Cankerkiss

the scum of summer kill lies in the plot

as peat and rot do lie within the bog

as hidden finch that twitch when it is shot

or crow that has no end in autumn fog

 

the stranger’s soft strewn skin is curdled cream

with maggots trailing kisses on her neck

as she had done upon my midnight dreams

but now she’s left in pieces of a wreck

 

the scum of summer has no fruit to bear

so let my vultures pick and prey upon

her tired cheeks, while i run through her hair

and gaze back on the lips i sang along

 

yes,  life and love far gone and wings deprived

but even dead she makes me feel alive

lemon bar

my face

twists and writhes

like saltwater taffy.

 

there is nothing

as bitter as

your acidic splinters.

 

but your heart

pours the honey

of a broken hive.

 

and i think for a moment,

that you might be

as sweet as they say.

 –

i can’t get the taste of you

out of my mouth.



i actually really like lemons.  but most people don’t so i conformed for imagery-sake.  i want you to draw your own conclusions, and your own meaning, but i wrote this because i’m confused.  This poem is kind of an “Ode to Mixed Signals”… ima copyright that- i like that too much.  people have been kinda hot and cold to me lately, and i needed a way to express the weird uncomfort i feel.  the photo is of my girlfriend, Kaitlyn Guesner, four years ago when we met.  she’s not the one being hot/cold to me haha she just has pretty golden hair which matches the aesthetic of the poem.  hope you enjoyed. love.

Rotary


i push my finger in

like a boy tests the water

with his foot

like a coward

.

i twirl the cord in my hand

like a girl twists her curls

into the contort and curves of a slide

like an angel

.

the phone must be full of crickets

the hum is light and warm:

icecream on Sunday nights

beach towels and chlorine

.

the wheel spins- it is

the loading of a gun

that only i wish would

squirt

.

i am connected to God.

Her voice is tired and kind

a Lion in the Sun

dazed and unbothered

.

i continue to wrap the rope

of an age long past

around my fourth finger-

and Hang

Up.


long time no see.  i’ve been working on a painting for art, as shown above.  it’s of the potamac.  i took it while the trees were still autumn-dusted.  the poem was fun to write, it kinda just happened.  critiques are cool.  do what you want. comment what you want.  have a good night.

Work In Progress: Birdwatcher

Howdy.

I’m currently working on a short story called “Birdwatcher”.  I didn’t want to release it yet, because I felt like I needed more time to fully explore the personality of the main character.  So, instead, I’ll tease a little bit for you, and tell you about my writing process.

The story follows an unnamed main character, who wakes up really early every day to pray, or, more mediate.  He has recently gotten out of the hospital, and is trying to convalesce in the face of his constant fatigue.  His only remedy for his exhaustion is birding.

My plan is to romanticize the nuances of morning rituals, and also to praise the action of overcoming the weariness that life can place on you.  I find it very important to find happiness in small things, and to commemorate the amount of effort it takes to stay healthy.

I hope you all will enjoy it, stay tuned!

Love,

jamie

For Miles

For miles, Mountains

Mountains trim the plain

as bark does the fallen plank

sap bleeds from wooden vein

like the frozen river runs south

 

For miles, paw prints

scurrying and limping off

Trudging through the permafrost

Something sharp meets something soft

Scampering to the river’s mouth

 

For miles, running

Past reclining fermented log

Through the ponds and through the frogs

Under the frozen waterfall’s fog

Into the cavern up north

 

For miles, deep

Underneath the rooted Earth

Hibernates life that needs a hearth

But mercy costs more than it’s worth

Here it lies praying for warmth.

 

For Miles, Mountains

Do not forgive-  And Miles,

They know how to get you best

When you expect it least

 

 

 

wash up

i don’t recognize You anymore.
i haven’t since the fall.
i look in the mirror and see apathy
hanging like swaying fruit

golden hay draped Your face
and Your hugs were like if
a vestal campfire could
warm your soul.

petal-pink bloomed among Your skin
like the knockout roses did
in Your mother’s garden
soft and smooth and unharmed.

blue-jays nested in Your eyes.
azure lovebirds sprang and danced
and sung a tune that is now
long forgotten.

i haven’t been felling too hot lately, if you couldn’t tell.  without the distraction of theatre, i am now subjected to my least favorite thing in the world [the human psyche].  and as i wake up every morning to get ready, i start recognizing myself less, and realize that i have let the weight of school and society tear me apart; leaving nothing but grey, blurred out fever-dreams of who i used to be, and what it meant to be happy.  Before any of you start worrying for me, don’t.  Writing this poem only inspired me more to finally overcome this feeling of “apathy”.

11.3.18 falling / running

falling:

when the dawn rises
and summer shines upon you
in your peaceful rest-

and when your chest falls
and you smirk in your slumber
i cannot help it.

i can’t help but love
the glow of your fireflies-
the spark that resides

deep beneath your eyes.

running:

i must give you up
even if you love me so,
and i requite it

this is not ideal
trust me when i say i don’t
want to leave you in

the dark. it’s in us.
every time you smile now
i start to feel alone.

i am so in love

10.01.18 Grace

welcome back
this is how my art is going to work:
i am going to at first show you the piece of art, whether it be poem, drawing, or song.
then, i will explain what is going on in my life, risky, i know, and explain how i am using this poem to convey that.  without further ado, i bring you:

Grace

Mothers, Lovers
lonely Beggars crossing

red trees, dead leaves
roadkill Carcass rotting

diluted browns, sweater soft
neatly adorned street-side cross

grey skies, doe eyes
night falls and summer dies

yet

warm fire, warm skin
open door to let me in

large appetite, large feast
big enough to sate the beast

black suit, black tie
smothered in Mom’s apple pie

and in this moment, I find life
passing you the butter knife

despite the greedy gears life cranks
you take the knife and tell me

 

inspiration:

 

i had someone thank me for complimenting them, and remembering the exact compliment verbatim three days later.  that put into perspective how much being grateful can mean to someone, especially if it’s something they really care about.  

Jamie’s Monday Moral:

be grateful and sincere to those who go out of their way for you, and you will find yourself an even happier person.