...a father's wish - verse #1...

My child little child where do you go

When your feet now touch winter’s new snow?

My child little child what do you see

When you wander so very far from me?

My child little child what clues do you leave

When you wander away and your parents now grieve?

My child little child what sights does the world show

When you are off to the places you will go?

My child little child are you scared now

When you realize you are on your own now?

My child oh my little child know this above all

I will always love you most of all…

© 2013 p.hill

kites in a cemetery

recall with such vivid memory

   burst into tears!

no less appropriate

than flying kites in a cemetery

waterfalls of tears drown down

echoes of the woman; gone

precious images from derelict hotels

shadowy clips in clouded past

I wish you could see me now

but you don’t see me anymore

you see no one at all

subtle pulse of my heartbeat

   rhythm

backbeat, soundtrack to my pain

your sound has gone dark

rhythmic scratching of a needle

on record’s side done

if I could say one thing, anything

just now I would say I am

   sorry?

when we said goodbye

on steps of the church so cold

in the warm spring sun

it wasn’t supposed to be forever

forever goes by too fast to count

what happened to our innocent

   days?

lying under pool tables, kissing to

the sounds of Spacehog…

we didn’t just grow apart but

   fell apart

torn apart ripped apart thrown

to the four winds of future and

   fate

the noose fell tight and choked

the light out of our naivety

strangled by the weight on the

simple third left that left us with

   duty

even now we pass in politeness

but never more do we speak

of the fateful nights when

passion ran free and so did our

inexperienced hands and tongues

salt stains the face now, still now

why now?  why not go and leave

the happy memories of youth?

we erected those markers of youth

and bowed before them and lived

in the happiness of impropriety

   inappropriate

just like kites flying in a cemetery

© 2013 p.hill

gentleman; bastard

bees wax poetic on a dusty record player

warped ancient vinyl dancing circular

designed to emanate symphonic melody;

instead a discordant sound.

I stood in the doorway and watched her cry

that last bit of life we shared now gone,

extinguished in a single barbed comment

because we went to bed angry.

what should have been whimsical and delicious

now the tinny cat gut sound of dying affection.

heat swelters through this old stick frame house

baking the trapped occupants to a sickly sticky end.

while the world spins oblivious outside

the night calls out, but the stars can’t reach;

light dimmed by the cloud of emotion that hangs

damp and deep over our heads.

sweat from frustrations long pent up

soaks the sheets where we once tossed.

words should be so poetic but fall hollow on a page

hollow as the sound of an empty chamber in the gun,

hollow as the sound of an empty glass that once held liquor

and dreams and romance and desires and lust

all things that would have made this life complete

but for the fact that effort couldn’t compete with impotence.

and now Ginsburg himself can hear the howl;

tortured scream of pain that should have been mistaken for ecstasy

now sounds of an animal in its death throes.

if only a simple apology could fix all the wrongs

a kiss good night could say all the things that needed  said.

we might not be here now wasting away

dying of thirst because we are too oblivious to notice

we were each others’ resuscitation.

too late too bad so sad now gone.

the world has moved on and I wasn’t invited.

© 2013 p.hill