the magnolia blossoms
pink and white and soft
cling to dark tree branches
when April showers
come raining down and down
leaving those petals no choice
but to let go, say goodbye,
fly off on a wind, free,
scattering about on
a carpet of green green grass.
In honor of some still ringing ears from a wicked (wicked!) show last night at the 930 in DC with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, thought it was time for this one written loosely about one of my fav frontmans (written back aways, slightly revised here).
Steam like Weiland
Steam from my Lipton’s
hot tea
dances like Scott Weiland
and wails
like a hot electric guitar lick
and fogs up my eyes like cataracts.
Oh the nights
where smoke replaced steam
moonshine instead of tea
and I need not imagine him
close enough to smell
the sweat.
Remember hot heat,
grind and sway
so close,
that plush hot heat,
that same song request
and that hot hot heat.
When tea cools down
the steam leaves drops
cold slippery, falling asleep.
My parents
In their quiet moments
Are two tall trees
Grown close together
Arms entwined
In a green canopy
Shading their saplings.
Happy Easter to all those who celebrate it and happy happy beautiful spring day to everyone else! Played a volleyball tournament all day yesterday and am busy eating as many jelly beans as possible today… so I will be back tomorrow with more poetry and stories. Good news though, just found out I will have a poem published with Everydaypoets.com! Hopefully this is a sign of things to come. Enjoy the day~~~~
When the light is right
her pretty curly hair looks red
like the darkest melted color of a sunset
or twined tree branches, free and wild,
growing down her shoulders dark
like chocolate cherry ivy.
We go places together
slip into hazes of Thursday night bars
with loud old bands
dance in the changing lights and
her curls bounce and twirl in time.
When she shakes her head at me
with a small smile
the curls fall quietly down
like waves of rain breaking
from a heavy cloudy sky
and when we swim laughing
in blue oceans of Carolina
the curls surround her like seaweed
dissolving
into salty reflections of sun
quietly fashioning night.
6am “morning — stupid roosters crowing, house/trailer sleeping — I’m awake again clouds above are so thin drift on like a fine layer of lace on a blue sky dress. view partially framed with large skinny fingers of a green brown palm plant curling around each other in a tango. my feet are really dirty. one big toe completely black the bottoms look like I walked miles without shoes in a charcoal street.”
2pm “play on Jerry, got to love the Dead on a day like today, all sunshine in a cloudless sky light breezes carrying me away sand crawling like ants and the little waves rolling in, rolling on, rolling over clumps of seaweed smelling like the beach whatever that means and it’s probably time, as the song comes to an end, to reapply sunscreen.”
1am “till the morning comes again, we’re gonna drown our minds dissolving our thoughts like sugar into tea sweet colors and sounds become their faces longtime friends and those we’re bound to meet eventually. till the morning comes again with rosy fingers we’re gonna dance legs and arms moving like a slow motion trance in a silent movie white and black the night sky forgetting and showering drinks, drops satisfying tongues like rain.”
Written late in the night many years ago. Found it in a handwritten book of notes. I have no idea, on a beautiful day like this one, why I felt like posting it.
Even Memories Fade
you, disappearing slowly,
a mist
a past a past life
crawling away from here like your life
depended upon it
but you really didn’t care that much about life
anyway
you, disappearing slowly,
and I
sit sit still watching
not concerned like I thought I would be
I thought I’d feel
an emptiness for the loss
but instead only numb
nothing.
All winter, I was curled tight in my bed
so that my legs had become part of my torso
and my arms wrapped around the whole bundle
as to let nothing out,
or in.
In the early equinox morning,
the sun rose up over the row-homes that
stretched into a scraped horizon.
I could see it with one half-shut eye,
through one slice of blinds but I did
not move from my bulb.
Soon, soon, the glow blinded
it pierced into my drowsy eyelids and ever so gently
peeled away my fingers, prodded my arms out, then,
carefully pushed my legs straight.
I stretched across the sheets.
I stood gently, unaware.
The sun enveloped the whole of the city and room.
I was unsure of my steps,
but I stretched up and
drank in the light…blooming.
Poetry by JC Snyder 