“In Lieu Of A Point Of View”

“Opacity” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“In Lieu Of A Point Of View”

I’m still tired within my mind.

Alas, tired as tired tried.

Midnight waking hours conspired,

Circadian lull, quite unrequited.

Expanse of dreams…

Purple charger nightmare driving toward the cliff’s edge.

Ready to be abrupt,

And splash cold water shock,

Across all forms of unconsciousness.

Later forgets,

the tangible effects,

Of stolen breaths.

Dreamscape n’ere provides

Butterflies, and doubts,

anchored inside.

Holding paralyzed to a fixed point,

Unavailable.

Ready.

Stalled in action.

Forever aware of the impending demise of fanciful turns.

Objecting, to a coming to.

Ambiguous range of confusion,

Thick plumed clouds of opacity.

Finding things never looked for.

Right where you left them.

“Spring Loaded”

“Spring Loaded”

I heard the birds chirping for the first time today.

A seasonal yawn across the horizon.

A feeling of ready,

Humming all around.

Budding branches.

Green emergence.

Ground thawing,

While swirly winds play with gravity.

A smell of morning cereal,

Generally milled.

Dirty ice islands.

Melting slowly, remarkable slow,

Full of the ghosts of road salt and snowballs.

Breathing their last.

Bendable, pliable, gradual Spring.

Choking chill from existence.

Light apparent,

Guiding the colder shadows to hibernation,

Until next year.

Obscuring the cold dark death of things.

“The Quiet Man”

“The Quiet Man”

“The Quiet Man”

Working hours on the day,

Commute seemed long and drawn.

Intentions dreamt and paved the way,

For moments long past gone.

Laughter lilts and lingers on,

Despite a darker sky.

It’s much less blue than once before,

No reason, sense, or why?

Traveled with, for much the way,

A journey shared in common.

Absence carves a heart dismayed,

Off-stage, but not forgotten.

Occasion brings on thoughts of you,

Long memory’s pure insistence.

A life lived well is never through,

Imbued by love’s persistence.

Quietly, a Quiet Man,

Walks through life majestic.

Laughter lilts and lingers on,

Remembering poetic.

“Bus Riding”

“Pole Position II” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“Bus Riding”

Is it fare?

No, really is it fair?

Bus riding folks,

Commute shares.

Empty seats,

Sticky floor.

I feel as if,

I’ve rode before.

Start and stop,

Call bell rings.

Shopping carts,

Stroller things.

Missed my stop,

Traffic jam.

Late for work,

That’s who I am.

“Facenest”

“Facenest” ©️ C.P. Hickey 2019

“Facenest”

Facenest,

a place of rest.

For lips, and birds,

and errant words.

A barbed wire home,

Trapped wooden comb.

Oil and wax,

Chin jumping jacks.

Wild, face wildfire.

Rugged twine, muck and mire.

Bristle brush,

Full enough?

Red, grey, gold, white.

Crumbliest crumb-catching delight.

Rusty blades,

And dormant cream.

Naked cheeks,

Aftershave sheen.

Whiskers almost whisked away,

Some later time, but not today.

Tickle waists,

And napes of neck.

A hairy man?

Why not? Heck,

A passive growth,

Upon my face.

Groomed and tuned,

Carefully arranged.