Author: JDPoetry

22 year-old English Major - I've used poetry for years now as a way to express myself and explore my own feelings, and find it therapeutic to write and publish the poetry that results from that.

Remember me

You broke my heart –
Your bruised, confused eyes, staring and searching,
Senselessly clinging onto the shell of who you were,
A lifetime ago, you now wake up every day
To another memory, you remind me of what you are,
You are lost

You’re a silent child, wandering the aisles of the store, eyes searching faintly for your mother,
You might be able to describe her hair, or her jacket, her name, though to you it would just be “Mum”,
Which you call out faintly in your heart,
Wondering where you are, or why you came, or how you got here, or who I am,

I can see a mind fading to black,
A final curtain closing quietly, yet without mercy,
It reminds me of a memory,

My grandpa, my opa, that stoic old man who used to think we were so loud,
When he tried to enjoy his silence, when it was still a choice,
Though he loved music, and the music of his hundreds of clocks, his endless time,
Till he was almost blind and deaf,
Each new memory fading sooner than the next,

When I shared a pizza with him in the garden
A simple salami pizza, but to him it was magical
I saw him transform back into
A quiet little boy, savouring every bite, so content for a moment,
Present and oh so precious,
When he was finished I would take away the boxes,

And soon after, a few months,
A few more cups of tea, a coffee,
And three pizzas,
He passed away peacefully in his bed.

Now I look at you,
Every time you come into my life,
With searching eyes, so confused and almost blind,

I can’t help but feel my deepest sympathy.
I want to cry at the sight of you, my poor child.
I’m sorry I can’t help you.
I’m sorry you won’t understand
Whatever I will say.
I wish I could help you find your peace, or
To take your hand and help you find your mum, wherever she may be,

But it’s not my time,
I’m so, so sorry.

Passing

Passing pleasantries
Ignored like roadkill
A plant in a pothole
Drowning in the smallest rainstorm
Living for every bit of sun I can catch
On whatever leaves I have left
Before
A deer eats my head
A car strikes it dead
Crashes into a tree
It collapses onto the street
Where she was about to cross
She now passes
If only she hadn’t ignored
A pleasantry

Tune

Sleep well, my friend.
Don’t think about the war.
Tinker away on a tune, on your guitar.

Drown out the guns,
Drown out the planes,
Play until your fingers bleed –
Till it drives you sane.

Tense

Clenched jaw, strained eyes —
The damned dishes are cleaned
By hands, stressed and tense —
I can hear the washing machine
Screaming and crying from the next room,
Alongside the dry, clean clothes covering my bed —
My bed that looks clean but hasn’t seen a clean sheet
In maybe three or six weeks —
I can’t do it all in one morning,
Not when I can’t stop, and I
Go on and on and on, with my jaw clenched
and my eyes strained,
my hands stressed and tense —
I can hear the washing machine

The South

Watch them come, watch them come,
On ships, canoes, and boats.
Watch them run, watch them run,
Through the woods, to the water –
Across the water they float,

Followed by fire, followed by guns,
Until they lose all hope.

What will they do, what will you do,
When you drain the swamps?
You destroy their homes, destroy their mounds,
Alas, it’s the way of the South.

The sandwich and the sidewalk

I saw God the other day, sitting on the sidewalk outside of the Albert Heijn.
A crown in the form of a worn and weathered grey beanie, I thought
It must be a tad too warm, but
He does work in mysterious ways.

He asked me for some change, and I told him
I used to pray to him, and ask the same.
Dejected, he asked for some food – a soft sandwich, perhaps, as he no longer had his heavenly teeth.
I got him a bacon and egg sandwich
From the bin with all the ‘aged’ produce,
Priced down to celebrate its final ‘best-before day.’
I figured it would be softened, and moistened by age.
The bacon egg combo is a classic combination, like
Man and sin, bacon and egg, man and bacon, and man and egg.

When I walked out with the soggy sandwich, a spark sparkled in God’s eyes,
A few tears on his cheeks, reminding me of the soggy bread I held in my hands.
He said he couldn’t believe I came back and provided him his heavenly lunch,
And he shook my hand, and gave me a hug.

I held him for a moment.

How did you fall so far?
Was your throne,
Your horse,
Your holiness
So high?

The taller they are, the harder they fall, and you
Were on the highest pedestal—my neck would break
If I tried to meet your eyes, your expectations, and now
I see you in your truest form.
You
Wanted so badly to be loved and adored by all,
And in turn you would grant us your conditional love, but
I guess you will have to settle
For a soggy sandwich.

Who knows

Your head found my shoulder,
And we lived conjoined for weeks
On end, side by side, some said
We were more than friends –
One wished, and one knew
We were, but we
Were not –
Would not be what one
Wished we could be
But who knows what,
And these things are still confusing,
As though we split, you
Changed and stayed
The same, and I am someone else
Every other day, though
I could say the same for you,
As though you stay the same,
You’re stuck in perpetual static change –
Unchanging and everchanging,
I loved you, and all your little things –
Your mugs, your painful patience,
Your hair I would find everywhere,
Your eyes when they would stare into mine, so late at night,
Your smile, your lips when they would meet mine, or simply exist –
I would have worshipped every freckle, birthmark, and scar
On your body, and soul, but
You are someone else than the one
I mentioned before,
And in the end who knows
Who is who and what is what and who we are and what we are not

A Peculiar Nature Scene

The bear waits patiently next to the river, with a rather peculiar duck between her front paws, watching eagerly along. With no intended malice, the bear slaps at one particularly silly salmon, which lands on the rocks besides the pair. Although the salmon was quite aware of the nature of things, he gave them a surprising request.

“Well, you caught me now,” he blubbed, somehow, “this might be the end of my salmon life, but please spare my salmon wife.” This was a bit new to the bear, as she had not heard her lunch ask much of her before, as she was an ever-so-hungry predator of prey. Nor did she ever consider the implications of a salmon marriage, before this day. Alas, she responded to the salmon, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but as I fish with my bare bear claws, I doubt I shall be able to uphold my end of this clause.” Or, well, she would have said this to the salmon, had the duck not swallowed the salmon whole. He quacked. The bear did not.

As for the salmon wife, she was not as fast as the salmon that had just lost its life. She swam, jumped, jumped and swam, until she swam into a large gathering of logs, drifting on the water.

“Damn,” the salmon wife exclaimed, like a fish. “Indeed,” replied the beaver. It was the six hundred and thirty second time that this beaver made this joke this summer, and he was considerably disliked by the beaver community. Indeed, he had been cast out from the community in a permanent exile, which had previously been unspoken of, considering the lack of a democratic system in the beaver community. In any case, he was hated so much, that the beavers figured it out, got together, and kicked him out of the colony. None of this was known to the salmon wife, as she had never met a beaver before. Nor was their interaction of any particular interest. The salmon wife was not interested in hearing about any democratic system, nor did the beaver care much about salmon marital systems.

The salmon wife started, “But, my dear beaver, marine marital systems are of great importance! My salmon saviour stated in the salmon bible that ‘salmon should save the life of their salmon wife, once they are broken upon the rocks by a bear, with no intended malice.’ These teachings must be taught and thought of as truth!” By now, the beaver realised the surreal nature of their interaction. A fish, speaking to a beaver?

Before the beaver could realise many existentially life-changing revelations, the story advanced to the meeting between the bear and the salmon wife. Once more, the bear waited patiently next to the river, with the duck at her side this time. The salmon wife swam, jumped, jumped and swam, and jumped straight into the bear her arm, which was swung with no intended malice. The duck quacked, “wait, wasn’t that the salmon wife? Hadn’t we heard something about her before?”

The bear replied, “Heard of her before? I don’t know, I am a carnivore.”