Posts Tagged ‘poem’

Okay, close your eyes. Imagine a gently strummed acoustic guitar and a ukulele with finger-snaps as the accompaniment to this. Mostly major chords and a lullaby-type feel and softness. Maybe birds tweeting, a la “Loving You” By Minnie Ripperton. Shh. Peaceful. So serene.

NOW OPEN YOUR EYES.

This is what you see upon awaking.

Industrial Protocols Temporarily Suspended

I’m gonna let my mind wander where it wants to go

Just one time

I’m gonna think about the yes when it should really be no

Just one time

There ain’t no reason you and I could ever be

Just one time

But I’m gonna pretend you’re saying yes to being here with me

Just one time

And when I’m finished with my dreaming, non-productive inefficiency away from the machine

Imagine sunsets, holding hands, growing old, raindrops and playing under shady trees

I’ll step back into this colorless world

I’ll wake myself up to this empty land

I’ll keep a tight grip on my emotions like I should

I’ll put this mask back on and promise I’ll be good.

I’m gonna clear my head and think about those satin ties

Just one time

Roped together in a holy union of Earth and the Skies

Just one time

There’s a bond that we share and you know that it can’t be denied

Just one time

But we shouldn’t have to be the ones ashamed and terrified

Just one time

And when we wake up in the cold gray light of unlit day and pretend it never was

We’ll go right back to work in the straitjacket uniform and punch the clock like everybody else does

We’ll step back into this colorless world

We’ll wake ourselves up to this empty land

We’ll keep a tight grip on our emotions like we should

We’ll put the mask back on and promise we’ll be good.

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.

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Constellations

Posted: January 17, 2011 in poetry
Tags: , , , ,

>I can’t sleep dammit.

Constellations

The constellations keep to their steady courses
They roll around
while I can’t close my eyes
I think of clockwork gears measuring out the night
Giant wheels, both brass massive
and yet as transient as thought
Shh. Don’t you hear that?
Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick
I think I can feel time
It’s grainy, like sandpaper
Each second is separate, individual
Discrete
String the seconds together one after another
They are a stop-motion animation
A movie based on 4am
It tries to be a lullaby but fails
A song to keep baby from sleeping:
Stay.
Awake.
Stay.
Awake.
Feel the minutes clank and clunk along, like Ray Harryhausen monsters chasing Sinbad
Or;
The seconds are like a rasp
Grinding, chipping away
Feel them whittling you down small
Nearsighted
Grey
Achy and feeble
Leaving you alone in the darkness
No, not quite alone:
The things you forgot to do
Decisions you’ve made that could’ve gone another way
All that you’ve left undone, unsaid
Each second, they pile up and up and up
You look at your younger self
And he thinks “what’s the rush?”
And he thinks “I’ve got so much trouble”
And he thinks “no way can it get harder than this”
Welllll…
The constellations keep to their steady courses
They roll around
While I can’t close my eyes
They roll around
While I can’t close my eyes

An appropriate soundtrack for this could be Requiem, by King Crimson.

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.

>     Yes, we do. As far as I know, there are no Black Daytonians transplanted to Tampa, Florida, who play ukulele and write bad sci-fi, writing a blog these days. It’s a demographic I feel has been under-served for far too long. So, rather than bitch about it and blame The Man for keeping down the black uke-playing sci-fi underclass, I decided to be proactive.
     “But, Topher,” I hear you saying, “I’m not a Black Daytonian transplanted to Tampa, Florida, who plays ukulele and writes bad sci-fi. In fact, I’m a White Hawaiian Goth living in Kentucky with a crochet club. What could I possibly get out of reading your blog?” Well, not to worry. I won’t focus on Black Daytonians transplanted to Tampa, Florida, who play ukulele and write bad sci-fi (from now on referred to as BDTTTFWPUAWBSF) issues exclusively. While that viewpoint will color some of my posts, it’s not like that’s all I can write about. Parenthetically, this is a problem I have with a lot of Black filmmakers and authors, but I digress. I write. A  lot. Even when I’m not writing, I write in my head. Same thing with music. So, what I will probably do with this blog, is post some of my mutterings and songs and stupid opinions.
     “Okay,” you admit, begrudgingly. “So this won’t be all BDTTTFWPUAWBSF stuff all the time. What else you got?”
      Well, I got… THIS!

 On a perfect afternoon

Sun is blazing
Limbs too stiff to skip along like they used to
Hiding in the air conditioned solace from the summer storm
Not many words need to be spoken
Just a quick glance
A nod
A flash of a smile
An intimacy missed for far too long
Is it too late? No;
Time is all we have
Time and love enough
A music a tingle a spark
A fragrance
A new memory

     Meh. It’s a beginning, I guess.

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.