watching train wrecks,
in two minute segments,
each piling up
behind the one before,
progressively blocking from mind
any hope that my train will arrive
safe, secure, and on time.
Author: Jared Abraham
Playing Fetch
poetryConstantly bounding
back and forth and back,
doggy style i live and breathe.
stagnation: damnation
poetryit’s been a while,
and i have whiled
sweet time away
with little to say
for three months;
six months.
nine months;
twelve months:
that makes a year,
and that is a dear
thing to waste,
in want of haste,
with lack of foresight,
and too much hindsight.
the wind-down
poetrydespite the loaded bases,
i’ll throw one more,
checking the first
and the second,
finally the third,
hoping to close it out
and get the save,
but this is the end,
no matter what happens,
and in that freedom,
i’ll wind myself up,
hoping to not let you down.
what happens when i watch scott pilgrim…
poetrylet me first preface,
with an acknowledgment
of the total geek out,
shortly to follow,
but sometimes it’s necessary
to hear the songs of zelda
playing in one’s head,
as strength develops,
to the sound of my hearts,
and i’ll face another boss
and shoot my master sword,
then round out the game
by saving my lady’s day,
sending ganon back
to the dark world from which he came,
all metaphorically of course.
and if the rest of our lives
poetryshould entirely consist
of bad ring tones
repeated endlessly,
ad infinitum,
at least we had the here,
at least we had the now,
to build upon in memory,
and turn into something grand.
October is over
poetryand once again I’m alive,
seeing the waning light
at the end of the fall;
gaining strength
from rotting leaves,
dying grass,
general decay;
hoping that i’ll survive
while watching everything else die.
Improv
poetryFree-styling,
Free-wheeling,
spilling out impromptu thoughts
that somehow fit,
that somehow hint
at an intelligence greater
or a greater intelligence,
whichever the case may be
in which the mystery
is somehow solved
of how to not make an ass,
whilst standing on stage.
road trip
poetryWe returned together
after leaving alone,
glad and and content
to have found each other
somewhere along the way,
passing through who we were,
glimpsing in the distance who we could be,
hoping to remember how to get there.
Storm Chasing
poetryWe thought we’d outrun the storm
only to find it waiting,
three hundred miles and three states
down the road,
with three hundred miles
of pent up fury,
and three hundred miles
of pent up rage,
ready and waiting
to beat and to batter,
to blind and to bruise,
to force us from our course,
to keep us from making it home.
Continental Divide
poetryLike a drop of rain,
eastward I flowed;
irresistible current.
Red River, NM
poetryTo say that it is a little kichy
would be an understatement
but despite all of the tourists,
and all the overpriced shops,
and all the family bikes,
is the land
and the land is perfect,
an idealic world
of unspoiled beauty
still there to be viewed
and possessed for a moment,
so long as you stay out of town.
Pike’s Peak
poetryLooming on the horizon,
amongst and apart of the clouds;
immensity.
Dwarfing all those around it,
standing 14,110 feet above the world,
yet diminished and obscured
only by the slight twitch
of my lounging foot,
conquered by my nonchalance.
Striving and trying to be cool never worked for me anyways
poetrySo I’ll stop it all right here
And admit to myself
That i’ll never be cool,
That I’ll never be loved,
That I’ll never be that guy;
And instead gladly settle
To be myself,
To love myself,
To be cool with myself.
let’s drive north
poetryand leave this all behind,
saying farewell to our lives,
dropping the imperatively meaningless tasks,
walking out on our fucking jobs,
jumping onto 25
to see where it will take us,
leaving texas behind (good riddance),
passing through new mexico
only to linger in colorado
before tackling wyoming,
montana,
continuing on with no directions,
with no definitions,
with no plans,
except to find canada’s cool embrace
before our lives find us
and drag us back
to the heat of our lives.
Take out the cork
poetryand throw it away,
this wine won’t live to see another day
because there is what I suppose is called a need,
a need with which I have no wish to plead.
one year ago today
poetrythe sun shone bright,
making a most unfitting spectacle
of itself and of us all,
refusing to cooperate,
refusing to mirror our despair.
today it rained;
today it poured;
today drenched us to the core
quenching our inner light yet again
in memories and past remorse.
summer lull
poetrywith its sweet lilting voice
i have succumbed
to the lull of summer
and the interminable desire
to hibernate until winter
(or at least fall)
when i shall again arise
in magnificent chapluzkian glory
refreshed by the cold,
rejoicing in the blizzards,
no longer oppressed by unending heat.
Family Reunion Subtext
poetryCome in!
Come in!
It’s so good to see you
(and you are)?
Oh, yes, Carol’s son
(You don’t look like her,
but I’ll take your word).
So where do you live
(will i approve)?
Oh, do you know so and so
(the drunk!)?
No? Do you know so and so
(the bastard!)!
Now that’s too bad
(I guess you’re alright after all);
go get some pie before it’s all gone dear
(off to test someone else).
solitude
poetryhaving finally given up it all,
he was now free to observe
theworldmanwomanhumanity,
and with a sad smile,
partially hidden,
partially shown,
he saw the mystery,
he saw the reality,
he saw the truth
and the way that everyone
pretended
to be happy,
to be loved,
to love,
while secretly disseminating
their truly hidden
veiled misery.
the sieve and the sand 
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