 Current work from Sean Chambers, Photography by Ryan Hughes and mixed stuff from Mike Leavitt. |
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One time while strolling down the sidewalk
a tiny ball of ocean blue caught the corner of my eye
so I took the sphere into my hands
and Whoa, it WAS the world!!!
So I took it home to show my mom
and asked her if I could keep it
and she said " Oh son of mine, you know all too well
that the world rightfully belongs to another"
And so I grabbed a handful of pastels and paper
and filled every street corner with fliers that read
" FOUND: THE WORLD, WITH FLUFFY CLOUDS
THAT FLOAT ABOVE BLUE SEAS. TO CLAIM, PLEASE CALL…"
But no one ever claimed the world as their own,
so the world was mine to keep forever and forever.
And now this big, blue, bright, true world,
is snug and safe with the bundles of socks in my drawer.
What does the doctor listen for
When he presses that cold silver disk
Against my bare flesh?
…Does he listen for the heartbeat of sincerity,
A good soul who’s truly down with a bad bug,
The type of person who’s all but extinct in our day?
…Does he listen for self-deception, a placebo gasp
that satisfies the hypochondriac desperate belief
that his only illness was the one he’s persuaded of?
…Does he listen for a quiver, a shiver, tremble
Or quake; does he listen intent and smile content
As his sadistic eyes read the fears written on mine?
…Or does he just listen for death, the
Subtle creak of a fluid demise, or for the crackling thud
Of a cancerous heart, each beat counting down
To the last .
The expression carved in a face seldom seen
Speaks volumes of a soldier pierced with steel;
His essence erupting from the seams,
A glorious display of man’s failures.
A martyr, half and victim, whole,
Of a politician’s words gone sour;
The mask he wears, shields his loss of sanity;
But can’t conceal the screams pouring from his eyes.
A grey sky growing dimmer
As the calm of summer fades away
So sweetly
Beneath a canvas spotted in
A dozen shades of pale concrete
Perfection
Oh what a pleasant symphony
The falling leaves do play for me
I’m thankful
A final breath to savor truth
A final whisper from the Earth
I’m Dreaming
At Home From School Sick
Sitting home alone on a school day
Frustrated in front of the keyboard
Trying to find a muse for my message…
Trying to find a message
Cold air penetrates my paper-thin jacket
It speaks a spell of shiver to my bones
I’m so terribly cold and it’s getting colder
Without words to spark my soul
Not particularly inspired to write a poem,
Not particularly inspired to do anything.
The thoughts of past days play on my mind+-
But don’t inspire my inner-Whitman to speak
This cough is killing me already
And this can’t be helping my fever either
I need to get some sleep before I die
Maybe my dreams will serve as my muse
I will simmer like an ember at the bottom of the pit
I will catch a glimpse of every soul and make sure note of it
In goodness’ stay my every word will cry exquisite white
These tears to wash the misery away with piercing light
No longer seeing your sincere eyes
That divinely mended my insecurity,
Watching me fondly when I lay my head
To dream the most grandiose of dreams…
So many times the corner of my eye
Professed a glimpse of your ethereal image,
Your form that transcends this fallen star,
That was once fortuned to touch perfection.
One more time, I’ll use my homesick eyes
To bid this black infirmary farewell;
And die to find you eagerly waiting
And seal the moment in the whitest light
The boy whose eyes are hidden from the world,
lives in a dream and thinks the world surreal,
the life he chose has lent him ecstasy,
his well-kept secrets never to reveal