Author: Jay W. Ess

Swear to God

poetry

I will fight everything
tooth and nail come
Hell or high water
by pen or sword
or just that laser-point
stare that I get
when the cards are
on the table

Oh, and if I die
in a pool of blood
or a pile of guts
or a floundering heap
of real intention,
I hope I at least
keep my shoulders square
enough

And I hope I always know
that my mother loves me

Someday Your Ship Will Come In

poetry

Is life summarized in empty soda cans
or stacks of boxes of fine old clothes or
the silences of long car rides after funerals
and tragedies? In movie quotes? In filing cabinets
in debt collector’s offices?

You are a book with a table of contents
and and an index in the back
and your best friend indexed a lot of it,
for you, until he got bored and did other things.

Then you spent your time with a beautiful woman
or an electric guitar or
both, but neither for long enough
and so your reference notes grew more confusing
but less meaningful, really, with
every passing day.

Now you tend bar in a seedy town
and the money is pretty good and you haven’t
seen what’s her face in years but who gives a shit.
Your guitar was sold at someone else’s rummage sale
last January.

There isn’t much fight in you these days
and you pour as much for yourself as for
everyone else, though you haven’t had soda in months
now.

The cans are still scattered near the kitchen door.

poetry

There is a place not far from here
where the wind whips fiercely and
the sand and dust flies in your faces
so that you can not even think to go
further

The water is cold on this ill-tempered
beach and the ships have all come in just
to stay alive amidst a red-flag warning
and water was boiling and everyone was
cold and alone and etc etc etc

so we walked streets that offered nothing
and we saw ships that we fancied all the same
for different reasons. We watched the ducks.
You shivered.

We came back, then, from that treacherous place
feeling glad to be alive even if we hadn’t got
our toes wet like we wanted to, and as far as
I could care those waters are still boiling
and everyone is cold and alone and etc etc etc

except for some of us

Titanium Justice

poetry

I remember a thunderstorm
in a field one summer and
the lighting was better than
every firework I’ve ever seen

Then four years went by
and you packed up to go
from one place to another
though you stopped here
for a moment,
at least

Then four years were
purely inconsequential
and everything was just
as it always was and
if the sky cracks any differently
in Texas I know at least
you’ll see it the same

And thank you, for it.

Hard Work

poetry

Leaves fall every autumn
after dying and they
crumple up and blow away
and some people are just
the same but some people
write great records before
they go and instead of brown
mulched detritus we are left
with a snapshot of those leaves
in all of their glory and
we still must rake the yard
but the sitting room will be
beautiful
when we do finally come inside

Pictures

poetry

Oftentimes the most gorgeous pictures
hanging on the nicest walls
are covering the ugliest holes
and crookedest nails that there ever,
ever was

Those pictures get knocked down,
sometimes, and they tear out those
wretched hooks, and all that’s left is
the scars that were once hidden by
their beauties

I will not despair, however, when those
blemishes come to bear:
for though that frame may never hang
again, it will certainly
lean against the wall atop my
mantle

Silver Screen

poetry

I watched this movie once
and I can’t remember all
the characters’ names but I
can see their faces in my head
and I was sad when I saw this
movie because it was a sad movie –
it was supposed to be sad – so
I wasn’t upset that I was sad when
I saw this movie but the characters
who’s names I don’t remember made
me think a lot about you and
it made me thinkg that I’m really
glad that our life isn’t anything
like this sad old movie even
though it’s one of my favorite
ones

I don’t worry about the future. Perhaps I should, but I don’t.

poetry

This town isn’t going anywhere
and half of us
or more
are destined to toil and moulder
within her limits

She will give every ground
and she will be gentle and caring
but some of us are just not
cut out for this whole
‘taking initiative’
thing

Stuck, might be a word
or washed up, another
and instead of reaching the stars
we might deign to move potted
plants at a local greenhouse

She isn’t going anywhere,
and maybe neither are we,
that’s true,
but her limits, though narrow
are poorly defined, and have
been so for ages, and

maybe a long country jaunt
is all any of us really need

5/9/13 1:10am EST

poetry

Your breath is staggered, no doubt,s
from the liquid coursing through
your veins.

Your little pump
coos and chirps like a mother hen
and even though your breath comes
so sharp and shallow
it feels alright

At least tonight your eyes
are closed, and the man screaming
two doors over is screaming just
a bit less.

You smiled a lot today,
and there was color in your cheeks.

things still hurt, sure,
because that’s how things go
before they get better.

The noose around your throat, though,
that’s been cut and tossed aside.

And you smiled a lot today,
and that’s the main thing anyway.