oct-22-2016-sol-eye

as if I’ve arrived in the artic
as the sun bids adieu
for six months

as if a fog creeps over the city
enveloping structure and people
and won’t leave

as if Sol chose to set, find another
place, happier, more content, a less
overcast, locale

as if a crowd formed around me and
I cannot speak, hear, then they turned
into bars of a prison

as if a deep ache sought me out
razed me to the earth, till only
ashes remain

as if the ground around me fall
my roots wither, wane to a
barren trunk

as if the light at the end of the
tunnel is not there as I’m in
a cave

as if

photo and poem © DC Lessoway

DC-tear

low ebb comes, again
my sword, shield against
dragging hurt, out of reach
comes cyclical thoughts
not good enough, not good enough
not good enough, not good enough

not good enough, not good enough

till comes a realization, late, so always late
like a dish accidentally pushed to the floor
you think, “why didn’t I see that?”
comes, comes, comes
this thought, this meditation, this intention

fuck you

fuck you this hurt
fuck you these tears
fuck you this insecurity
fuck you this deep-seated
self-anger of “I’m not good enough!”

fuck you, I’m going to do my best
if others don’t like it, not my business
fuck you, this hurt
fuck you

photo and poem © by DC Lessoway

fog-people-jan-25-2014

what is this nonsense, flittering
around my skull, scrawling
angry missives, knifing into
my heart’s wall

what is this brutal woe
commanding a tempest
casting distant any joy
any hint of sun’s candied blush

why does it hang around, why
can’t I shake the claws sunk
into my soul, my being
grounding me, deep

photo and poem © by DC Lessoway

 

DSC_0013.JPG

“I see a weight on your shoulders.”
she says to me, trepidation in her voice
not the first time I’ve heard this
my aloofness, never subtle my
inscrutable countenance, an
awful poker face when
a monstrous pall settles
on my frame, distilling, disbursing
daggering my very soul with, this
plumb of depths
blotting out any possible buoyant
mood…

…how I feel for her, her unchanging
caring, joyous spirit contrasting my
‘downer’ moodiness, clearly keeping
her from the greater of life’s enjoyment

bench-1-jan-25-2014in thought, in coveting
an abiding resolution, in
contemplation of the world
at bay of humanity
this ostentatious pane
frosted, aloof, melancholy
fixed, rigid, unchanging
garnered fifty-two years
of pained wisdom, wishes the
window’d open, to be
infected by some
gregarious being, allying me
with those on the
other side of the pane

photo and poem © by DC Lessoway