quiet now
in the small hours
of the morning
with the heart
and mind
aligned
peaceful now
as the new day
dawns
and everything
seems as one
in the vast expanse
is it a straight line
from our ancestors
to now
or is there a circle
that completes each moment
are we really alone
in this world
or surrounded
by the billions
who came before
and since
(D James)
there is
the serene silence
of peace
gently broken by the sound
of a bird
the sobering silence
of anger
that forms in the echo
of a slammed door
then there is
the soulful silence
of lovers lying side-by-side
the singular silence
of a man
alone with his thoughts
the silence of a friend
waving goodbye from the window
of a train
the silence of enemies
standing on either side
of a line in the sand
the silence of a hawk
in flight
of the sun
the stars
and the moon in the sky
of a stopped clock
of a flower unfolding
the silence just before
the film begins
of paint drying on canvas
of lips moving in prayer
the silence that occurs
before the wind
that arrives ahead of the storm
the silence between
the final vibration of a violin
and the applause of the crowd
the silence of
worry
pain
loss
distinct from
the silence
of a smile
the silence
of the color blue
or the silence
we choose
and of the thousand thousand silences
the most powerful silence of all the silences
is the silence
of silence
(D James)
I remember when
you had to buy tokens
to ride the subway
and phone calls
were a dime
if you could find
a pay phone that worked
I remember when cabs
wouldn’t leave Manhattan
for the other boroughs
and street lights
were few
I remember when
computers were so big
they had rooms
of their own
and no one
had one at home
I remember when
you had to make the bank
by 3 pm
and never missed
a Friday visit to the teller
or you were without cash
all weekend
and people wrote checks
bought stamps
and mailed their bills
and if this
were written then
I wouldn’t be able
to share it with you
(D James)
begin
at the end
erase
every word
remove
the thoughts
quash
the heart
obliterate
the soul
until
there is nothing
left on the page
(D James)
this thing strung together making no sense yet kept writing these words and not even thinking letting them flow and trying to keep up like in life when everything moves at the speed of sound and people keep moving and I seem to be in the way, slower than everyone else feeling tired and left behind it all seems a bit too much maybe I’m still on west coast time or it could be that I’m no longer interested in the rushing and running, the pushing and shoving, shouldering my way through life trying to get in front of the person in front of me assholes behind me kicking at the backs of my shoes, knocking them off skittering across the platform as the E train rushes out of the station and the next group of followers gathers in the station, and on to the next thing, the one after the one right before this one, how can anyone make sense of the world anymore when people start conversations in e-mail and end them in text, and no one, no one, answers the phone any longer, why can’t this rant end? because there are no endings and no beginnings, there’s just all this rushing around in the middle and when I go, and when you go, there will still be 6 billion and more on the planet to take up where we left off, and there is no reason for it, no meaning – it all is and it all isn’t and we’re here to sort out what it means to us now, and then we’re gone. And the sun will rise and the sun will set, and the sun will rise and the sun will set …
(D. James)
like bits of paper
blown by the wind
which ones will I catch
in the net of my mind
hold onto for dear life
which ones will I let fly
laughing at what nonsense
I can come up with
what if they were all
just passing
like a small spark
or bolt of lightning
electric and fleeting
shinning a momentary light
then gone
instead of being turned
into the truth
(D. James)
nothing
no thing
no nothing
no
begin
at the middle
go back
to the end
then circle round
to finish
at the beginning
once you figure
it out
let me know
I’ll be waiting
(D James)
where does it
go
the time
seems like it
used to crawl
now I lose
track
of the days
and memories
are like stories
someone once told
I’m not even
certain
I’ve not written
this poem
before
(D James)
staring
out the window
watching the light change
bare trees
drag shadows
across gray
roof-tops
sunlight glints
off passing cars
the day goes on
with or without us
(D James)
the blank page
stares back at me
silently mocking
my attempts
to scribble
something
of weight
the blank page
like a snow-covered
mountain
challenges my ability
to communicate
and whisper-laughs
at my thoughts of words
until I say
to the blank page
“ok, you write something”
then there is silence
and I can finally settle down
to begin the work of stringing words
together into something that makes sense
to someone
somewhere
(D. James)
light and dark
laughter and tears
never and always
right and wrong
bone and dust
blood and guts
intransigent and flexible
solid and liquid
everything
and
nothing
(D James)
white sheet
blank paper
and the
screen in your head
goes black
who ever said
you can’t get there from here
didn’t know where you were
to begin with
so how did they know
where you’d end up
(D. James)
and and and
adding to what
was said
and and and
bringing together
disparate thoughts
and and and
an endless string
of ideas
and and and
where I’ve been
and and and
where I’m going
(D. James)
lost under a sea
of unfocused thoughts
mind-numbing wandering
through disconnected
days of fear and self-loathing
wondering
where it went wrong
where I went wrong
feeling out of place
out of time
out of my mind
like a character
in an unfinished
Beckett play
waiting for something
like life
to begin
unable to go on
with no choice
but to go on
immobile
immovable
immature
with all the courage
of a well-fed
old house cat
wanting to know
how it all ends
when I should be thinking
where to begin
(D James)
my pen falls
from the table
into a dark shadow
kicking
to catch it
with the side
of my shoe
spinning
it skitters
into the light
much like my thoughts
on this deathly cold day
(D. James)
thinking thoughts on
trains in tunnels
that take us to
toiling tasks like tinker toys
trudging to their terminus
can we keep
clear of calamity and
concious of creation or
will we wile awhile then
whip ourselves or
take the time
to think thoughts on
trains
while wishing
we weren’t wending our
way to work
(D. James)
sat up
half the night
with unhappy thoughts
come morning
they were still there
in a chair
by the bed
pulled them on
with my jeans
wore them
all damn day
till they
wore me out
sat up
half the night
with unhappy thoughts
determined that
in the morning
they’d be gone
moved the chair
into the kitchen
just in case
(D. James)
Thoughts
without discernible
patterns
scattered across
my mind
It’s a good thing
I don’t drive
based on my
feelings
(D. James)
