The words are from a poem I wrote last year for Christmas. Always cool to see the marriage of my words and design.

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To keep the still in frames

2009-11-27 14.44.21

 

I take more pictures in winter, to keep the still in frames
I sometimes glimpse a bit of spring, through melted snow and flames

The chilly sent of icy rain, hangs throughout the town
The frosty breath of frozen lungs, while snow is falling down

I see a river flow beneath, coursing cold and runneth green
I see a North-bound, rusted train, barreling down with steam

The glow of warmth, bright with light, there’s one I call my home
I pray for the broken, ragged few, who spend this night alone

Where would I be, without this place, into a man been made
I often doubt and cry aloud, hoping again that you’d save

It’s Christmas time in Cincy-town, soon a city colored white
I will rest and spend good time, with my family here tonight

Bless us, Lord! Keep us safe! We fall down on our knees
We pray for much and forget to thank, but now we’re begging please

We are your kids, we hide as such, breaking all the joy you built
We placed on him all the shame, but still carry around our guilt

Take it all! And throw it out! I’ve been hanging on too long
Hope you’ll accept these feeble words, that now come out in song

I am one man and a broken one, you’ve asked to humbly serve
I will fail and fail again, because I haven’t got the nerve

The season is right and ripe with joy, only good comes from above
I pray for heaven coming down, I pray for your unfailing love

To a man without a soul:

I lost my soul the other day
I couldn’t quite remember where I put it
It wasn’t in the normal hiding places
Then it came to me
But in all the stress of losing it
I didn’t really want it back
Trouble is what it brings to me
Pain too
Maybe it would be best if I kept it off for a few days more
Do I need it right now?
What’s the worst that could happen?
To a man without a soul.

Riddle Road

The grove of trees beside our house
shields the city back. The honeysuckle
sprawls and covers us from our unsightly
neighbors; peering like a sea of eyes
from the looming apartment complex.

From the fire pit, the house towers
almost impossibly tall, looking while
the west side sparkles with a thousand
different colored lights.

A home to so many – sectioned off into
separate dwellings – each radiating a
different kind of energy.

The porch, lifted above the sidewalk,
provides the high-ground should any dare
to storm the castle gates. Though, we are
often too tipsy of guardsmen for such an
important task.

I will not soon forget this place I’ve lived.
I will not run from nor regret. The couple
that I share it with, are the best I’ve ever met.

The-big-gray-Iowa-sky

 

The sky is light gray.
The ground is dark gray.
The trees have no color,
Because there are no trees.
The fields are muted,
in both senses: sound and sight.
The cold’s color would be gray as well,
Though it is colder at night.

Machines run treads into the earth,
Cleaving mounds of mud and grass.
Pressing seeds deep
The farmer hopes to sow.
City dwellers look down their nose
Feigning regality, stuffy mood.
What happens if I tell them,
It’s out here we get our food.

That’s the scene I set;
Drab and uninteresting.
Winter fields as flat
as thoughts of nothing are long.
The pools of shallow water
reflect up, looking like voids.
All you hear is your head,
Because there is no noise.

I lay on my back, at loss and wonder why,
Starring, I look up; underneath an Iowa sky.

The hall of science and study

“Thou still unravished bride of quietness,
Thou foster child of silence and slow time” – John Keats

*                                      *                                              *                                                 *

You are abandoned and stuck between two roadways. You are held captive behind waving chain-linked fences and razor wire. You are now not much to look at, with your pits of concrete rubble and grass and weeds. They wack away at every inch of you night and day; crews take turns reducing you to nothing but memories kept in picture frames.

But I’ll remember you. I promise I will. I know you were more than they say in the papers. You were a great hall of science and study. Secret meetings were held in your basement. Scholars and students were published from your offices above. I am a product of your protecting walls. I am a former gazer-out of your grand windows. I snuck in one night and kept a bit of your faux corinthian column. I am a pillar of knowledge now because you wanted to help me learn.