Blue Sky, Sunday Morning 6/9/10
It should've rained
Storms should have raged
against the follies of heaven
Or a dark fog blanketing the world
a grey coat of despair
where we could hide our shame
There should've been mist in the morning sky
to paint things in a softer light
It should've been but no
There was a blue sky
that Sunday morning
bathing the world in warmth and joy
when everything changed
and you told me goodbye
Tom Waits Girl 6/8/10
She will forever be
my Tom Waits girl
Whenever I hear his sad, romantic songs
I will think of her
and whether I weep or smile
will depend on the song
and my memories
of my Tom Waits girl
6/7/10
I love the lonesome sounds
the train whistle
the buoy's bell
the fog horn on a misty night
The passing sound of a lone car
driving on a winding road at 3 a.m.
They are the music of my life
a symphony for all the orphans
in rented rooms and coffee shops
cubicles and cubbyholes
for all the liars and losers and the lost
like me
Exile 6/6/10
Will I someday grow to love
this hot dry place
Will it find its way into my soul
Or will the ocean always claim me
Call to me
Haunt me
For I have known it all my life
The taste of salt on my lips
The damp touch of the spray
The intermitent roar
Perhaps, someday
I will love this hot dry place
but the Pacific will always hold my soul
Copyright Ryan Cole, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
6/3-4-5/10
Requiem 6/5/10
I no longer live in Ocean Park
though I am never far from that place
It is always inside me
the foundation upon which everything is built
Santa Monica
Where I was born
Where I watched my mother die
It will always be my home
and if I spend the rest of my life
living in the spaces in between
Still it will remain
a haven, a promise
and as for me,
I will be living in hope even if I no longer live
in Ocean Park
Shelter 6/4/10
Shelter she offered
so briefly given
but how could it be
when she was the tempest
and I was the aftermath
WWTWD 6/3/1o
In the bleakest of times
When the world seems destined
to fall
I ask myself
"What would Tom Waits do?"
And usually
things feel alright
I no longer live in Ocean Park
though I am never far from that place
It is always inside me
the foundation upon which everything is built
Santa Monica
Where I was born
Where I watched my mother die
It will always be my home
and if I spend the rest of my life
living in the spaces in between
Still it will remain
a haven, a promise
and as for me,
I will be living in hope even if I no longer live
in Ocean Park
Shelter 6/4/10
Shelter she offered
so briefly given
but how could it be
when she was the tempest
and I was the aftermath
WWTWD 6/3/1o
In the bleakest of times
When the world seems destined
to fall
I ask myself
"What would Tom Waits do?"
And usually
things feel alright
Thursday, June 3, 2010
8 poems
6/2/10
What kind of fool decides in his forties
that what he really wants to be
is a poet
Fortune's foe?
A friend to all follies?
What kind of fool?
This kind
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Balance 6/1/10
Standing on an edge
wondering about the fall
feeling the wind against my face
thinking about a time long ago
if not very far away
perhaps this too shall pass
but for now
I am balanced
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
For Jennifer F. 5/31/10
Motionless
Yet with fire and movement
She holds the pose
relaxed, never stiff f
illing the canvas with life
and creating art
out of stillness
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
A Haiku 5/30/10
Night blooming jasmine
drifting in the air tonight
and I think of you
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Lets Get Lost 5/29/10
Lets get lost
Lets run away
though there are no circuses left to join
We'll create our own
just you and I
We'll walk the tight rope together
and swing on the trapeze
everyone will say how lovely you are
as they laugh at me
Yes, let's get lost
Let's run away
We'll leave this world behind
to live in castles in Spain
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Mantra 5/28/10
Like a mantra
the words that always echo inside
make their way to my unwilling lips t
o be asked of the beautiful, stupid moon
"What am I doing with my life?"
The ever present question always
unanswered except for the simple words
finding their way to my unwilling lips
"It's better than the alternative."
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
For C. 5/27/10
She makes her way to the dark woods
the windy moors
The blank places on the map
where dragons be
Not for her the birdsong or the dappled glen
The gentle stream
No, she is the torrent and the tussle
The wild places and barren lands
The world sees only her face
Bewitched and beguiled by the beauty
Desired and demanded
She is just a commodity to be taken and used
and then discarded
No better am I
this much I know
Though perhaps not just by the beauty caught
Seduced instead by the sadness
as is my way,
for I too have dwelt in the dark woods
The windy moors
and the blank places on the map
where dragons be
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Grapefine, Sunrise, Wildflowers 5/26/10
The sun rises over the harsh mountain landscape
climbing upward
not yet reaching the stink of Bakersfield
brown and grey and dry
When suddenly bursting bright purple
covering the horizon promising hope
that worm in the soul
Maybe this day something good will happen
perhaps this is not the end
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
What kind of fool decides in his forties
that what he really wants to be
is a poet
Fortune's foe?
A friend to all follies?
What kind of fool?
This kind
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Balance 6/1/10
Standing on an edge
wondering about the fall
feeling the wind against my face
thinking about a time long ago
if not very far away
perhaps this too shall pass
but for now
I am balanced
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
For Jennifer F. 5/31/10
Motionless
Yet with fire and movement
She holds the pose
relaxed, never stiff f
illing the canvas with life
and creating art
out of stillness
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
A Haiku 5/30/10
Night blooming jasmine
drifting in the air tonight
and I think of you
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Lets Get Lost 5/29/10
Lets get lost
Lets run away
though there are no circuses left to join
We'll create our own
just you and I
We'll walk the tight rope together
and swing on the trapeze
everyone will say how lovely you are
as they laugh at me
Yes, let's get lost
Let's run away
We'll leave this world behind
to live in castles in Spain
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Mantra 5/28/10
Like a mantra
the words that always echo inside
make their way to my unwilling lips t
o be asked of the beautiful, stupid moon
"What am I doing with my life?"
The ever present question always
unanswered except for the simple words
finding their way to my unwilling lips
"It's better than the alternative."
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
For C. 5/27/10
She makes her way to the dark woods
the windy moors
The blank places on the map
where dragons be
Not for her the birdsong or the dappled glen
The gentle stream
No, she is the torrent and the tussle
The wild places and barren lands
The world sees only her face
Bewitched and beguiled by the beauty
Desired and demanded
She is just a commodity to be taken and used
and then discarded
No better am I
this much I know
Though perhaps not just by the beauty caught
Seduced instead by the sadness
as is my way,
for I too have dwelt in the dark woods
The windy moors
and the blank places on the map
where dragons be
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Grapefine, Sunrise, Wildflowers 5/26/10
The sun rises over the harsh mountain landscape
climbing upward
not yet reaching the stink of Bakersfield
brown and grey and dry
When suddenly bursting bright purple
covering the horizon promising hope
that worm in the soul
Maybe this day something good will happen
perhaps this is not the end
Copyright Ryan Cole 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
5/24/10, 5/25/10
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
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
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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