Jon's Website

but now
back to sitting in the yard
just today!

shade and grass and
reading about how people
are put together
wondering how I can make myself work

all of a sudden, there I was: enlightenment
I didn't even have to try

the grass was real
the dog was real
I could hear the breeze
see the sun on blades of grass
and cocking my head to the side,
looking down through my hair at an odd angle
it I could feel myself sitting on the Earth

I was there.
I believed it.

An airplane flew in front of the sun,
like we weren't really mired in suburban hurry and greed
like we might just be a tiny cove of farm houses that the real people fly over
like I wasn't just watching from behind the wall behind my eyes
like we might actually be real
somewhere under all of this

I am the ping-pong ball
with a bleeding heart
and I long to save
all the bleeding paddles I can see

but I only seem to bounce
from one to the next
and I always feel so empty inside
but I guess that's just the nature of the beast

this is a poem
for people who have written
a hundred poems to themselves
promising a million stars
a thousand times over
and only ever been burned

I stopped writing poems
that try to fix things with words
a long time ago

so stand
little girl
I believe you have legs
I almost believe I have my own

try
little girl
we each have to stand on our own
too weak to keep each other up

but maybe we could make it
just a little ways?
it'll be just like show-and-tell
I could show you my smile
and you could show me yours
and we'll tell each other we'll
make it
enough times that we start to
believe it

and we could grin weakly
honestly
at each other
as we stumble down our lives
running fast and falling fast
because, toddler-like
we have not yet learned to walk

I'll just sit alone
and stand behind
the ones I came to be with
frame too scorned to have
shoulders worth to cry on

to cry on, to cry on
won't you leave me peace?

pall-bearer, pall-bearer
would you be my pall-bearer?

I'll just sit alone
and be denied
the one I came to send off
the living often rule
the mem'ries of the dead

so I came, so I came
and that will be my victory

pall-bearer, pall-bearer
feel free to send me home

The crickets sure are loud tonight,
maybe Mars can hear them.
Wouldn't that be wonderful,
if they trained some fanciful telescope on Earth
and heard our crickets?

That tiny point of light
is as close as we get
for another thousand human lifetimes
they say.

And the martians wonder
"Are we all alone in this desolate universe?
"Will we ever be close enough again to know?
"Or will we just drift
"back off into the night?"

And time and momentum and gravity
will try to tear us apart
and they'll probably succeed

I'd like to know if
Venus is also listening.
Does she stand on her porch,
quietly watching Mars's search for answers
and listen for Martian crickets?

That tiny point in time
won't be as close as we ever get
in the span of our lives
I hope.

And Venus wonders
"Am I all alone in this desolate universe?
"Will I ever be close enough again to know
"Why he fell away into the night?"

Will time and momentum and the gravity of fear
manage to hold us apart?
I pray so hard they won't succeed.

Maybe Mars will someday learn
how not to be alone.

I've always been skeptical
of heroes in movies
when they look at the love interest
and say "you're beautiful"

well duh

isn't that the reason they're there?
to reassure us that SOME peoples lives manage to go well?
    and that they manage to overcome?
    and that it's all ok in the end?
we'll have our reassurance, damn it
even if we have to force it on this nuisance universe
    by writing it ourselves
and settle for watching it larger than our own lives
    for eight dollars a sitting and a tub of popcorn

sorry, I'm going off on a tangent

I saw what I thought was impossible, last week
    lit only by the street lamp half a block away
    and the dull glow of a cloudy suburban night

your eyes were like the movies

"My God," I should've said, "you're beautiful"
    and kissed you hard and well and long
    and lived happily ever after
right there
that instant

How is it
that you can still doubt what you feel
for a girl with eyes like that
when she's staring up at you, resting her head on your chest?

wheeling on pinions
like a dancer on toe
solitary in the deepest sky

eternity's a silent friend
comfortable and alien
I like this life alone and spent on high

I see you waiting on the ground
and hope a perch can there be found
I'd like to rest awhile on your shoulder

You can have my some but not my all
I'd hate from forever's grace to fall
to loose to you the things that only heaven knows
(for you to see the places in my mind where only heaven goes)

so a perch I'll ask
and to keep my mask
if only for a little while longer

I'm not sure what you'd find
when looking around inside my mind
and so I ask for you to wait 'till I'm a little stronger

far, blue and wandering
	I want to sail the sky
deep, wide and humbling
	to reach for places high

	to spread my wings and leave the ground
	see what in heaven may be found
	I am so young, the sky so steep
	I'm lost forever in it's sweep

see, sky and trembling
	I want to fly away


brave, bold and wavering
	I think it would be best
sprint, run and scrambling
	to jump right out the nest

	my wings won't catch the air that falls
	upward through my winged calls;
	pleas ascending prove too tiny
	frantic flapping fails to save me

try, fly and tumbling
	I've failed to fly away


crash, fall and crumbling
	and now I'm back at rest
cry, shy and whimpering
	and lost and in distress

	despite the aching in my bones,
	the first I've ever been alone,
	with grimaced face and holding fast
	a maiden flight won't be my last

	.
	.
	.

slip, crawl and stumbling
	it's time to try again

me
in the eyes of this cold, lonely girl
and I don't know why I see it
me
traced in pencil lines
so real I can feel the chill
in my spine
and still not really feel it

thank you for myself,
and for caring,
just a little bit

Having abandoned the party,
its raging lights and color thrown,
a girl sets out, drifting,
to wander through the stars alone,
wrapped in warm and patchful cotton
her flowing dress is overgrown.
These people only make her tired
she spreads her wings and heads for home.

The night, it seems, is getting brighter
the farther from the lights she's flown;
away from darkest brightest Babel
into the looming, gray unknown.

She settles down into familiar
streets of dull and crystal blue;
even lit with queerest lamplight
these streets to her could not be new.
A wish she makes for some distraction
before she sleeps, a calming tool;
and haunted there a book and table,
abandoned in a sapphire pool.
Her thus-diverted conscious clamor
allows her truer self a view.

"Oh do you hate the fires of Babel,
despite their iron hold on you?"

Wherever she came to be standing
there passed in front a bolted door.
A halfling hewn of hardened dimness
"I'll take this sin and nothing more."
Defending them was too demanding:
her sandy lines drawn on the floor.

She casts the book to wordless slumber,
thinks of the light she'd tarried for
and can only stare into the future
(a silent resignation's chore);
press onward with her strained defenses,
and long for light that passed before.

I think her purpose is changing.

As she waits,
for me to fill in the lines,
and the shading,
the little details that will complete her world,
her purpose changes.

At first, a blank anticipation.
The curve of her face,
all the rough lines,
they were happy.

The letter that morning
that set her heart aglow.
Was it a message at all?
Perhaps a mission.

Regardless, the little fire
that burned anew in her oft-vacant eyes,
it drove her to this lonely park bench,
kept her warm,
though the trees were already bare this year.

(Flame was my intention from the beginning,
even before I started sketching).

There she sat,
clothed in construction lines
and doodled pose.
There was hope in that pose.
Time wore on
with the scratching of a pencil.
Details were filled in.
Snowflakes began to drift.

Other people,
the ones who weren't in the picture,
came and found and returned from whence they came.
The flame in her eyes flickered then,
as I roughed out the irises,
but carried on,
licking up, hungrily,
all the hope that remained.

Doubt the fire could last much longer.
She had better find what she's looking for.
More lead pressed itself onto paper,
and the day went by.
The sweater and skirt were done.

Sputtering disappointment seized her
when I tried to put the glints in her eyes.
The shapes all came out wrong,
and the face fell.

The happy touches I added,
none of them worked either.
Wind cut through the scarf,
and the mittens were threadbare.
The ribbon in her hair came out loose.

The fire in her eyes took hold now,
by changing it's nature,
burned her paper self away,
until all that remained
was that on which she was drawn.

(The artist can only watch helplessly
at moments like these.
All your new lines and shapes and shading
only form more faces.
She won't smile at them.)

So now the sun is falling
off the far side of the sky.
Days are not long,
in winter,
but long enough to pass too slowly.

In completion,
she sits with a different purpose,
heart buried somewhere deep in her chest,
a tiny twittering ebb and flow,
the vague light from a streetlamp.

Eyes are cold now.
So cold,
that these snowflakes drifting down her cheeks,
settling in her lap,
are the only things her eyes can make.

To get up now seems silly.
She herself is just another snowflake,
blown to this bench by a chance wind,
only to wait for the morning sun
to rise and seize her
and melt her away.

I'm thankful for the plates,
    there's plenty of food on them.

Thankful for the room,
    there is warmth here,
    and laughter to echo off the walls.

Thankful for the chairs,
    there are good people in them;
    and such company is hard to come by.

Thanful for the heart
    that still beats in my chest,
    ears that can still hear laughter,
    and a mind that still knows what laughter means.

I'm thankful, though, especially,
    as this simple feeling fills me,
    because it all feels like
    far more than I could ever deserve.

Shake thy most delightful tush
in the cave of evil
until in dawning, night is done
Dance! my fair evils.

Swirl amongst the Fair Undead
beneath the darkened steeple
lost in the driving baseline's throes
Dance! my fair evils.

up and down the melody rode
thy swaying hips so regal
lost in the driving baseline's throes
Dance! my fair evils.

hear the wailing keyboards rise
mournful like a jackal
a tune played in your shining eyes
Dance! my fair evils.

oh with your long and doubled tail
the notes slow to a trickle
to watch their flinging graceful flail
Dance! my fair evils.

glimpse the darkest heaven's reach
between the flashing, fickle
strobes that light the divine breach
Dance! my fair evils.

silent city
winter pretty
in the first throes of November

glass-coat icing
meager splicing
in of January's frost

streets run dry
'neath ebon sky,
but lamps still shine with daylike fervor

in a bare lot
like a gunshot
rings the echo from the door

high and twitching
from folk bewitching
and both my feet are on the ground

took the night off
lamps play light off
poet curled up in his car

huddled inside
despite his pride
scribing out the night thus far

smoke is blooming
mixed perfuming
from the muse at my right shoulder

stoplights shifting
lone car drifting
homeward from among the stars

Winter winds will sometimes still go howling by,
come crashing against windows, blowing under doors.
The sun still hides, wrapped in grays, from the bluer sky,
this hazy place 'tween winter, spring, it brings the seasons four.
Sometimes sun is shining, sometimes snowflakes fly,
and his heart still wears its icy white decor.
But I took a walk without my coat just yesterday,
and it's just a little warmer than it was before.

This is the spot.
A stupid road sign
that I've driven past since childhood.
A sign that marks
a particular curve
in the road.

In all my 17 years,
who would've ever guessed
that I'd actually have to STOP here?
Especially
for something
like this.

festooned with flowers,
bright colors,
delicate beauty,
to celebrate sadness
and loss.

The sky hangs low and gray,
shedding tiny, cold tears where I
being male,
can't.

A pull on my cigarette,
one tiny comfort;
a warm cloud in my lungs
on a chill day.

And while cool today,
it's certainly not icy.
Been seven months already.
Seems like just a day.
Hard to believe.

Anyway, the road is clear;
it's just a normal curve again.
Hardly dangerous.

That IDIOT!
We all take this corner fast,
I know.
But not on a day like that,
right?

And now my friend,
who, by the way,
actually LISTENED to the road sign,
is tied here to it.

See that little bear?
The one with the "I Love You" t-shirt?
That's him.
Or at least all I have left.

jiggle my keys, the stupid thing sticks.
a click from the lock, it's the end of the day
breathe out a smile and cast off a sigh
shed care from my shoulders as I cross the doorway
it was just work, just a day on the job
just one more page in this domestic essay
I'm living, I'm making it, I should be happy
so why'm I so tired from making my way?

shuffle the purse from table to closet
flip through the mail, can't have disarray
now water and pot and ramen and stove
mixing the makings of dinner today
pop open the milk-tea I bought at the station
sit in the window for the sun's very last ray.
light leaves the horizon, just skyline remains
a sudden exhaustion makes the room sway.
three minutes 'till dinner, so strange that I'm sleepy
so I think, until then, I'll find someplace to lay

climb into bed and I'm feeling good
the ramen is done so the stove's timer plays
fifteen minutes later, still staring at ceilings
I'm sure all the ramen has boiled away
but I'm too afraid to disturb the moment
my calm resolution, this happy delay.
my countenance cracks, now I feel it coming
and soon my false face has fallen away
pressed into the pillow, wet silent with tears
barely believing this life gone astray
alone, unimportant, I'm no one worth knowing
adrift here in Tokyo, my own castaway
with nothing worth doing, no landmarks to guide me
maintaining existence is mockish display
genki delusions of lives better lived
shroud mine in their shadow, make everything gray

wrenching this sadness back into my heart
this life that's so small, well who is to say
this pain that I'm feeling, this floating and spinning
who says that life never happens this way?
This has to be normal, just too much to bear
for my foolish, weak heart made of paper maché

sit up in my bed, pull my hair from my eyes
the face on the clock reflects my dismay
I had no idea how long I had stayed here
how long my emotions have held me at bay
I'm such an idiot, with half the night wasted
lost to this utterly childish display

clean myself up, eyes are locked on the mirror
I can't quite get this one hair strand to stay
but it's no use to put down its rebellion
I'm together enough, now head down the hallway
to survey the damage that I've done to dinner
my ramen has practically turned into clay
pot goes in the sink, it's time to start over
takes so little time that it's perfectly okay
boil the water and dump in the noodles
and dinner is only three minutes away
minutes that pass uneventfully now
now sit down in front of this frugal array
and if I'm still sad, well, I'll never know it
extra salt that my ramen will never betray

in a world where humans bend
in mechanical pursuit of greed
and ever bigger, grander goals
it's only fitting, in the end
that our machines have, with their speed
taken up our cast-off souls

the greatest kindness I've been shown
was carried over copper wiring,
reflecting in her Nikon optics;
not in caring whispers blown
but by a voice coil's measured firing
with a cadence set by clock ticks

humans, flesh and blood, my own,
could never hope to imitate,
by opening themselves to tears
and letting all their fears be known,
the caring gaze, affectionate,
of the girl with plastic ears

there is in her wide-eyed, worried blink
captured with expert craftsmanship,
enough concern to make you cry,
until you stop a minute to think
and realize she's just a chip
with the "friendship" bit set high

so why are friends so hard to be?
SHE's searched and found, erased the fear
that ties her flesh-bound counterparts
never will our lives come easy,
and loving even less when we're
living with our logic-gated hearts

to cushion child as she falls
they save the fully grown
"Won't you let me in the door
or just leave me alone?"

when winds of life blow
when doubts flood your soul
lean in
when failure comes calling
when your future is falling
lean in
when the days strech out long
'cause your day has gone wrong
lean in
when life overbearing
breaks the mask you've been wearing
lean in

'cause I need to lean on you too.

you who are so calm and cool
would surely laugh at me, the fool
who sheds a tear while you, in school
become a fallen angel

your ribbon, once a source of pride
has, like you, also come untied
and curled up there at your side
to share your fate oh fallen angel

stuck suffering and all alone
and not in time to use the phone
this world, it seems, it would disown
you from itself, a fallen angel

the ribbon 'ere a watch will keep
accomp'nied by a cell phone beep
throughout your dim and fitful sleep
who will help you, fallen angel?

you who shines so darkly bright,
possessing such a clever might
ruler of the untamed night
rouse yourself and be all right!
and if not run! and feet take flight!
until she is within your sight!
oh hurry there some noble knight
to aid the fallen angel

we all are weak and wear our masks
as we do our daily tasks
we're never up to all Life asks
I feel for you, my fallen angel

A glance out the back door

Great gray billows have made light flee
and sun surrender it's dignity.
And this trip home, the sidewalks boast
will make her muddier than most.

"Such a joy"

As her shift ends the leaves are still,
the world outside holds latent chill.
Pull up her hair, slip on her coat,
"I'm going to need a freaking boat,

"just to make it home"

While waitress worked the storm would rage
and lightning flash across the stage
set by the windows of the store;
the thunder crashed and shook the floor.

"It's pretty from here"

Wind lashed madly against the panes,
an imitated typhoon's rains.
These days were slow as a general rule.
She'd watched from perched atop a stool.

Sipping hot cocoa

The lunchtime crowd found other retreats,
ignoring their vacant and un-paying seats.
Her shift was uncharacteristically dead.
"There goes my chance at being fed."

"At least work is over now"

When wind had left the water stayed,
and now on ethereal currents played,
with passers-by a mischievous game,
their huddled warmth it sought to claim.

"I have to walk home through THIS?"

Between the towers, skies hung low
in mist-enshrouded Tokyo,
set to the symphony sublime
of chills played up and down her spine.

"Boy it's cold"

Hands in her pockets, she shoved them deep,
hoping some feeling therein to keep.
Forgotten there was a perfect prize,
they lit a glow in happy eyes.

"It's my mittens!"

Fuzzy thick yarn slid eagerly on;
the damp and cold were suddenly gone,
and try as they might with their demands,
they could not chill her happy hands.

Ah, the power of fuzzy mittens

But such delight, it would not last;
a car came hastily hurtling past.
A thund'ring roar and off it sped,
a startled puddle jumped and fled.

"Waah! Now I'm all wet!"

Her warmth and heart had both been sunk
worse than before, and off she slunk,
through grayish breezes gently lapping,
a black mood in her heart entrapping.

"This always happen to me, doesn't it?"

Mittens don't work when they're soaked,
she thought it all a cosmic joke.
They'd laugh at her, those skies would dare,
had they not been too cold to care.

"Yeah, it happens to nobody worthless wet little me"

In a building temper squall,
she lent her feet a heavy fall.
But mem'ries hid in liquid's flash:
that puddles, when kicked, produce a splash!

"He he" *sniff* "That was always so much fun"

A splish in one, the next a stomp,
it soon became a happy romp.
Her face now wore a smile's crease,
caught up in years of happy release.

Never a happier girl

She skipped off through the swirling blue,
towards her promised rendezvous.
Ah there's the friend that she was meeting,
but dour look met happy greeting.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"You're wet and cold, your face is blue,
"shiv'ring your whole body through.
"It makes no sense, your smiling face,
"a grinning angel's fall from grace!"

"You've frozen your common sense off, haven't you?"

The first girl winced when hard words connected,
then suddenly realizing, now saw reflected
there in her friend's scowl and in her bearing
hid the rainy-day mood she was earlier wearing.

Clearly, something had to be done

Her face, it felt a sly grin growing,
her friend would have no way of knowing
the deed she planned 'till it was done;
her heart broke into a mischievous run.

"This'll fix her mood"

The first she leapt, a pouncing cat,
and knocked her shocked companion flat.
The second yelped as mud met girl,
her eyes formed fire, her lips a curl.

"What do you think you're DOING!?!"

"You know you're just BEGGING for your early demise."
But on looking up into innocent eyes,
the second, she sighed, then readied to stand,
and took her friend's bemittened hand.

"Whew, it worked!"

"You're a fool, just so you know."
"Oh, come on you, 'cause that's just low.
"You never used play this way?
"It's best to run on a rainy day!"

*sigh* "You're still an idiot. And you're doing the laundry too"

The puddles jumped all down the street,
scared by four hop-scotching feet.
Parade of two went splashing on
remem'bring days they'd long thought gone.

Dirty and laughing