Phillip’s latest reveries

  • Battle of the ages

    August 18, 2019 by

    A child skipped below an umbrella,
    the joy of youth insulated beneath
    an innocent weapon
    fighting back an inclement future.

    Inspired, though not inspiring,
    I longed for such a battering ram
    to bludgeon the plaintive
    skeptic buried beneath the years.

    I tinkered with my cynicism, flirting
    with the optimism of youth, hoping
    I might change
    or at least feint near —

    Instead, though, I creep back to sleep.
    I lack the energy for that particular battle.

  • Mark of time

    August 16, 2019 by

    The clock prefers
    a polite tree,
    stretching
    over time,
    one more

    ring with each
    revolution,
    content, marked
    for the trouble.

    The corridor reads
    all mundane nameplates,
    lusting
    over time,
    the future

    unspooled before it
    like ribbon,
    slowly marking
    time’s dance.

    The flame pretends
    it cares, ice
    tickling
    wax, alive
    only now

    indifferent to
    ephemera,
    acerbic mark
    in time.

  • On The Awakening

    August 16, 2019 by

    When she awoke – truly and deeply
    woke from the sleep induced by testosterone,
    drugged with masculinity, weighed down
    by society’s down comforter – she looked
    to the future as her own. Liberated,

    she was called many names. Her favorite dirty
    word was feminist, though she would be called
    much worse. The word that stuck was independent,
    married as it was to happiness, sealed with a kiss,
    they lived happily ever after.

  • Binary stars

    August 15, 2019 by

    He said he no longer wished
    to be an astronaut because he didn’t want to leave
    me. Sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting
    for him – dreaming of space
    form whom the past is “today” and the future is
    “tomorrow” – to wrap up and climb
    down, I watched as time melted,

    reminded that he will leave – of course
    he’ll leave – either for the moon or college or
    a girl or some other thing I’m going to hate
    but for now
    there is no other time for me
    than sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting
    for him, my binary star.

  • For Katherine (2)

    August 14, 2019 by

    With all the authority of a mime sprinting to a parking meter
    he exclaimed, “Two-ply is the greatest invention in human history!”
    We didn’t know how to respond
    but in thinking about it,
    as one does, presented with a truth universally expounded even from
    behind,

    we gathered
    back together,
    seated outside the cafe while the sun
    reared fluffy clouds skyward, and concluded for
    posterity’s sake:
    human rumps do prefer two-ply.

  • Television news

    August 14, 2019 by

    I don’t bother with the news
    on television, where heads talk over
    each other, no one listening nor
    changing minds. A platform for despicable people
    to “both sides” an issue, even
    those where merit, truth, meaning dissolve
    into deafening static, noise for its own sake.

    I thought this would have changed
    after 2016, this desire
    to give equal time to unequal opinions, equal
    time to lies.
    So many other things have devolved
    unequivocally. This morning a government official
    said on camera the Statue of Liberty, a monument
    who welcomes immigrants to the American Dream
    should only invite
    people who can stand on their own
    two feet. My ancestors invaded before
    her flame was lit, conquerors but white. Of course
    that matters, giving rise to, supporting, and benefiting
    from a system designed to burn, a fire warming some,
    destroying others. From the ashes, civilization
    more equal, but tilted still, for some.

    Perhaps rather than change we have reached the end,
    brought now through years of complacency
    or compliance, distracting us as we change
    the channel.

  • A voice

    August 13, 2019 by

    Jittery and uneasy, I struggle
    through the dread
    brought by
    disquietude, keeping me
    quiet
    too often, frozen in apprehension
    and restless,
    shaking – eager
    – to move.

    A gentle breeze washes
    over me,
    stirring a voice
    that is not mine,
    lost
    when
    I close the window.

  • The endless storm

    August 13, 2019 by

    Tempestuous and tempered, raging
    among the heavens but eager to descend,
    the endless wrath of another storm
    hurries us into the shadows.

    Hidden from the blustering call while
    a squall stumbling for purpose blots out light
    with each blast, blindly seeking
    a companion, we huddle, hopeful

    the humidity will swim away as
    we continue to perspire, hesitant
    to head out into the gale, uncertain,
    but wet one way or another.

  • Clouds

    August 13, 2019 by

    The world has turned and left me spinning
    time is thinning

    and I am alive. I long to live
    in the clouds, my mind
    a head of me
    among the billowing blanket of puffy cumulus,

    a misty mystic world, delicate and wet
    hinting at gray but not turning,
    only pulpy white.

    But mostly the soft outline of anticipation
    traces my thoughts
    down
    not among the clouds but
    here where

    thin whisps of moonlight spin
    a web in windows obscuring – or
    delaying – the world
    where I go round.

  • Speedboat

    August 12, 2019 by

    Viewed through a keyhole, a speedboat
    provides the escape we’ve been looking for,
    churning along the waves,
    engine chewing water,
    consuming miles in the offing, leaving only this
    view through a keyhole, a speedboat
    pulling us
    – eyes growing smaller
    – away.

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