Archive for the 'The process' Category



06
Mar
13

like a fool

Like a fool,

Like a poet,

Like a Pisces,

I have chased

So many

Dreams

Into darkness,

Into the light,

Into shadows,

Into a hopelessness

That only I could

Create

For myself.

Haunted by memories,

Embraced by the past

Within the present-

The smell of skin,

The touch of hair,

The taste of tears,

The sound and heat of short, rapid breaths against my neck.

Her

Beneath me

And always hovering

Somewhere

Above me-

Loved

And lost,

But always

Loved.

Like a fool

I have tried

In vain

To not be

Such a fool.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

March 5, 2013

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05
Mar
13

It’s all over but the crying

As her skin

Vanishes

From my fingertips,

And the memories

Become

The past

In the moment

Of their creation,

The tears

Flow

Down cheeks

And onto sheets

That were wrinkled

By so much more

Than what the moment

Contained.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

March 5, 2013

 

16
Feb
13

Java

There are times

When I miss

A past

That I can not have

Ever

Again.

Memories,

Like smoke rings,

Evaporate,

Yet linger-

Hanging slightly

In the air,

Faintly.

I don’t

Want

Them

Again,

But the time

And the ink stains

On my fingers,

And the words

Pouring out

Without

A wall

Or a filter.

Sitting

For days,

In smoked filled cafes,

With a fervent

Need

To scratch out

Words

To poorly capture

The moment

And the emotions

Of ideas

So much

Bigger

Than me

Or the moment-

Equally

As much

Fiction

As reality.

They

Can stay

In the past,

Them,

But give me

Those words

And smudged pages

Filled with words

And red wine

Or coffee stains.

Let them

Walk back

To their boyfriends

And husbands,

But give me back

Those pages

And passion,

Filled with the sounds

Of rushed

Scratches

Of a nib across a page,

And the clattering

Of coffee cups

In the background.

They can stay in the shadows,

Mocking me

And my desires,

I don’t want

Them

Anymore,

All I want

Is the moment

When they

Inspired me,

Gave me passion,

Made me feel

Alive

In my insecurities,

As I hunted

Endlessly

For the meaning

Of questions

I hadn’t thought

To ask.

Their shapes

And forms,

Even their names,

Barely linger anymore,

But the memory and feeling

Of that time

Is still so clear,

And hurts much more

Than anything

They

Ever said

On their way out

Of my life.

I can clearly remember the hiss and scream of the espresso machine in the background, Miles Davis playing in the cafe, the cigarette in my left hand, and the pen in my right hand- rushing hurriedly across the page, trying so hard to keep up with my mind.

They’re gone,

But the memories of the words

Remain and haunt me

Much more.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

February 16, 2013

20
Nov
12

dissolved

Dissolved

Into the air

And hovering

In the space

Unoccupied

By other bodies,

Or thoughts.

 

Floating

In the vacancy

Between actions,

Inhabiting the stillness

Between breaths.

 

I want

To vanish

Into

The meditation

Of silence,

If only

For that one

Perfect moment.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

November 19, 2012

20
Nov
12

ink

I’m still

Covered

In ink stains

And hunting

For all the same

Answers.

Still smudging ink

And spilling coffee,

Still creating

A mess.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

November 19, 2012

20
Nov
12

as feverishly as ever

It’s the same

As before,

Just different

In the smaller

Details-

The faces,

The furnishings,

The songs

Filling in

The background.

Unchanged

In the overall

Feel and intention-

Still hiding

In a corner

With my coffee

And my pen,

Scratching out

The thoughts

As feverishly as ever,

Racing to keep pace

With the words,

The pen,

The moment.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

November 19, 2012

19
Nov
12

Chasing

I’ve been

Chasing

Words

For as long as

I’ve been chasing sleep.

The days

And nights,

For years

Have fought

With each other

And my self.

Both

The words and the sleep

Have remained elusive-

Hiding in the shadows

Of broad daylight.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

November 19, 2012




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