Forgotten Opportunities

Throughout my time, I often point out the mistakes in writing, rather than absorb the beauty. It’s so easy to point out the negative, what they did wrong than what they worked so hard on and did right. I’ve been wired like this for a long time. They stick out so easily and prevent me from moving on to the beauty of the piece. Often I find myself questioning if it is in our nature or how we’ve been taught as a society to pick apart every detail and focus on what could have been better? 

Recently I found you, you misspelled tag on a poem. And you too, you forgotten period at the end of a line. I found you too, you misspelled word in a poem about the sun shining down upon you. I see you all, and I think you do this to me on purpose, to know that we are not perfect, to know that poetry is life and life is not perfect, and love, love is not perfect either. 

We are inevitably flawed and yet I wish it all to be perfect, and I want poetry to be perfect because it pours directly from our hearts and our hearts pour out the truest emotions in our poetry. Shouldn’t we strive to reflect our truest form in poetry? 

It’s a battle of cyclical proportions:
we are who we are and we show it through poetry,
we strive to become someone or something and we show that through poetry,
and we see what has been and we tell our stories through poetry.

So now when I stop at those forgotten opportunities of improvement I say, “I see you. I get you. I am you, too.” for we have all been that forgotten detail in someone’s story.

Thank you for reading

Have You Noticed

After Mary Oliver

have you noticed how certain poems linger
in the echoes of yesterday

how certain triggers replay
a certain phrase

how hanging onto words
engulfs an empty room

how walking through fields
begets velvet moonlit nights listening to you

how spinning a record after dropping a needle
births a mountain of longing and sorrow

have you ever noticed
that no matter how many times

you block out the sights and sounds,
they sprout their way back to your tomorrows

Raining underneath

by Mark Ryan – Check out more of his work here: Havoc and Consequence

Underneath. Down here where it’s calm.
Where the black beauty of the abyss touches my feet.
All is quiet.
All is still.
I’m entombed as if in a coffin.
Locked forever in my own space
Controlling the promise of my ever after.
And then you came.
Pelting my world.
Hurtling across like a comet in my stretching blue sky.
You bring the change, flowing through like a weather system.
Flourishing my eyes open like a new season.
Calling sub-oceanic flowers to bloom within me.
Aquatic forest pines that reach up to touch the surface.
To reach and touch your face.
My hands branch to catch the light you dazzle.
A sudden rush you instill within me like heroin bubbles in my blood.
Coming up too soon, bending my compression that has kept my heart safe.
Heading for the bends.
I’m a fish not born to fly with you.
High where the birds and angels soar.
Hidden in these depths for reasons.
For sins that keep me drowned.
Now it rains under water, puddling the pool of the sea that parts us.
And I drift in the stream of sorrow.
Knowing that the rain on the surface, is really your tears.

In a Sea of Lonely Nights

A lonely boy in a sea of lonely nights
in that last hour of the day
capturing words he wishes he had said
writing them down
so they’re out of his head

Music fills the air
soothing the tension
lessening the cares

Take a trip to the other side:
what makes the other person tick,
what makes them come alive,
what’s in their head they’re trying to hide

While reaching out for a connection
lost and longing for attention
it’s someone in his bed
that doesn’t know the depths
of the tears he’s shed

But it’s still a mystery;
where did it all go wrong
was it this way all along

Thousands of poems captured on those lonely nights
but not a one could do
when it’s just not you


Listen to more of my poems on SoundCloud
This poem, along with others, can be found in my book Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One