Free-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.
Author: Jared Abraham
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.
in the basement
poetrythe deed finally done,
he smiled uncontrollably
as the last stone was placed,
as his work finally finished,
as his old life was buried
along with the body,
that once was his .
finally…feeling
poetryafter sitting
for hours on end,
drinking,
hoping,
wanting to feel,
hoping to forget,
and finally,
with a little scotch ice,
the chill sets in,
and i’m good to go.
boy, you’d better get your head on straight
poetrybecause mine’s not,
and at least one of us
needs to think good
and to be able to
open their eyes,
despite the harsh fluorescence,
and the bright computer screens,
and the dull pain
just behind the right eye
and the feeling that all i want to do
is close the door
and lay down on the cool,
rough office carpet
and sleep
but for now i’ll settle
to rest my eyes
as i type,
hoping that no bosses walk by.
streams of nonsense
poetrynever worrying about whether
the answer will come,
or not,
just keep talking,
in a constant tirade
of ass pulled words
until in a moment of clarity,
the perfect idea arrives
and all of the asses are rolled away.
watching the grass grow
poetryand i would be happy
just to sit here with you,
watching the grass grow
and growing old,
finding wisdom
in forgetting the future,
finding peace
in just this moment,
finding hope
that it just might last.
haiku
poetryone cause leads to the effect:
like coffee to poo;
like me loving you.
send the tornado
poetryand blow us all away,
out of our small lives,
out of our small town,
huffing and puffing
and blowing our house
away to a far off place
where anything is possible
and we can experience the magic
that truly comes from
new beginnings.
the sieve and the sand 
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