Monday

Cold sores, cold wars

So old it is being told

“You’re not the one”

But I keep it to myself

The doubts I hide like a pimple

Red and irritated, ready to pop

Now wipe away the pus

Let the blood coagulate 

Let it stain like spaghetti sauce on a stovetop 

I’m covered in cat hair

I’m soaked in lite beer and spit

I’m in an argument with the television 

And she’s not listening to a word I say

The virtual lover, the guilt-free neglect

The shades are drawn, my pen is broken 

32 Below

Oh, let me brace myself

for the cold kiss of winter.

 

A heart like a hearth,

the crackling of wood fire

conjures memories of a home

since caved in from a heavy snow.

 

A still portrait of a family,

bodies blanketed by snowfall

exchange chilly glances

intercepted by the gusts

of the harsh wintry air.

 

A snowy owl perches on the debris

For a moment I ponder what it means,

before wringing the moisture from my tongue

to save my truths for a warmer day.

 

The Rain Dance

Great flood, mudslide

Love like a natural disaster

 

Great trees uprooted,

the violence of separation

I was found upstream, tongue severed

bitter food for the fishes 

I feel a nibbling at my fingertips

as I sink with my thoughts of you 

Your face like sunshine cutting through storm clouds

I miss the warmth that it brings

 

So, if you find yourself taking on water

If the lightning cracks thrice

Send our mementos up the river

and I'll be at the bend to collect

Yo Adrian, I did it!

 

Orion Lives!

 Hello everyone. This is your poet speaking. You may have noticed I haven't uploaded in awhile and frankly that's because I haven't been writing regularly. You see, COVID and the ensuing lockdowns have completely disrupted my routines and rhythm. As many of my fellow poets know this can be debilitating to the writing process. I'm also currently enrolled in school and working full-time. Turns out that eats up a lot of my time.

To my readers, thank you. I don't know who's still reading but thank you. To everyone that's seen me perform this drivel at Poetry Room, Artist's Umbrella, and various coffee shops around the mid-Michigan area, thank you. I'm always thinking of you even though I've entirely disappeared off the face of social media and the general scene. It unfortunately coincides with everything being shut down and my heart does break for all of you. I know how hard it's been on my mental state and feelings about writing, I can't imagine for those of you who organize events and live for sharing your poems. I love you all. I hope to someday see many of you again, be it on stage sharing with you or being amazed by your talent.

To poetry, I'm thinking of you. Always. You've been there for me for so long now. You've given me so much, it's time that I gave back to you.

Juvenile Poem

Hyperbole: I'm dying. Untouched,
stubborn to the dullness
that is waking up
to only regrets at my side,
now familiar bedfellows

Masturbation without imagination
A meta-like quality:
The star of a NatGeo special
A wild beast pleasures itself
for want of feeling

and I'm unconscious
my brain swelling with nameless want
Bloody Suburbia
A stalker's corpse in the bushes
bored to death

But we are not entertained
Assuming the missionary position
(is the poet not crass by nature?)
for much of our lives
on our backs
waiting for life to take us there

An Open Letter To You

The bereaved Gardener
Etching names into stone
Your face like clay, brown and firm

Two 0 One 9
It's so hard to fall upward
Failing to find myself in the storm

and I think it so cruel
dipping the doll's head in wax
a chipped tooth, a weepy eye

A boring into the earth
the carcass of an oak
limbs strewn about a sea of grass

I've been silent about my intentions
Seeding the soil with lies,
lies, lies, lies, lies, lies...

But worry not-
The sunflowers sprouting from
my chest will still turn in open conversation

The headstone dressed in moss will
speak my name in silent tongues
and I'll watch over you

a promise, this time