Throwback #15: 3/26/2011

there's a storm in the making,
i don't know what kind
but it blew out the other
and it's blowing my mind.
it could just be nothing,
a chill winter breeze,
with barely a whisper
to wrap 'round the trees.
it might be a sun storm,
confused in its ways,
raindrops of love fall
alongside the suns's rays.
it could be a downpour
that soaks through our skin
with liquid emotion
to drench us within.
or perhaps light and thunder
with crashes sustained
and images flashing,
telling us, "stay."
or maybe a hurricane,
with passion it blows,
it washes our world out
so a new one can grow.
i don't know right now
the kind of storm coming
i just know that it scares me
and i just feel like running,
running away from it,
hiding from fear,
fear i might love you,
oh do i, my dear?

-D.B.
3/26/2011

Throwback #14: self-proclaimed martyr

sometimes i think you do things
just to seem the martyr
you sigh
and cry
and carry on
like no one else's life is harder.
you say you're stressed,
no wonder why,
just look at all you do!
turning molehills into mountains
can take so much out of you!
I mean, how can we be so selfish
or EVER have such fun
when you're constantly reminding us
of all that you have done!
out of love for us, you say,
from the depths of your big heart!
but of course that's only half true;
weaving words can be an art.
it's hard
I know,
I understand,
to suffer and be silent.
but, my friend,
your pain to us
is never less than violent.
so
STOP
with all the guilt tripping
and exaggerating truths!
for God's sake,
try to be yourself
and I'll be there for you.

-D.B.
4/2012

missing sunsets

i've missed another sunset.
should i live another day,
i should not hope to do that
for it brings me too much pain.
to be left behind by sunset
is more than just a shame.
nothing left but soulful remnants,
fading colors of God's paints.
in missing just one sunset,
i have missed the rainbow flames:
they come forth from the distance
from a land that can't be claimed.
'i will never miss a sunset'
has become the false refrain
of my mind so drenched in sorrow
from the storm of sinful rain.
oh i wish i'd seen the sunset,
i've missed more than i can say.
like repetition of this rhyme
is repetition of this pain.

-D.B.
4/22-26/2013

Steve (Part 1)

So this started out as a poem and then I decided to change it around a bit and make it a short story, which I have never written before. It's not done by any means, but I've been really busy lately and I'm not sure when I'll get around to finishing it so I figured I'll put it up just for the heck of it. So, without further adieu here's the start of my story...
      I met Steve at the Irving gas station, just standing there smoking a butt beneath his fading green hat in the mid April drizzle, an Adam's Tree Service truck just behind and the air pump in front.
       My tires thrive on air pumps and I feed them through Sunoco's at least once a week because old rubber on a rusty, fading car gets hungry fast.
       Today, my favorite pump was blocked by road work and the people that come with it. I grudgingly crawled along the torn up, one lane stretch while avoiding the cones that cut me off from my tires' life line, all the while cursing each bump in the road that added insult to my injured tires. And I know that air is cheap anywhere, or at least it is for now. It's just that cheap air that's set off from the world, and all the people that are in it, comes from Sunoco, so they get at least a dollar a week out of me.
       Irving, on the other hand, digs deeper into the wallet of this broke college kid: upwards of 20 bucks a week and a rewards member, though I have yet to reap the benefits of the latter. Even still, Irving is my vendor of choice for the fossil fuels. Their cheap gas is the main course for ol' BessyRu because if she dies on my way back to school, she can die knowing that less of my money has been wasted in her hypothetically useless tank. A few months back, I did notice an air pump there but until today, I had dismissed the idea. Irving may have cheap gas but its strategic location is not my favorite: multiple lanes of traffic next to a four way intersection that's right off a highway, and let's not forget all the people that come with that mess.
       But one of my front tires is down to 10 and two of the others were grumbling on my way to church this morning so I'm forced to rattle on over to Irving instead of letting the poor things starve. I pull into one of the parking spots next to the Irving air machine, being careful not to hit the guy with the green baseball hat that just ran to his truck with a gas container.
       This pump is an island. It's situated between the diesel pumps and the regular pumps, which are book ended on one side by my favorite spot, the one that's furthest away from the other cars and the people that are in them. As I'm digging around for quarters, a couple of these people pull up on the other side of the unfamiliar machine and, rather than make obligatory small talk ending in some socially expected graciousness, I decide to wait it out in the car.
       That's when I notice him.
       It seemed he had already noticed me, though I'm not sure why. It might have been my unusually small stature that doesn't quite belong on the ground between a tire and an air pump. It might have been that I resembled someone he once knew and cared about. It might have even been my plates, which identify me as being originally from Massachusetts.
       Massachusetts.
       The great state whose name and troubles have been splattered all over the news since some sick yet pitiable person decided to bring about horrifying explosions and war-like chaos during the marathon that draws multitudes every year.  Driving around with Massachusetts plates this week has been like walking around school with a post it on my forehead saying that a relative died: The sorry eyes, the patronizing smiles, the encouraging looks, and knowing what's going on in the minds of the people that go with all of that.
       But no matter why he noticed me, there he was. Standing in front of the car, but just a bit off to my right so it wasn't completely awkward. Just for good measure, I stare out the left window while making faces as if I was trying to remember something important. As for what could be so important in the life of a college kid that she can't even step out of her car, which been parked for two minutes at this point, I really couldn't tell you.
       This is when I realize that the people next to me are just using the other air machine space as a parking spot, probably so they can go in and get a pack of cigarettes or some lotto tickets or a donut. I dismiss the non-existent thoughts that, just moments ago, were causing my theatrical anxiety as I grab four quarters to feed the machine with.

*This is based on a true story, some names and situations have been changed/altered/enhanced with creative license or whatnot.

throat, eyes, heart, mind

white sliding down my throat
tears sliding from my eyes
rage pouring in my heart
thought pouring from my mind.
sick say they of my mind
good say they in my heart
words trapped before my eyes
words trapped inside my throat.

-D.B.
4/22/2013

take it all away (part 2)

take it all away,
strip us of our rights
but we will not sink down
to your level
we will fight.
telling kids to be themselves,
that uniqueness is a gift,
well that's all very nice to say
but what our actions say is this:
be everything we tell you to
if you don't, we'll need a fix
we'll drug you up and drain you of
your beauty and your gifts.
these kids, you give them straight lines,
God forbid they step outside.
being different could be deadly
their uniqueness is a crime.

-D.B.
4/15-18/2013

have you ever watched a sunset,

really watched it as it burns
with brightness great as heaven's glory
for which the heart does yearn?

have you ever stared so deeply
that you cannot look away?
been blinded by the light
that gives character to day?
have you ever longed so greatly
for the brightness of the skies,
believed you could be up there
and wished that you could fly?
have you ever felt an aching
set so deep within your soul,
when you look out at that sunset,
does it fill an empty hole?
have you ever faced your maker
in the setting of the sun
risked to lose your sight forever
in exchange for eternal love?

-D.B.
4/16-17/2013

take it all away (Part 1)

take it all away,
strip us of our rights,
we will not sink down
to your level,
we will fight.
guns will shoot from fingers
that belong to pitiful kinds.
why can't you try to help them
instead of taking what is mine?
the gun can do no wrong,
it's a soulless, metal mass!
it doesn't choose to end a life,
only lost souls can do that.
the enemy is this blind society,
ignoring those in pain
but why acknowledge our own apathy
when there's something else to blame?
so instead you
take it all away,
strip us of our rights,
but we will not sink down
to your level,
we will fight.

-D.B.
4/15/2013

calming the demons

there's not much going on today,
i can't say much for it.
the demons came to haunt me
but they've calmed down a bit.
my senses, they were fooled,
it happens time to time,
but for now they're sleeping,
those demons and their lies.
i've muted them with music,
some new notes to my ear,
blunting them with sound
so the notes are all i hear.
i've closed their eyes with chemicals
that flow right through my brain
sedating them with stimulants
so life can find its aim.
so with this odd concoction,
i'll hold them off tonight.
i know this won't get rid of them
but someday, something might.
so until then, i end today
with this to say for it:
those demons, they'll keep haunting me
but for now, they've calmed a bit.

-D.B.
4/9/2013

fingers moving on the keys
a half-forgotten melody
the sound of unveiled mystery
a side that i have never seen.
a lullaby for sleepless trance
beauty coming from your hands
enchanting me with just one glance
that music from your fingers' dance.

-D.B.
9/16/2013

Throwback #12: 4/6/2009

I go through life as if i'm blind
and walk through mist but do not mind
for in the fog i often find
it's good to leave what's left behind

wounds

break the skin open
cut out all the stitches
bleed it out
along the scars
i forgot were even there.
do it like a blindside
take me by surprise
don't make a sound
just tear it out
don't put it back with care.
rip me a new one
and another for good measure.
it's all the same,
build pain on pain
a blood-red, fleshy treasure.
make bold incisions
let it all pour out,
the old the new
the shallow and deep
and all by your decision.

D.B.
11/11/2012, 4/4/2013

Throwback #11: stars

looking up i reminisce
about how we once were:
the stars for us held mysteries,
our gaze toward them was pure.
looking for orion's belt,
we searched enchanted skies,
we sought that simple line of three
with spellbound simple eyes.
lying in the grass that night,
how magical the sight
of you and me and scores of stars
and they our only light.
lying next to you i felt
as if i'd found a home,
a timeless place of happiness,
we'd never be alone.
but then our spell was broken by
those words i said to you.
i wish i hadn't spoken them
but now what can i do?
those words, though not by nature harsh,
have kept us far apart
and kept us from the mysteries
inside our starlit hearts.
and now it seems we're back again
before that night of stars
doing as we should have done:
becoming friends to start.
but this time we've no time to lose
so pray we get it right
for this could be our only chance,
the last chance, in our lives.

-D.B.
5/30/2010

Throwback #10 5/14/2010

all you do is hold them back
all you do is stare
into space
a poker face
behind the darkest veil.
there are days when all you see
is nothing but despair.
we want your smile
you lovely child
we want that veil to tear.
so cry my baby
cry them down
let the tears run down.
all you do is hold them in,
let go and then you’ll smile.

-D.B.
5/14/2010

a heart so cruel

quietly i sit in wait
a predator with perfect bate:
your own deception
your own lies
you think you've won
you think you're wise.

but

the upper hand belongs to me
i know better than to be deceived
i might be slow
but i'm no fool
to the tricks
of a heart so cruel.

-D.B.
 4/1/2013

we are the lonely people

we are the lonely people
the one who walks alone
no shoulder there to cry on
no place to call a home.
we are the lonely people
there is nothing you will give
no word of love to soothe our soul
no friendship that will live.
we are the lonely people
our face will lie to you
no shining eye holds happiness
no smile tells the truth.
we are the lonely people
our fear keeps us apart
no hatred can come forth from us
no love can fill our heart.

D.B.
3/18-19/2010