blind help I offer freely, knee-jerk hand-outstretched,
I want, no I need, to fill your eyes with hope and your mouth with joy.

Welcome

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 23:04:00 +0000

Sit and watch the windowed dryer,
with the clothes mutely tumbling around,
and perhaps you'll feel as I have,
insulated from the world, spinning your thoughts,
like some freewheel without a brake,
but my body does not comply long,
and soon in a stupor I lean too far one way,
and nudge the cold bus window beside me,
(yes, I am riding a bus in the moment)
and a shock of cold on my shoulder
disrupts the dull uniform temperature
within my space.

Hello again.

The Forest for the Trees

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 00:45:00 +0000

Late this evening the rain hit me
and I realized, while most often I saw
the drops as a body, coursing this way and that to the earth,
today I have watched oddly, eyes darting here and there,
frenetically attempting to catch each droplet,
assembling each frame in my head,
as if the snapshots would help my concentration.

Shame

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 20:27:00 +0000

Free hair, furrowed forehead, arid face,
bowing out, "you've won", but have I lost?
"Miss?" no reply, "what a mess" says she,
wave my hands with a mighty thrust,
but her eyes block out the pain, the interaction.

Like a censored scene, a show on mute,
"I'm sorry" is only "-'- ----"
and the fuss of old cell networks winding through rock,
is the sole noise even to the ready listener.

No More Resorts, Just Home

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 02:05:00 +0000

Riding across the water,
I witnessed the fog burning off the hills,
the lifting of a great weight from my home,
as I watched from far, out on the lake.

Had I forgotten how beautiful you are,
or lost touch with the pulsing memory in my hand in your hand,
that my heart leapt out of its comfort,
and the love in your eyes carried me through?

I Had a Bad Sleep

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 18:28:00 +0000

It was like resting on a sheet of glass,
that shattered when I awoke,
and in the numbness of waking, I felt nothing
of the piercing dust that took flight,
and I was left with an empty feeling of want
as if I needed to sense that which hurt me.

Deterministic

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 04:50:00 +0000

"I follow the beat of my own heart"
travel the hill up to find the sheer drop
as your jaw gapes down, and your gaze falls,
it is decidedly grim and you decree your utter loss,
at the first depression in the way.

A Call to Arms, into the Armchair with You

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 04:45:00 +0000

Walking through the house,
I crane my neck no further than a logical step,
and toward the fading edge, a mental event horizon,
I watch a procession of strangers carry my belongings,
but as in dreamy stupor I find my tongue wagging in agreement.

As the hatch in my head shuts,
I am struck by the loss and barter it all back,
and in the comfort of so many familiar possessions,
I hush the shrieking tone which would beckon change,
as a caretaker for a sick person, how embarrassing!

I reflect on the weather while on a bus

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 03:08:00 +0000

Through the window, watch the baffled feathers,
stiff as the lattice of a snowflake,
adding a film to the scene beyond,
the strong wind held by glass, pacified.

Watch as the season shifts, summer to fall,
as this city would have it,
unpredictable in its temperance,
the visitors unfurl their umbrellas
while the natives soak in the surprise.

It's like the surprise of coming home to the same meal most every night,
shocking in its regularity and its ability to cancel any other expectation,
those that regard it as bad or ugly only miss a sense of control,
hey you, let go, relax.

Read Across Your Shoulder

noreply@blogger.com (allaroundmoose) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 02:59:00 +0000

With cold, hard confidence like a fly survives,
I read this morning paper,
but my jealously springs to life,
and the pompous thrust of my wings only spreads the poison.

I felt that beautiful shudder
of forgotten dreams whisk my heart above my hair,
with an aftershock that welled up in my bones,
betraying my feelings, it had never left me.