One For The Road

The Friday night

Drunks

Parade

Outside my window,

Stumbling

Along the sidewalk

To their cars

Or another bar,

Loudly

Shuffling their feet

And yelling

At each other-

A drunk’s sense

Of volume

Is seriously impaired.

The screaming

Yields to laughter,

Yields to more screaming,

And eventually yields

To silence.

Car doors slam

Closed,

As clumsy hands

Fumble

For lost keys

And companionship.

Bottles drop

To the street

Loudly

Shattering

The near calm

Of the fast approaching morning.

Tires squeal

As collisions

Are somehow avoided,

And laughter erupts

With the vanishing

Of taillights

In the distance

At the end

Of the street.

Timothy Vance Jackson

May 25, 2012

frenzied stillness

Into the hole,

With eyes closed

And voices

In my head

Screaming,

I limp.

Searching

For the answer,

Or answers,

To the questions

I do not want to ask.

Again.

Waiting.

Anxious.

Ready to be freed

From myself,

Or freed by myself.

The frenzied stillness

Is deafening

In the quiet

Of my raging mind.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

April 23, 2012

again

Again,

I find myself

Haunted

By memories

Of her-

Skin

So soft,

And

Hair like silk,

Between my fingers,

As I inhale

Her

Into

My lungs

And memory.

The smell

Of her,

So permanent

After all this time,

As so many things

Fade

From memory.

The taste of her,

Forever

On the tip of my tongue,

And

Always

Within reach

Of memory,

Haunts me

Sweetly.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

March 31, 2012

my old poems

Tattered,

Yellowed pages,

Broken spines,

Fading ink,

Softening memories,

Dusty covers,

Sitting on the shelf

Watching me

And wondering

When I will return

To them,

And ask them

What happened

To us both

Over the years.

Who misses

Who

More?

I fear them

More than they fear

That I won’t

Return

To them.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

March 20, 2012

sunset

I can still

See

And feel

The cracker crumbs

On the blanket,

With bits

Of cheese

And sweating cold cuts

In the setting sun.

Wine

In plastic cups,

And memories

Being born,

As the day

Ended

In a burst

Of color

Before fading

Into a darkened horizon.

A thin blanket

Over our shoulders,

And arms

Around

Each other,

Fighting

The chill

And desire

To leave for the car

And the heater.

Wanting

To stay

There

In that moment-

Shivering

For so many reasons.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

March 20, 2012

fragmentia

She lies

There,

Tangled in a bed

Of knotted sheets

And missing pillows,

With her dark hair

And darker eyes,

Shining

In the morning light

Piercing

Through the still

Of breathlessness.

***

I still feel

Her skin

When my eyes

Are closed

And she is

No longer

Beside me-

The softness

And the warmth

Of her touch,

And her breath,

Against my neck,

As our bodies

Ignite

With contact.

***

The stray

Long black hair,

Clinging to my clothes,

Waiting

For me

To find it,

And remember her.

***

Her smell

Sticks to my skin

Briefly,

But she is

Permanently

In my memory,

Long after

I am

No longer able

To distinguish

Her

From myself.

Timothy Vance Jackson

March 13, 2012

Searching

Searching for

Words,

For meaning,

For peace,

For rest,

For dreams,

For my self.

 

Staring at

The emptiness

Waiting to be filled,

By words,

By answers,

With hope.

 

Hoping

To find the missing pieces and answers to the questions that have haunted me for far too long.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

March 3, 2012

Delete

There are

Still

Songs

That I can’t

Listen to

Anymore,

Because of

Who

They belong to,

But I can’t

Bear the thought

Of letting go

Of the music

And the memories.

It’s all too easy

In this modern world

To click

A button

And delete

A song,

An email,

A memory,

A person.

An entire chapter

Of a life

Together

Can be

Erased

And sent away

To the recycle bin,

Then permanently

Deleted-

With just the click

Of a button

And the blink

Of an eye.

The years,

The tears,

The laughs

And the crying

Can be sent away

Without bias

Or emotion.

But,

There are still

Times,

When the tears-

Real or imaginary-

Feel

Like a purging

And release,

Forgiveness,

That is needed

And enjoyed.

With a song,

They return

And leave again,

So I keep them-

Even if I can’t

Listen to them

Yet.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

January 14, 2012

Old lusts

Old lusts

And hurts

Come running

Back to the surface

With the sound

Of a voice

In an old song

From a different

Time

In my life-

Neither good

Nor bad.

An emotional

Scrapbook

Of music,

With yellowed

And tattered

Edges,

And faded images,

But the memories

Still vivid

With all the same colors,

Smells,

Feelings,

Longings,

And confusion.

I can still

See her

Eyes

And hear her

Voice,

Telling me

As awkwardly as she could

That “it’s over”-

The mole above her lip

Danced

As her lips moved

And my ears

Filled

With the white noise

Of rushing blood

And a broken heart.

So many years later,

And multiple marriages,

The memories of those teenage years and teenage music

Are renewed,

Even if only

Until the end of the song.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

January 14, 2012

 

existential

I need

To find

A way to sleep,

The real sleep

That is accompanied

By rest

And a quiet mind.

***

Timothy Vance Jackson

December 29, 2011