Tag: poem

I don’t want to be near the light of the screen

anymore.

I don’t mean not ever, but not

often.

I want to sit on the porch

at night,

look at the plane

lights go by.

The flashing of radio towers.

I want to listen to the creatures

and critters

of the night.

They carry me and you, and

us into the dream world.

Nature is the conduit to sound

living.

I am repelled by the screen, because like a virus,

it came to invade, to alter the order of

things.

What once was a useful treat, became

an all-consuming black hole.

The only way to balance is to

treat the screen like junkfood:

for limited consumption only.

The screen: public enemy number one.

Another goodbye, another farewell.

A home that brought so many together

for so many

years.

That was grandma’s house.

A small house made of wood, concrete, and a tin roof.

A house that was ravaged by a hurricane

once, then rebuilt just the same.

There was the

Lonely Room

as grandma called it.

And there she had her old sowing machine.

“Come put this string through the needle hole, boy. Your grandmammy don’t see too well no more,” I remember her saying.

I got a little sentimental.

Family homes above all structures hold time forever,

between its walls where the memories are

not memories,

but

moments original,

and

live.

We merely walk amongst the past in their present.

Things change, our loved ones move on,

and so must we,

so must I.

Only difference is, I never want to forget

Grandma’s House.

I exist in two planes of existence — in the world where I create worlds and in the physical.

I move more in the first than in the latter.

It is an incessant world, often at odds with “reality.”

It took forever to decipher the duality of such intrigue, that at times I still believe I am verily insane.

It is true then, that an internal fictional world is easier to control than its “real,” but absurd external counterpart.

Thermal waters, total relaxation.

The energy, the stress.

All zapped away in 15 minutes of sweat inducing waters.

Had to walk slow up the steps to lay on the brick bench.

I could feel my heart beat all around my body

as

the relaxing tunes played in the background.

An iguana jumped from tree to tree eating

flowers.

I had not felt such relaxation in a long time, if ever.

It was almost divine. Like I could die in peace in this foreign place, and it wouldn’t matter.

We became lost in the banana plantation.

The fault of unreliable technology; a chance to test navigation skills.

Through the field of giant, white fans we went, to end up lost again searching for a beach.

What we found instead was a mangrove restoration project, and a man there who seemed to be done flying his drone.

Another adventure, another destination experienced.

Day after Christmas,

A day that should be happy for most people,

A day closer to the close of another year,

A day of contemplation, work, and more contemplation,

A day of some discontent and apathy and yearning for bygone Christmases of yore.

A day of wanting adventure and Exodus of isolation,

A feeling and a need not unfamiliar who refuse to leave,

And of wonderings of life’s punishments.

Isolation isn’t a gift,

All you need are pockets of silence for in Chaos there is life and

in isolation stagnation.

In the lives of your fathers are stories lost to time unrecoverable and in

stillness there is death unpreserved.

The worthy of death are only those who were brave enough to have lived.

December 26th,

Day after Christmas,

No snow, no letters in the mail, only hunger for what is out there.