Tag Archives: soul

Abandoned Factory on Shade Street

Broken glass
fragmented as
a childhood memory
mingles with weeds,
catching light;

little lost stars strewn
across cracked pavement.

Inside crumbled walls
dormant boilers resemble
the tombs of future pharaohs.

Among them,
webbed machines corroded
beyond motion
make for silent sentinels.

I see the child I once was
playing
a ghostly riddle
a translucent shape
in my peripheral.

Such places and I
are no strangers
to the end.

Teeming with
abandoned wonder
buried under
decades of paperwork
this still air stirs the
little dreamer
and here the dreamer dances.

I let out a breath.
I can feel what is lost
what is gained
through time.

The largest skeletons
you can find
are of metal in distant fields.

Both harrowing and peaceful
-a past that stands in light.

Forgotten and
vacant
like last night’s dream.

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Games The Dead Play

Jackson with the long blonde hair
Hollywood smile
badass black leather jacket and slim frame
gracing the kitchen at a party

I was watching him
from the living room
making some beautiful girl laugh
playing it all up smooth as
silk rippling in a fine french wind
but that was Jackson
last I remember
the thing about this was
that he’s been dead
for fourteen years

Don’t tell me that I’m
crazy or mistaken
it was him all right
the way he moved and tilted his head
when he laughed and looked away

Hell, I could see the scar on his right cheek
from here
I gave it to him when we were sixteen
with a bowie knife
that was supposed to hit a tree

Best days of my youth were
spent that last summer
before his funeral when
we were all seventeen and
all we did was skateboard
drink whiskey
get high

He got all the girls’ numbers
every single one of them
you had to hate a guy like that
if you didn’t like him so much
because Jackson had all the charisma
that the rest of us didn’t he was as pleasing
as a Beatles melody
with his laughter his calm eyes his lack of caring

He was one of those guys that would never die
but then one day he did

I remember well
the way his mother cried at his
open casket
his ashen gray face with the
lips sewn together

When you see someone you know
in such a manner
with all the light gone
their dormant body
just looks like a
cheap rubber suit

Now here we are and
there he is
glancing at me all nonchalant

This even isn’t the first time
I’ve seen him
yeah, he’s been here and there at
parties, festivals, bake sales

I put it all together a while back
that he’s been watching me
following me
but for what?

It appeared there was a game afoot
which rules I did not fully understand

Well, having had enough of this
it was finally time to find out
and get some answers from the
dead man himself
so I set my glass down
and made my way towards the kitchen

Jackson lit a smoke as I approached
now that he was alone
leaning up against the fridge

For a moment he just looked at me
and I felt that I must be losing
all my marbles and that
it wasn’t him at all
but then

flashing that signature Hollywood smile

“What took you so long?” He said.

Be Strong Even When You’re Not

Be strong
even when you’re not.

Even when places
and people
become impossible.

Even when every room is unfriendly,
every day a shame,
every step a burden

and when giving up
seems like a breath of
fresh air.

Do not stop.
Do not cease.
Do not hesitate.

Don’t be like them.
Don’t be like them.

Move forward instead
and when it hurts,
when it aches,
when you bleed

smile.

Eventually you learn
that there is no other way.

Karma

Not every good person wins.
Not every bad person pays.
Not every smart person
knows the way.

Karma is a story that we tell ourselves
so that we sleep better at night
with our debts.

With our children beside us
we look out the window
and only see night
but sometimes we can also see
a distant light.

Sometimes it’s enough
to wake them up
so that they can see it too.

Beautiful Quiet Melody

There was this girl at school
Quiet Melody
was her name.

She used to hide in her hair.

Long and black it was
like a raven’s back
and she used it
as a curtain
so that nobody could see her.

When people addressed her
Melody would wave sheepishly
distantly
as though from another planet
and not say anything at all.

She had this favourite spot
on the floor
that she would stare at.

I often wondered
what she thought about
when she did.

You see,
she had this face
that could pierce your heart
it was just so beautiful.

Thinking back,
it was a real damn shame
that nobody
ever told her that.

Writing is to Bleed Across Every Damn Page

I don’t want to write safe.
I want to stretch out and
bleed across every damn page
and when it’s finished
I want to feel that I have
truly left something
that was a part of me
behind
as harrowing as the process
might be to myself
because why else
would I really bother
picking up a pen
unless it was to dig it
deep into my chest
and let it just bleed
freely and openly
across every
damn
page.