In Response to a Poet’s Love Song of 1/24/17

My body now wakes up on its own at 4am
Somehow, transformed from insomniac
To discover the backside of night
And find it as pleasing as Goldilocks
Found the third bed eating the third porridge.
When I talk to the old poet in my journals
Or in files found on my computer that don’t
Remember being written, he chuckles at the
Absurdity of the idea of me waking early
To do anything other than take a piss.

My body now wakes up on its own at 4am
The acoustics of this silence are similar
Yet so very different. Waking creatures
Are more for meditations like these than
The beasts that haunt hours that aren’t stilled
Inside a heart that hears only its own beating
As it tells tales that ache with longing, with pain
That never really was felt, only misunderstood.
This depth, this texture, this darkness marks
The underside of my eyes just as well, thank you.

My body now wakes up on its own at 4am
Still needing coffee in my oldest possession
Aside from stuffed animals hidden from view:
The coffee mug bought at a convention in college.
My hand still holds the pen, a new lover from Japan,
My sensuous mouth still spills familiar treasures
That makes me fall in love all over again. I adore this.
But now, I feel a presence, like eyes glowing through
A window. I am seen. Seen, my stories take me on
Journeys I didn’t even know I wanted to go on.

A response to https://braveandrecklessblog.com/2017/01/24/poets-love-song-romantictuesday/

With additional thanks to: https://thereluctantpoetweb.wordpress.com/2017/02/16/the-backside-of-the-night/
for being inspired enough by the phrase backside of night to hopefully start a meme

and
What is the Best Time of Day to Write Poetry?
for asking the question that got the whole backside of night thing going to begin with

A Mad World Poem: Queue the Music

A collaborative poem with my talented friend Christine of https://braveandrecklessblog.com/ -Gecko

applause
fills my ears like
gin in my glass
accolades for how well
I convey pain
others consume
I am their proxy
their stand-in
these words
tears
blood
I give
tiny pins
that prick
nerves like
strings
tying up
this human condition
I am grateful
appreciative
for the shot
at the main stage
the time you give
me to speak for
the lonely
the voiceless
the desperate
the crowd
praises my performance
my art
feeling too much
music
fades
me
out
this fancy
red carpet
dress returns
to an empty
dressing room
to drink the gin
alone

My Lonely Seasons Pass/A Mad World Poem

“Gecko, I do believe they are working on a series this time.”
“Yes, Mouse, I do believe you are right. Something about the emptiness of modern life.”
“Well, that’s certainly a departure!”
A collaboration between Christine of Brave and Reckless and Stephen Fuller of Pointed Home.

The days blend, one into the other,
Waking naked into the world, I stare
Into a meaningless blur trying for
Definition with a shave and makeup
Armor to protect from soulless work
Seeping inside these walls to steal
What remains of my fight. I sleep
Empty in bed, cold featureless sheets
Cover my flesh, only virgin pillows
Wrapped in white, offering contours.
Loneliness like a season failing passage.

My Lonely Seasons Pass/A Mad World Poem: Christine Ray & S. Francis