Photo by Marilyn Phelps
Eleven poems dedicated to those who, by the grace of God, and the love of good people, survive the consequences of bad decisions:
Perfect Balance
With medicated fears/tranquilized emotions
I dance on a tightrope between
darkness and daylight
without a net.
Forward…
Backward…
I have mastered the act,
high above the madness, yet
far beneath the sky.
After the Crash
Two ravaged vehicles sit awkwardly sprawled
on their knees, mortally injured,
unable to face each other.
Hissing, cringing in shock, they glare
at the curious crowds gathering
beneath a high noon sky.
Their broken eyes cry steamy streams of
bright green tears that splash on the pavement
and dribble over pebbles in a race
to the gutter.
Large ribbons of twisted metal,
ripped from their posts,
lie scattered on the asphalt,
reflecting sunlight amid
a heavy sprinkling of shattered glass
spattered with a spray of
alcohol and blood.
Drunk Tank
Feeling too heavy inside a hollow block
of ice…
Days over my head, hours under my feet…
Looking at life through a crack in my heart,
keeping things out that would keep me
locked in, struggling to bounce back
from a head-cracking collision
with a concrete floor,
sticky with the sickness of the dying
and the dead.
Robbery
With my sack packed,
filled by a man who loved his life
more than money, I
jump behind the wheel
of a barely running car, tearing off
into the night!
Loud music booms from my speakers,
blocking out the pleading voice
of the conscience I left behind
and the maniacal laughter of Mr. Payback
lurking up ahead.
Correctional Education
This is where we study
the infinitely intricate structure of the
permanent upper hand,
where the apprentice learns to master
many different patterns of colorful deceit,
where the weak become more aware
of the strong,
where lessons inspire weapons for
a survivor’s defense.
Yes, this is where we study,
striving for the diploma that will
unlock the front door.
Group Therapy: Inside the Fish Tank
An unfortunate group of the highly stressed
make clever commitments to live better lives,
bathing the master’s ear in medicine so vital
to his health.
Under the guise of progress they practice
a vicious game, chewing petty secrets
down to the quick,
cursing the demons they say drove them mad,
challenging others to purge the venom from their brains,
tearing at crusty scabs that shield soft, fleshy wounds.
They yell and swear, a few even cry
till the musty little room reeks with a pungent,
fuming mixture of anger and sweat and
tears and fear.
But the timekeeper outside can’t wait any longer.
It’s time to go home.
Ignoring the hearts and minds nailed to the walls,
he points to the cheap watch choking his wrist.
Business as usual.
Get back to your cells!
On an Island Called Jail
How long will these fireflies of hope
flicker in the darkness, offering so little
in ways to light my path?
How much longer can I beat down the anger
that would easily consume my life?
And what shall be my pace in this race
of the wise, and the swift,
and the unburied dead?
Visiting Day at a Quarter to Three: Terminal Island Federal Prison
Your warm embrace and tender, farewell kiss
lift me into a different realm of existence.
A bright beam of light propels me forward
to a far away place where
nights of pure satin, and unleashed passion
let me touch you deep inside.
I could hold you close forever
in this spinning autumn wind, lost
and yet protected from the empty days alone,
sheltered from the distance between us that
grows with each good-bye…
But reality intrudes to pull you from my arms,
testing my strength, teasing my needs,
taunting my soul with an unfinished dream.
And so I watch you walk away
into the spaces where our future lives…
looking back, a sigh beneath a smile…
so pretty in the sunlight,
so precious in my heart.
A Prayer My Family Once Prayed for Me
Our Heavenly Father,
we come before you to request Devine Intervention
in the emergency rescue of a drowning soul.
The energy of this confused, restless spirit is enormous
but he has taken the wrong river and, at this very moment,
faces mortal extinction, thrashing about wildly
in a whirlpool of lies, cursing the darkness,
growing weaker by the hour.
And, while we do acknowledge the faults and misdeeds
of our wayward brother,
so do we also pray for Your merciful consideration of
his greater self,
asking that You brighten his midnight sky
with even the faintest flickers of lightening
so that his eyes may focus upon the nearness of the shore
and upon the many strong, outstretched hands.
Amen.
The Wild Life
You’ve shown me the pains
of the unpaid rent,
the hollowness of time
wastefully spent,
the crawling discomfort
of suspicious eyes,
the hypnotic power of
rational lies,
the confusion of losing
what never was mine,
the far other side
of a very thin line…
And yet, sometimes...
every now and then...
I miss you.
Act Four
I portrayed the fool, broke every rule
till even I believed the role.
Then I learned the part of the wooden heart
to silence questions in my soul.
Now I pray to be a better me,
never too heated, never too cold.
© Paul Howard Nicholas