Quickly, he runs down the stairs
to the budding rose bush
near the gate of the barracks

He cuts a bed of shoots
around his sandals and braids
– careful for the thorns –
of twigs a wreath

for the captive king
he will feel this crown
we'll hit it in his skull

then we'll put him down
maybe that will teach them
and we'll finally get rid of them

I walk home under a red sky
back to my dingy apartment
I strip off the garb of the trade
and fall on the inviting single bed
Walls close in, but I'm thankful
for the large window beside my head
To watch the trees
To watch the birds return to their nests

Old coats seem like hanged convicts
From the jagged cupboard hooks
The only thing that is new
is the mountain of books
On my bedside, yet to read
I shall pick one up on the morrow
To feel coin well spent
To feel the surprise - will it be thrill, joy, or sorrow?

I place my blue hardback journal
on a makeshift table of cardboard box
I ensure the fluorescent sleeps
so I do not suffer unexpected knocks
Under a tungsten fire, with royal blue dye
I strike the pages with a fountain pen
To mark the week as done
To breathe back life into the poet again

I looked in your eyes and they were moonlight,
piercing the darkness, unlike sunshine, unlike
the burning you feel when you get too close to something
fake. I looked into your moonlight eyes and I saw pools
of blue cascading like a waterfall over crystal, distorted shimmer.
It wasn't even like looking at eyes, it was just looking into something
I wanted to steal and lock away, in a corner of my closet
where no light could scratch.

Reflections of endless winter
The trees overhead are left unclothed
Their branches bend as if they were a wise elder
Pebbles covered in dew
Rusted signs follow the path of the beast
A silent engine to watch over the body
Water’s edge, solemn and soulful
As it is measured as low-leveled it reflects the sky
Reaching to it as if they were connected
The hum of birds in return of their journey
They are confused as time stood still in the place they once fled from
The return shows coldness yet comfort to the creatures building life
Light so dim yet vibrancy leaks through shadowed clouds
The darkness only intensified the light
Light that projected from the small droplets upon glass
Little specs of sun, brought from the heavens to give light to the dark world.

Only Friday makes me shudder again with life
Awakens my spirit yet only for a brief time
It comes, a brink of hope onto desires
Of beautiful possibilities
Only now have I settled into someone’s arms
And Friday is the safe day
Of falling in that place again
It seems a meeting point of time now
When the lovers reunite again
Separated by the week long
It is where the wait ends
Longing for the cover, shed of human heart
Being drenched with insecurities
It is time to fill it with warmth

i.
The sight of it brings back memories of
Your rival team, confronting you on the line of scrimmage,
The rain pouring down, stinging your face,
Your breath misting in the arctic air.

ii.
The smell of it brings you back to that Friday night
When you tripped up the bleachers and
Spilled popcorn all over yourself because
Her red hair and bright smile made you stop in your tracks.

iii.
The clang of the pins against each other
Follows you in the hallway wherever you go,
Reminding you of that triumphant feeling
That took over when your basketball team won districts.

iv.
The warm feeling that fills your heart when
You give it to her, the red-haired bright-smiled girl,
Matches the warm feeling she feels when she
Puts it on, drowning in your scent.

v.
You know that years later, after you’ve left high school
And everything about that place behind,
The sight of that jacket will bring back all the memories
Of football games, Friday nights, championships, and her.