cold morning light
streams through
the concrete cathedral
beneath the highway

the clouded breath
of a homeless man
glows and curls
in the golden air

cars accelerate
and the wisp is swept
into dim
and hardened shadows


Tom Spencer © 2018

About 3:00 AM, 

I wrote to someone here
on waking
from a dream
of waking-- into a death
of darkness and dread
A nuclear winter's night
without the hope
of light or heat again
We fumbled to be in each other's arms
beneath the quilt and blanket
to weave our warmth
for this last time
trying to comfort
Waiting for that moment
of knowing by the silence...
of the other’s breath
who would  truly be

alone
and the last….
_

In the dream, something had gone terribly wrong worldwide, with origins of the problem out-of-sight on the moon?  Dreams do not make the best of sense, but I’ve had variations of this one multiple times.  

Nuclear winter is the hypothesis that suggests the sun could be totally obscured for years by the ash of global nuclear war or debris from a massive volcanic eruption.  It could also be caused by an asteroid striking the earth. 
Those on the coast would be wiped out first.  Those inland would experience the poem above.



Consciousness of being utterly alone is the most horrifying state my soul can conjure, and I believe we were not meant to ever be that way.  We will always seek the other— the one whose image we bare.

“For now we see in a glass darkly-- but then face to face…I will know even as I am known.” —James

On waking, shaken, I reached for my phone, knowing someone, somewhere is always awake here on HP.  To the person who answered, thank you— though I know you did not really understand.  Your living presence was a comfort. I stayed awake till the sky turned first-light gray.

SUCH A SUNNY DAY

the objects
in his pocket

have lost
their identity

their significance
to anyone but him

a hairy comb
photo of an unknown

woman
who can she be

a torn-in-two
train ticket

chewing gum
much masticated

yet put back
in his blazer's breast pocket

small change
a penny and a sixpence and

a button
from the cuff

no clue as to who
he had been

before the water claimed him
as its own

the disgust and fascination
of those

passersby who continue
to pass by

it such
a sunny day

for death to
intrude this way

the miscellany of objects
ownerless now

the waters of the Liffey
calm and unmoved

We’re taught that real learning is found in structured classrooms
with strict curriculum,
Where old textbooks are graffitied with the names of lost loves and broken dreams
And young social animals
try to find their place within their peers hierarchy

But maybe learning is more than what we find
within the dark halls of school
Maybe learning is truly out there in the real world

It's not all about acing tests
And a perfect GPA
Life’s about
Becoming more human,
Trying, risking, possibly failing
And growing through it all….
And even in our darkest times,
deciding to not close our hearts

School teaches us a lot about competition and perfected performance,
But maybe we ought to reach for something beyond this
Book smarts are vital,
Yet I think we need something more--
Possibly,
A real world education for our hearts.

My son is now 18 and I can see the change
in his shifting stance, the boldness and
complexity in his presence, deep dark
diction beneath smoky stained clothes,
scattered cigarettes piled up in *****
ashtrays, ghostly fumes filling the
cold air, as he dashes up the stairs to
his bedroom.  And as I stand in the
kitchen over the stove steaming a
fresh *** of boiled chicken, salad,
and mashed potatoes, I can hear his
smooth slick words echoing across
the room.  The heavy giggles and
sensual thoughts seeping inside his
mind, running game on his main
squeeze like the world was his
majesty, like a crowned creation
falling into submission to his
nation.  I step closer to the stairs
and listen to the soft sounds of Joe’s
song, I Wanna Know, playing in the
background, slow rising beats curling
up in the air towards divine enchantment,
hypnotizing harmonies beyond a bed of
thin sleek sheets.  And as I breathe in the
soothing melodies, I’m forced to remember
the days when I was young, a rich tasteful girl
full of chemistry and flawless formation.  I was
grooving to the spinning jams like it would be
this way forever.  I had forgotten how much
time had passed by, how the waves
of his existence was on a new wavelength,
how the stars in his eyes intensified in
immense shapes, how the shimmering
moon was his light inside his kingdom,
the cosmic space taking him into a new
sea of discoveries.