Posts tagged ‘April’

April 13, 2015

Monday Anon Anew

Monday is a rebirth
of the past two days forgotten—
a new moment, a new mindset,
and a new chance.

Though,
we are the oldest
we’ve ever been
right now.

Still,
we are young as is,
as naïve,
as buds on tree branches sprout.

Soft eyes sore,
a window’s breeze of Spring must
through messed hair,
in sharp lights which have come on again
at the rotating of the earth.

Outside is exactly inviting warm.

Here we are,
here we prep,
here this Monday anon anew.

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March 30, 2015

Again in April

The Ides of March to
April bird song,
where sprouts push
and pull to, through
fertile soil; come the
warming sun heat
on affectionate breeze,
past the months of
cool cold torturous toil.

March 11, 2015

A March of Yoga Pants in the Sun

A few brittle flakes of flesh fall to
the standard grey University desk in front of me.

Evidence of one memorable bench-sit sunning had brought me gifts today,
parts of me and more.

They came in gaggles of yoga pants, sparkling wet sidewalk pools—dripping,
and the wafted smell of thawing topsoil.

These odors damp and dank, some familiar and sweet, natürlich;
smells a boy can never forget.

Sharing words of Baudelaire and Schadenfreude,
Chaucer and April—but, hypocrite reader, you are not guilty,

it is I with the pen and the paper and the view and the thought in mind—
These other student-creatures saunter forward naked, empty, out of

static blasé bundles of winter climes, too Springtime is due, unawares.
I smile at the idea of my taut semi-reddened flesh, dried and cooked

in yesterday’s ultraviolet rays—as my significant other warns of skin cancer,
but this is my proud ignorant trophy to own.

I can only thin-lipped big-tooth express, and fiddle with dead skin cells
as they rest on my desk in cross-shadows and heated-light.

April 11, 2013

All Falling Cold Hell

Anticipation led to hesitation; perception of spring led to disappointment by appointment amongst other things.

 

Labels led to let down, frowns on pale faces.

 

Snowflake to fertile ground, like seminal traces in hot fleshy places.

 

Bumbling to blunder the tragic funster.

Sauntering as he perused through town.

At times, head down.

 

Walking the evident precipitation, precipitous, no elation-bitter nation.

 

No one laughed.

 

Investigate the fleeting suspect clouds.

Tacitly, at times, implying:  Go back to where you cannot be found.

 

Cursing them, at times, aloud, losing one’s mind, becoming unsound.

Stuck in: culture, climate, and the daily rounds.

 

Ultimately and absolutely let down; however, proud of the weather that fell about the ground.

 

***

 

I almost had a brain aneurism when I saw the heart-attack snow in bright white mounds.