All right, that is likely the last of the backlog of bullshit. Some were from a class, and some just from random nights when I felt like doing poetry. Very little of it is recent – nostalgia was written the other night, but words was the most recent at about 2 or 3 years ago. In general, these poems span a time frame of nearly 15 years.

I left out the truly horrendous or awful stuff, but shared several of the stronger pieces. I’m not particularly a poem person, so there’s not likely to be a whole lot more of that stuff in the future.

I find myself trying not to think of you.
But when the night is quiet
except for the keening call of
a lone mourning dove
I realize that you remain
a memory, an
incessant
buzz in the back of my brain.

And nothing more.

there are times when i am acutely aware of the nearness of your presence, and i realize that all i would need to do is give in to your magnetism, just an inch closer and then i would be there, there invading your space, demanding your attention and conquering your moment, and…

no.
i can’t.
all i have are
my shouting doubts.

the space remains.

you –
are the center of-
the problem is that i still-
and i can’t even because-
well-
never was-
never will be-
just-
it’s only another fragment (ed)-
…

fuck.

here it is
something like
immaterial substance
translucent opaqueness
and honest deceit
and
I don’t know what you meant
only that you existed
somewhere between
beginning and end

you have killed me – crushed me –
with your – everything about you –
leaving only a Shade
of “could have been”

there is something in his eyes –
it speaks clearly of
a thunderhead
full of the flashing brilliance
of pent up energy –
of potential destruction –

and she is the master of storms.