Posts tagged ‘Doug’

September 20, 2020


by HemmingPlay

I knew a guy.
Cancer survivor,
but worn down by it
to the lacy bone.
Thin, with a dry look.
Still, a light shone through
his parchment skin
like a flame through a mica shade,
like some kind of organic fire.
The brush with death left a calling card.
“I’ll be back” it said.
“You won’t know when.”

He knew what it meant to nearly end.
It was an epiphany, of sorts.

But there was this glow, as though
he had permission to use
whatever time was left.

As serious as a heart attack,
he was—
Afraid of being forgotten,
Of not being worth remembering–
but determined to try something.

It doesn’t have to be cancer.
Could be a stroke, the kind of thing,
you try to explain, but the lucky civilians
can’t understand:
“I could hear the whine of the bullet, the ugly sound of
something ruthless hunting, meaning to kill.”

You only know this
if you’ve heard the whine.
But it misses, now and then.
You realize you’ve got bonus time,
but fear being forgotten;
you’ve wasted so much time.
but that fire …
You mean to slap untruths
in the time granted.
Make some noise.
Burn some rubber.
Make someone cry,

Make someone happy.
Be honest.
Be true.
Repent wasting
seconds of precious time.
You know not the hour or the day.

It’s an epiphany, of sorts, hearing death whizzz by.
It lights a manic fire.
But you live sweeter, cleaner,
in its holy light.

August 20, 2020

A Few Lines

by HemmingPlay

A good world—
dew drops fall
by ones, by twos.”
Japanese poet Isa 1762-1826

Three lines tell all.
Mountains, unchanged, ignore
Temporary things, let
The mist pass without notice.

One tardy fog-cloud
Rushes up the valley,
Chased by the sun.
An old man stalks by
On his daily trudge,
Face set against the inevitable,
Looks neither left, nor right.
Alone now, girls used to play
With his youthful body,
Craving the hardness
For their own purposes.

Crows comment
Cynically on yet another
dangerous fool.

Nearby, in that other world,
The fog still hugs the cold waves
Beneath which creatures
can only wait,
Wishing we were gone.

“In this world,
we walk on the roof of Hell,
gazing at flowers.”