HER NAME 5/25/10
I try not to say her name
As if it held some power to cast a spell
I don’t say it aloud though it is in my thoughts all the time
Bouncing around in the empty corners of my head
Resounding like a bell on the door of an old shop
Burrowing deeply into the soft place of my heart
I try not to say her name
For fear that when I do
I will lose that last part
Bouncing around in the empty corners of my head
Burrowing deeply into the soft places
of my heart
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
TEN WEEKS AND TWO DAYS 5/24/10
Ten weeks and two days without a drink
And I can't say I miss it yet
I don't feel the absence of anything
More it is a presence I perceive
How much has changed in that time
How many worlds have risen and fallen
Empires of my folly
Grief and joy and grief again
And the question I'm afraid to ask
Where will I be,
Ten weeks and two days from now ...
Without a drink, perhaps
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Two pieces
The Parts You Saved 5/23/10
The parts you saved
were not the things you valued most
It was just the stuff that was close at hand
And the things you lost
Were the treasures
that cannot be replaced
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
PERFECTION 5/22/10
"I don't want perfection," I say
"It doesn't exist, and if it did, it'd be boring"
I say these words and she nods and smiles
I say these things but I think she "is" perfect
In all the little ways
The turn of her nose
The shade of her eyes
The shape of her mouth
And the way she calls me on my bullshit
She is perfect the way a Vermeer painting is perfect
made of light ...
Light and shadows
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
The parts you saved
were not the things you valued most
It was just the stuff that was close at hand
And the things you lost
Were the treasures
that cannot be replaced
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
PERFECTION 5/22/10
"I don't want perfection," I say
"It doesn't exist, and if it did, it'd be boring"
I say these words and she nods and smiles
I say these things but I think she "is" perfect
In all the little ways
The turn of her nose
The shade of her eyes
The shape of her mouth
And the way she calls me on my bullshit
She is perfect the way a Vermeer painting is perfect
made of light ...
Light and shadows
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
A PLACE LIKE HOME
A PLACE LIKE HOME
I have found comfort in this place
Not love perhaps, though it has flittered now and then
At the corners of my vision
Dancing seductively with beguiling grace
And I have rested in this place
While the wounds of a lifetime have healed
To old scars, tough and numb
So that they no longer cause pain
But are reminders of what has been lost
And I have changed in this place
Grown and shrunk waxed and waned
Like the lines of tide at its two extremities
Marked by the detritus left behind
And I have lived in this place
But it has never been my home
Walls and sinks, bed and tables are not home
Shelter and convenience are not the parts
From which home is made
No, home is the things I keep in that tattered tramps suitcase
That is my heart
Held together by packing string, duct tape, and wishful thinking
With scuffs and scratches in the torn vinyl
Water stains, whether from rain or tears I cannot say
But it holds the precious things
The vagabonds tune sung in the night to keep the demons at bay
The lovely melody pieced out on a slightly out of tune piano
And the light of your eyes, when I look into them
Head down and slightly turned to the left
Illuminated by my butane fire as I light your cigarette
And the smile we share
These are what I think of as a place like home
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
I have found comfort in this place
Not love perhaps, though it has flittered now and then
At the corners of my vision
Dancing seductively with beguiling grace
And I have rested in this place
While the wounds of a lifetime have healed
To old scars, tough and numb
So that they no longer cause pain
But are reminders of what has been lost
And I have changed in this place
Grown and shrunk waxed and waned
Like the lines of tide at its two extremities
Marked by the detritus left behind
And I have lived in this place
But it has never been my home
Walls and sinks, bed and tables are not home
Shelter and convenience are not the parts
From which home is made
No, home is the things I keep in that tattered tramps suitcase
That is my heart
Held together by packing string, duct tape, and wishful thinking
With scuffs and scratches in the torn vinyl
Water stains, whether from rain or tears I cannot say
But it holds the precious things
The vagabonds tune sung in the night to keep the demons at bay
The lovely melody pieced out on a slightly out of tune piano
And the light of your eyes, when I look into them
Head down and slightly turned to the left
Illuminated by my butane fire as I light your cigarette
And the smile we share
These are what I think of as a place like home
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Untitled
Saying all the right words
but only causing her pain
The right words but the wrong lips
My lips, not his lips
What a tragedy
two broken hearts instead of one
Yet I am compelled to throw myself against the rocks of her ambivalence
until she casts me aside
Still I fling myself headlong
down that flight of stairs
that will pass for love
'Til something better comes along
but only causing her pain
The right words but the wrong lips
My lips, not his lips
What a tragedy
two broken hearts instead of one
Yet I am compelled to throw myself against the rocks of her ambivalence
until she casts me aside
Still I fling myself headlong
down that flight of stairs
that will pass for love
'Til something better comes along
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