Archive for November 2009

The first ring,
And they stand still,
Could it be for them?

The first ring
Brings eyes to them,
They want the attention

The first ring
Brings eyes on them,
They recoil at the stares

The second ring
And they look back
Look around

The second ring
They begin to suspect
There is a message for them

The second ring
Someone must have that song,
I can’t be the only one

The third ring
Out comes the bag
From under the coat

The third ring
And the hand fishes
The gap for the device

The third ring
Now out in the open and louder
Until the voices replace it

With that music
Coming out of a little box,
Straining to the max

They should be embarrassed,
But when my phone rings,
I will jump up,

Someone remembers me.

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They ask am I my brother keeper,so I reply; “don’t I always have my
brothers back in anytime of need”
Cuz if not than how can I consist of him my brother, friend, partner,
but most indeed some one from my mother womb and mainly my father seed.
If there is a mountain my brother climbs than seek me there
If there’s a reason for my brothers tears than know it’s my shoulders
he tearing on
He it’s a war than proceed the battle and see me stand beside my
brother and if he shell fall than it’s I whom picks him up and carrys
him on…….
My brother yes he is and together we will stand tall like the trees
and strong like the gods of Greek and then you can us both, am i my
brothers keeper…

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Nov/09

24

Just Life

I hear with a questioning ear and interpret with a sickened mind

I am delusional and I love it
I am cynical but I am happy

I sit in solitude and breathe heavy
I sip wine just to keep steady

I want to move but to somewhere unknown
Somewhere I can be with you yet still be alone

No talking just words
No thinking just thoughts
No loving just love
No living just life

Jessica Reynolds, “Just life”, copyright 2009

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The reminents of cock stained her breath.
And it felt good.

She wasn’t in love with him.
And if felt good.

She frequented his place for good conversation, good company, and great sex.
And it felt good.

She had no ties, no obligation, no commitment.
And it felt good.

She had money, had her mind, had her creativity.
And it felt good.

She had what she needed yet never knew she wanted.
And it felt good.

Jessica Reynolds “And it felt good” copyright 2007

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Nov/09

24

For I am Home

I feel myself sinking back to the depths
The depths of which turn me lethargic
The depths in which I do not speak
The depths in which my thoughts are the loudest

I feel myself sinking but its not really sinking, it’s returning
Returning to the inside where I am afraid
Returning to the emotions which I can’t control
Returning from the outside with all the smiles

I feel myself sinking but it’s not that bad for I can still breathe
A breath with more meaning than necessity
A breath with more patience than anxiety
A breath with beautiful sadness rather than contrived beauty

I feel myself sinking but it’s more like releasing
Relaxing
Unpacking
For I am home

Jessica Reynolds, “For I am Home” copyright 2009*

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Include everything and you leave
Out the essence. Leaving out all things
Such as emotions of any note make it appear clear,
Colorless as it is turned over.

Hurrying to this thought,
Putting away the tasks to hear
The transient trains that glide by the screen
Is a way of collecting our parts:

The photographic memory that holds
The numbers on the boxcars, undifferentiated,
Of equal value. Place them here,
Pebbles found at a beach

Examined for their mystery.
We put them in a drawer.
Years later they will be as they are,
Aged meaning remembered down a long avenue
Cleansed by rain, by our tears.

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the wet tires
on the black
on sand

the woodpecker
you don’t see
tick, ticking

the slippers
you can’t find
in the dark

until you do
the sound you can’t
imagine until you

hear it
the humming wires
overhead with

& without the wind
that rasps, creaks,
ebbs, ends

in the calm
full of subtraction,
substance

sustenance
that clears
the field

This poem is also a reaction to/review of the album, “ajar”
by Otomo Yoshihide, Keith Rowe, and Taku Sugimoto,
guitars

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Nov/09

21

RAY

It happened again. This time with Ray. Second Uncle to die. Second Uncle to kill himself. Gordie first. Now Ray. I knew it was about him when my mom called me. I knew what she was going to say. And I knew how he had done it. A loner who hanged himself. Didn’t come to pick up his mail for days on end. He was a spy in Germany. Climbed over the wall in the dark wearing black from head to toe. Started in the air force. Only had one love. Linda Miller in Missouri. He bought me perfume once. And when we were in Rome he put me up in my very own hotel room. He was the closest thing to a rich Uncle I ever had. He was Ray. The cranky bastard. Lovable, tender, shy, scared of people. Things I wish I could write to him now. That pa finished his book. That I want to study in Italy with Brett. That things were going to be okay. But he died. Brett says don’t feel guilty. You had no control over this. Brett played chess with him. He was supposed to come to Seattle for Halloween, but I went to NYC instead. We left him a message on his birthday. A message with all our voices chiming in. Happy Birthday. We love you Uncle Ray.

Pa came home after identifying his older brother and took off all his clothes. He arrived with no bag, I think he was on meth. He grabbed a plastic garbage bag and shoved all his clothes inside. “Where is your bag pa?” No answer. Just a slammed door in my face. Ma says, “he’s not doing well. Not sad, just says I smell bad.” We all went to bed and I dreamed Meghan put me on the phone with a retard, unable to understand that I had to wake up at two a.m. and didn’t want to swap suicide stories. God Ray, look what a mess you’ve made. I knew dad was alive because he kept rattling pill bottles from the medicine chest. Then later it was his snore that kept me believing he was alive. But what if he isn’t.

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In Life the REAL reason our REGRETS continue to GROW is that, we keep Watering them with “Sighs, Cries, and Why’s!?

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The Majority of our EMOTIONS are determine by how we INTERPRET life’s events of Our Selves. Use REFLECTION wisely.

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