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aayoung

Poetry, Prose, Art, Photography, Random Shit

dancing with cigars in the garage

they creep up on you suddenly
when you aren’t looking for
perfect
these moments when you realize
you have everything you ever
wanted
and you aren’t sure how to process
this much joy
at least everything that went wrong
prepared you to recognize
what is right
light a candle for the lost
they’ve earned it

war by candlelight

amidst the curiosities

of my yet to be packed up

roll top desk

i found a diamond bracelet

you had given me

hiding in one of

the apothecary drawers

it reminded me immediately

how you waged

war by candlelight

instinctively i pulled the pin

on that gauche grenade

lobbing the tacky bauble

into the goose shit encircled pond

behind the house

your weaponry

is not welcome here

anymore

this house has a history

 

i put on some water for tea

then decided to mop the floors

of our new little nest

before the furniture gets carried in

before the rest of our lives happen

Murphy’s Oil Soap

water and sunshine into a bucket

carried through the echoing emptiness

of what will be

over original hardwood

placed there in 1941

i love to clean

the ritual of it

i write in my thoughts as i work

images painting themselves

into spaces around my gentle humming

spreading wet across the grain

seeing hands that mopped this floor

before me

wives husbands

fathers mothers

lovers and

put-upon teenagers

oh this house

has a history

built the year

the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor

it’s all still there

nailed down memories

layers of time entombed in wax

someone stood in that living room and heard

we dropped the bomb

we landed at Normandy

of a flag raised in Iwo-Jima

Kennedy was dead

Vietnam was a lost cause only good

for folded flags being handed to weeping mothers

Nixon was a crook

Reagan and John Lennon had been shot

the Berlin wall had fallen

i heard first steps

crying babies

crying widows

joyous laughter

say cheese

wine glasses clinking together

realizing with a smile

this floor is mine

the foundation of a family

and i will love it

then

the teapot

began to whistle

 

 

 

 

 

violets

i would like to believe
there is a heaven
where every flower
withered on earth
blooms eternally

i would like to believe
there is a heaven
for loves that were
never to be

a heaven
for all dreams
that would have been
beautiful

trying to throw your arms around the world

U2 is spinning on the turntable

achtung, baby

arguably their best album

trying to throw my arms your arms around the world

as i sort through my life

purging

packing

moving on to this next chapter

having raised boys into men

clearing the detritus

of four lifetimes

of mistakes

losses

victories

regrets

hearts broken

hearts mended

lessons learned

love found

all this living done

and tomorrow night

stars will find a way

to fill the sky

fallen petals

it is the poet
who is brought to tears
by the sight
of flowers dying
in a vase

if you’re reading this

if you’re reading this
you must understand
that every poem
is a message in a bottle
set adrift
on an ocean of lifetimes
looking for
a happenstance
recipient
i am shipwrecked
on my island of savage words
i do not wish to be rescued
please
place the scroll back in the bottle
cork it
toss it back to the sea
this poem has more traveling to do
thank you for conspiring with me

40

you rationalize
justify
all you want
age 40
is the doorway
to the latter half
of your life
thoughts and prayers
and other useless platitudes
to those struggling to catch up
but
if you haven’t found your way by now
you never will
i have loved
owned a ridiculously big house
lived in the best school district
driven luxury cars
worn designer clothes
mounted men with huge cocks
and still i was left
wanting
unfulfilled
i was surviving
not living
because the only pure bliss
is freedom of choice
autonomy
the ability
to not give
a single fuck

kill the radio

it’s your voice
that always got to me
you damned well knew it
causing me to explode forward
bloody haired
through the windshield
of our history

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