Small Victory

The inevitable spring. I saw It today.
Knew it would come. We could sneak away.
A moment. It will come again.
Until the new wave strikes,
bitter quarreling lovers in a knife fight.
Part of me saw light,
the greatest weapon is love,
polished the stars bright. Each one brighter than the last.
The peace of the world which gently persists.
Sprouting forth undeniably into cherished moments,
a small victory, another day won.
Seated on the edge of oblivion.
The rain drizzled gently from an open sky,
and I smiled as she drove away.
Life, a series of moments.

Verve

Anyone who knows me knows I love lyricist Brian Vander Ark. Look him up, or look up his song lyrics, they’re poetry, no doubt. His lyrics are brushes on a painting I may never quite achieve, but here’s what I can share, and what I’ve learned. Thanks for indulging my best effort- Tim

Some days are worse than others, some better,
this, the former, a past lover, the last hair washed from pillows,
the one next to yours, I’ll keep it like souvenirs.
Listening to Verve Pipe and Brian claims the hail, unlike the rain, “another year could not disdain”.
This year as ominous as a lateral move, past remnants, clogged drains.
I have nothing left to prove, make me whole once again.

This will all make sense one day. This may not make sense either way.
The goldfish pays no mind. He’s good in the bowl, with the masses outside crying to be heard.

Preferred in my freshman years, I held two girls at a time, never knowing any long-term plan.
I declared to you in my fit of rage, you were lost, only I could be saved.
I was a villain underneath, so sweet, until a spoonful of sugar made me obese. Superficial thoughts and metaphors,
the inflation of a 19-year old’s fragile ego.

So much for this, happiness is, wherever you find it.

The veneer in your hardened shell, I could feel,
until you set me as a picture in a photograph.

Your word as good as mine, to conceal, only I’ll have the last laugh.

Walls

I want to make memories now, no time to waste.
I fell into your lap, seemed like the safest place.
Clocktowers and scopes targeting all our children’s hopes.
Beggars on the streets, American dream, inhabitants broke.
When all the world’s stage wrote us off as just a joke.
Walls built up, stripped bare, clenched fists
but we’re not getting out of here.
Marked for time, when young lives have been erased.
Those walls to hold people out are built to thwart our escape.
I want to make memories now,
there’s no time to waste.

Woodland Spring

Crying in the woodland sprawl,
there’s no time for me
to watch you die Mom-Maw.
Your frame so small, your skeletal jaw,
It was easier to get drunk instead,
Face mortality, face death,
give up on my illusion of childhood.
While you sold the air your last breath.

I remember standing at your grave
and why I chose to hideaway.
Face my end, with college ahead.
I miss you now, but couldn’t face you then.
What love do we concede, when another soul is set free?
The indifferent black mass spreading through your bones relentlessly.
I know you’re in a better place,
a place where you can’t see us grieve.

This growing pain, the birth of the unkown,
this granite stone, in the freshly dug earth
next to your husband who died so long ago.
You can finally be together Mom-Maw.

The woods no longer call.

Fossils

Never ending quest to save the world,
or understand.
Forsee the present reality,
as nothing worse than a bad hand.
Plastic on the roadside, burning a carbon footprint across the land
Debris, dismissed, fossilized dinosaurs pissed
they can’t come back, we’d kill them all over again.
Natives of the home, so brave
they slayed the indigenous along the way.
Billions of the disgruntled, machines to overrun,
no voices, hearts splayed,
sacraficed, the wealth of a handful.
Breaking down all the rest.
Open mouths, no chance to retaliate.
Seeking out a new world,
Left behind by those who wish them dead.

Good Enough

On my 45th birthday:

I am good with my word, happy to let my secrets be heard.
Circling the drain once again, feels warm as the water pulls me in.
Belief in these expectations, and I’ve played the fool.
Buying all the hype, fitting every stereotype, won’t you tender me?
Waited so long for this to become a reality.
Time and time again, failed me, failed you, failed everyone I knew.
I like when it all goes right, but it’s an exhaustive fight,
breaks my heart, the lost art.
No fault in being human, no fault in being less than.
Either way I’m good…

Coffee in the City

Thinking about you, that first girl in my room.

One more cup of joe.

That kid who once pulled me into a diner,

said cream and sugar was the way to go.

Where is he now?

Those city streets stood out in bold detail, filthy at times,

So happy to see the world anew, cold-hearted and blue.

And I’ll turn 45 one day and still be fine.

That day has come.

 

I never thought time could grapple thoughts in my brain.

And I felt sane. Watching men die of AIDS.

Still feeling the weight.

I was just a kid, what did I know?

Not everyone can be saved.

 

Adult bookstores for days, farmers markets, long afternoons taking it all in.

Woke my roommates early, sugar and cream, on Walnut street.

Shared cigarettes, quieted hangovers. Stories of loose women under the sheets.

One more pot, brewing hot.

Distant memories are all I’ve got.