Simply-strictly-stickily-stiffly strolling
down stinging-stringing-singing-steaming
hot Summer streets,
fresh washed with much needed
afternoon showers of my homeland,
lost little college town smack dab in
center of Eastern Carolina-
hints of those swift-swirling nights,
all dolled up in rancid wine drops
sucked down tired-craggy stalagmite
stricken throat,
all swollen with sad eyed side effects
of chosen-frozen poison,
kiss the bottle then let it shatter
like so-over there in the asphalt infested
corner where the red fern never grows,
sick-stiff and sternly blooming rainbows
in shape of bent crosses-
the only hint of redemption I have yet
to see,
that in moments such as these-
when the rain doth wash away down
soggy bottomed drain like so many tears,
what with this psychic storm vanishing like
any other along these craggy coastal town-
that all that remains as faint reminder of the
ugliness of nature's brutal gut forces could be
something so simple-so human-so majestic as
those brief bands of color-just tricks of the quickly-
and yes-vastly vanishing hints of sunshine playing
out along the scraps of steam rising to the heavens-
just a tiny reminder that despite all the destruction
and endless distraction-you still remain-ah-that you
have survived to fight-sight-write yet another day

************************

The universe once more
collapses into itself-
suburban earth quakes
along foggy doorsteps
at dusk,
and all we are is dust-
once more-flowing-floating
upward-arms out stretched to
shake hands with God or angels
swooping in on carefully arranged
goofs-poofs-puffs-pouts-spouts-
four horsemen on side saddle mount
across a deteriorating landscape-
drifting like those soft clouds
nailed there along the Durham
skyline-disappearing behind the
skyscrapers of downtown banks-
offices-and businesses all busy
ripping by my bus window-vanishing
into the ether of my vision-
now at one with my periphery-
hindsight being 20/20 and then
they're gone but hardly forgotten
before it's on to something else-
some distant new porcelain-
phosphorescent visage of holy city
that's stepped forward to save-
and then appraise me-a litmus test
to see what remains of my reflexes-
climbing to my knees I leap forward with
the jolt of the bus-this being my stop-
grab bag and snap-then slip back into
the gentle realities swirling and unfolding
before my mind's new eye-SCREECH!-stomp off-
then zoom-she disappears with those tall
buildings into the horizon-and once more
I am home-and alone

*********************

Saintly blonde with far off
look in those keyhole eyes-
as if searching-lurching-lunging
forth for something more than all
of this-pouring steaming hot water
my asked for bags of mint green tea-
all locked down into the rhythm she's
learned in long summer blunder fueled
nights like these joining the odd customer
such as myself for longed for cigarettes
to beat the heat-ice cold scope-glued to
the fortress of granite stoop in store front-
hiding from the slowly moving storm as it dashes
off into the darkened slow dissolving ashen skyline,
me hiding behind a book to shield my pure innocent
interest to merely know her name-but too anxious-
nervous-too oblivious to the art of stretched out-
sketched out-fleshed out momentary connections and
eye contact of two lonely people cut adrift in this
soft-slow breeze American night-ah-as I come undone
onto every puff-pull-sucked in-swallowed and lastly-
exhaled tuft of cotton smoke-undone onto every aching
page on which I purge every blasted urge-those such as
these-pen moving faster than the words which seem to
crawl over rocky-cracked-chapped lips to say aloud every
little thing so simply-so easily and resolutely screamed
onto paper of tiny little twisted 5 X 10 notebook picked
up for a crummy buck at the grocery not one hour earlier-
a notebook needed to gather faint erupting soulful volcanoes-
'cos so much to say and speak and do-does she think-speak-
feel spill all which I do-a mere suggestion of a thought
I dare not dot the air with which is all foggy with our
twin cigarettes quickly disappearing into dirty-dingy-damp
ashtrays of thought-beauty-disgrace and I stop-dead-and
glance up as she slips back into work mode-and I simply
remain here-with my pen-my page-my thoughts and smoke-
and it is all that there is in this world-for me

**************************

Faint descriptions of duet of dogwood trees
painted with pavement into twin corners of
parking lot misfortunes,
not miserable-just blissful and flowered-
flowing in the winds which twist up through
it's arched branches like skinny arms of sacred-
saintly holy mountain man,
crawling-scrawling-scowling into my much
missed and wished for Appalachia spreading
stretched and scratched outward deep within
my memory,
just silent and dashing Buddhas,
never moving-never changing even with
the transformation of the goddess Earth beneath
twisted feet,
always resting in chamber of clouds which drift
by their sides,
never disturbing their shared trance,
eyelids just slits above pout kissed lips,
lost in the waking dreams woven into thought
patterns always blooming-glooming-dooming and
swooning in the breezes-no-those mountains never
change nor cease to amaze-praise-arise to the mystic
mystery skies-even now with me here,
clinging to storefronts on rain damaged calm of southern
suburbia-watching my tiny twilight trees sway to and fro
in simple rapture-and awe-of the dew kissed eyelids
of Summer

*********************************

Durham disappears in the bat
of an eyelash,
the bullet train shoves-shivers-
shakes forward across June bug
Carolina foothills and flatland-
the cloud cracked sky swallows
the cars and their contents-
we passengers-whole as we
inch onward to separate
destinations,
with little cherub cheeked
child all wide eyed beside me,
with porcelain pupils reflecting
tree lined landscapes close behind
by an ocean of city skyscrapers
all curling toward the heavens-
finger tips laced through those
of thousands of angels-
two hours and we'll be touching
down in the place that spit me
forth into the land of consciousness,
the source of a thousand and one
headaches and hang overs-
and then I out ran it,
just barely disappearing for three
years before materializing again
in that nightmare of winter-
the cold and ominous hospital
room with windows all fogged over
with the sickly aftermath of too much
too soon-too much false breathing-
false living-artificial and temporary
numbness just so I could rise into
another day-brushed aside-now-
deep down into cracked gutters
I once called home,
the sickness stripped off like
an ill fitting suit only worn once
for a near decade long funeral-
and then it's gone-use once and
destroy-the ceremony finally called
on account of a rising from within
the clutches of ash and six foot deep
sick bed-not fit for any dreams-
only fit for nightmares-all slowly sinking
away one by one-and then they're gone-
gone the way of once once thought to
be sealed fate-gone the way of dusty
bar stools-yes-the barmaid is closing
up shop-hanging a sign in the window
and just like myself-seeking a new life
cut free from sin-scotch and the ever
present aura of death-chugalugalug
lugging down that old Piedmont line-
paying visits to the land which gave us
birth-breathing a silent little prayer to
one's self-and then it's on-on-on-on-on-
to a new space-a new Earth-throwing back
the curtains-swoosh!-flooding the darkness
with a new sense of light-eyes softly adjusting-
a smile appearing along the corners of saintly
mouth with pure visions painted deep within once
glassy eyes-catching a glimpse of home up there
in the distance

07/01/2010

Author's Note: A book of jazzy spontaneous verse I'm currently writing in one of those tiny pocket sized spiral notebooks. The first bit of verse I've written since I got sober and my breakdown. Look for more on the way when I find time between writing it and the novel.

Posted on 07/01/2010
Copyright © 2024 Ted Jackins