Tag Archives: growing older

Hung The Moon

Happy pop song plays, as she sits on her bed, painting her nails.

She sings along quietly, thing of her love, thinking of summer coming.

My heart aches, with love and loss, as she goes out into the world.

Aches at the girl she once was, and the woman she is becoming.

I’ve been along for the ride, goofy uncle, solemn friend,

always there to make her smile, always there to offer a hand to hold.

The world goes on, it’s her oyster now, and I fall behind.

She is young and brave, and I find that I am getting old.

She sees me, waves and smiles, and I ask her when he’ll be here.

A light in her eyes, a ray of sunshine in her smile, “Very soon.”

I go downstairs, hoping he is the angel she believes, that all will be well.

I hope I’ll always be needed, that I’ll always be the one who hung the moon.

The Best Thing About This Town Is That You Can Leave It

For the first time in ages I’m craving a cigarette,

               Something to occupy my mind, my hands,

               As my hoodie becomes wet and heavy from

               A morning rain, waiting for the train to come.


               In North Carolina to catch the Amtrak away

               From a place that never felt like home, or

               Made sense to me, or had much use for me

               And yet so many will wonder where I’ve gone.


               The people I used to adore and defend

               Have not been a part of my life since graduation,

               And I don’t want to see them anymore, ashes only,

               A reminder of loneliness and my arrogant sins.


               I want to make friends, find a girlfriend, a wife,

               But everyone is just passing through, don’t have time,

               Can’t get the shit out of their ears to actually understand

               What I’m trying to tell them.


               One way ticket to city up north, another world, beautiful strangers.

               Maybe I’ll find someone there who’ll understand or won’t have the

               Weight of the past on their smiles, or demand I be who I was at 17.

               Maybe I’ll find someone who’ll stay, have time, actually fucking hear.

Whispers of Delight

Ellie, it’s not like it used to be.

               Not the carefree afternoons,

               And reckless summer nights.

               Not the infinite world before us.


               We had our moment,

               We had our sun.

               Now it’s the darker world,

               With whispers of delight.


               We rode the motorbike to the river.

               No wine, but coffee and tea,

               Sandwhiches, as summer ends.

               You gently touch your stomach.


               The world so finite in an afternoon,

               As we  talk  and hold each other, kiss.

               A child on the way. You hope for a girl.

               You hope there’ll be a world left for it.


               We ride home in dusk, orange and purple,

               And you’re holding tight to me, to whatever hope.

               The dreams make promise never kept.

               We make dreams, castles of light, from their ruins.

The Palest Sunrise

The palest sunrise, just coming over the ocean, a summer morn.
She sits with her surf board, in her wetsuit, waiting for the light.
Once, she saw a mermaid out in those bright, deep waters.
Once, she dreamed she was one, living under the ocean, so free.
 The calm of the morning, no traffic on the highway by the beach.
No music or people making a commotion of their lives, of avoiding death.
She knows she’ll be no more one day, back to ashes and dirt and the sea.
Mermaids may live forever, but not a young woman, and not even our dreams.
 The sun is soft at first light, like a mother who holds her infant so carefully.
But as the day gets older, as we get older, the harshness cannot be held back.
She picks up her surfboard and heads to the water, to the crashing azure waves.
A mermaid song calls out to her, reminding her that something remains, after all.

My Little World

A voice, clear and feminine and holy in my headphones,
as I watch the world go on and on in the streets of the city
I have always known as my home, my little world.
 A song of longing and passion and wanting to escape,
from home, from mundane timidness, from the weight of desire,
from everything that takes out our lights, one by one.
 Once I dreamed of New York City, of the glamourous places,
of all the bohemians and movie stars, of all the voices in the dark,
of all things that happen in winter night.
 But, almost 40, still here, still angry, but worn down and too used
to the place that’s always been my little world, even as lights are taken
like stars chased out by streetlamps and maquees.
 And so, on the ridge I sit, watching the lights glow in the valley,
the world go on and on, and dream only of someone to love,
someone waiting to embrace me when I go home again.

Full of Light, Full of Love

A weight, from children and years, in her round tummy,
wide hips, the sad grey cast to her eyes, the grey strands
in her hair, taking over.
 She is warm in my arms, myself past my prime, past all
hope of being brave and succesful, of being anything
other than a fucking consumerist drone.
 I bury my face in her hair, still silken, still mostly brown,
and cannot remember that summer day, what it was like
when we had a school trip romance, a play downtown.
 I cannot remember why we parted ways for so long,
only now reconnecting, as the world burns, and dreams
are left in the closet and forgotten.
 She rolls over, and kisses me, a pop kiss on wet lips.
She is still bright, still sweet, still full of so much hope.
She is still so much of the girl I once adored.
 We make love, carefully, tenderly, quietly as her children
are asleep. We are one in a perfect moment, flesh and spirit
entwined in tired souls still fighting for the light.
 We fall asleep, and we share a dream. Her dream, as it’s full
of light and wonder, and the stars are so bright above our heads.
In her dream we are forever bright, forever full of love.
 In the morning we get ready for jobs and she gets her surly
kids ready for schools they hate, a world they think they own.
I kiss her one last time through the minivan window, then she goes.
 I walk, heart light and fulll of stones, head full of the scent of her
skin lotion, and her peach shampoo, and the feel of her soft lips.
My totems to hold onto, as the world goes on wearing me down.