an Arsenal of Words

Chosen Yawns

clyvedjames — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 19:08:03 +0000

After dawn,
I miss the night, I
fear the morning dew the
coffee fumes the light the
lack of sleep the consequences
of the new.

What have I started here?

4 am is the
worst time to make
up your mind about what or
why or who you’ll wake
up in the morning

a Sunday sigh

clyvedjames — Thu, 25 Mar 2010 09:38:37 +0000

Sunday morning door
closed on the week and
in my face, a death
of something so inanimate
yet touched with my hands and
with my mind for ten months,
if only it had a year of life,
more time more faith more
more… as one door
shuts, another opens but
i’m not ready to be
swayed by cliches because
a dream has bled and died
today, i’d rather study it’s
demise instead of walk on,
live faster and feign closure
when i can’t handle a goodbye
there’s no fast-forwarding
through mourning, no skipping
to a happier time, no breaths
to breathe than those of coping,
nothing to say but sometimes,
dreams, they die

socknapped!

clyvedjames — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 07:30:10 +0000

i trusted you, you who’s
seen all the colors of my skin, seen
everything that’s hugged me every
day for the last six years,
seen every pair of underwear
you little pervert but
no matter how many chances
i give you, you just never
learn, i can share it all with you,
feed you money, give you replenishing
fluid or that powder you love so
much (you lil’ addict) but every
time it’s just the same sad story
always missing half a pair, slowly
bleeding socks and paying in
cold feet, double-teamed by this
damn washer-dryer tag team

Neon Accomplice

clyvedjames — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 04:12:59 +0000

in my pocket is a
little piece of radiation,
voices come through it
some heard instantly, others
minute-hours later, a few
too late to do anything
at all, i listen to the
faces making them,
trying to picture the shape
of their lips, the cheek
bends, the teeth
and the eyes all
shaped by the sounds
that connect us and
miss out on what’s being said

conversations happen
in what i don’t see
because i’m not there but this
little glowing shape helps (or hurts?
it is toxic after all)
often times i’d like to
do without it but then
i picture how disconnected i
would be until i actually
forget it and find myself
truly out of reach with nobody
familiar to share the loneliness with

i have a little piece of
radiation in my pocket, can’t
get rid of it or abandon cancer
even when i’m briefly free of it,
i miss it and the voices,
they keep coming through but
even when they’re up against my ear
i hardly ever hear them

roars expressed

clyvedjames — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 04:44:16 +0000

been writing a lot, i told her
must be under some serious
stress she smiled back,
it’s when i’m writing the
most, i know i’m under
a lot of emotional pressure,
she added

not that you can’t write
happy little things that
make you smile

i smiled.

you just have a lot more to
say when you’re troubled

hm-hmm boy do i
have the ammunition now

i used to wish for a world
of calm, thinking if i just
had a summer at the beach
no worries, no money, nothing
to tear me in a million daily directions
that i could just write

bullshit

’cause without all this mess,
i’d have no words

i need to be an arm’s length,
a conversation, a breath
away from her to be
in love to be full of
more words to be poetically infested

these days that ride us so
hard are the purest kind of
inspiration, these lyrics are
our nightly roars expressed

an impossible pause

clyvedjames — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 00:05:04 +0000

parked at a Green light
standstill at dawn, no angry
drivers honking me on,
not a single cop to pull me over or
a passenger to say
just go

can’t u-turn back into
the Night, can’t gas it
mindlessly into Tomorrow
decisions in my eyes,
even when they’re
closed the Sunlight won’t
let me be, let me
stay until I figure out
what I’m leaving behind

sorry, Green light whispers,
that’s not in the stars or the
speed limit so
make up your mind

the pedestrian Hand starts
blinking at me but i won’t reply

can’t not decide but i can’t
let this go without
understanding who this is or
what it was / is / could be…

the hand stops blinking as I start
Yellow complements
the sunshine

last chance…

no! it’s not enough time
i won’t decide the rest of my
life on this schedule

the Red returns as
last night’s sunset, coffee spills
on my jacket, that old Doors record
skipping, thick candles burning away,
lips glowing in their light, Her voice
-just don’t let tonight become last night-

Mustang pulls up an
inch from my bumper

green light
loud horn
gas pedal
next block
next mile
next life

i don’t dare look in the rearview -
the tears won’t let me

again & again

clyvedjames — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 00:38:48 +0000

i’m 6 or 7, i want
to hear the same bedtime story,
watch the same movie,
eat the same thing for lunch,
again & again

don’t need the tomorrow
you’re telling me about, i’m not
ready for a change
i’m not ready for 1st grade,
not ready to live apart
from daddy, don’t wanna
move to another
country, i can’t
spell that word (dee-force?)

why does anything have
to change, it’s not like
i enjoy my favorite movie
any less the 9th time, maybe i
don’t wanna try new things
maybe i don’t need to grow up
but just hold on to the good
things here and now, at home
with everyone i know with
everything for sure

i don’t want the pimples or the wrinkles!
i just wanna hear my story,
watch my movie
again & again

wireless & disconnected

clyvedjames — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 01:28:47 +0000

what were coffee shops like
before laptops, before wifi, before
Starbucks? I don’t know

I’m a child of the 90s meaning
born in the 80s but groomed
by the last decade of a
most furious century,
spawning Starbucks,
breeding laptops
like an overpopulation of
coffee-covered clams

and when they opened, out
came a flurry of ,
dying battery lights, droopy
eyes, and more

i’m not saying it was all bad
just different
i’m neither hippie nor hipster,
just a boy who wishes
that someone else,
like her, would
actually make eye contact

so wonderfully wireless
yet so disconnected,
where can we hide
(from the Internet)? I ask
sitting in a coffee shop,
typing a poem on my laptop

Empty Passenger

clyvedjames — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 07:45:28 +0000

There is an age and
sadness in her eyes
that’s older than I’ve
ever felt. That look is
like a photograph -
she just can’t change
the expression. Happiness
is as transient as each passenger,
coming from nowhere and
disappearing there again
but sadness is the long and
lonely lull of the ride. It’s the
doors closing next to
her temples to which she
doesn’t react. It’s the foot
shuffle, the elbow shove,
the greasy handlebar.
She accepts them without
thinking. The trip is long but
she doesn’t have time to
notice me or anyone else.
A stop before mine, she
disappears. I just hope
whatever caused those
wrinkles fades away like
the train into the night.

Reoccurring you

clyvedjames — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 20:11:23 +0000

Can i
collide
with you?

i need to feel the
flavor of your skin
taste yesterday like it was
really yesterday

Can i
confide
in you?

Getting over is for
the heartless and
moving on is for
those who haven’t found it
but what if
you
were
it?

Can i
divide
from you?

Maybe this is
just our winter
and in spring your
green buds will grace
my branches, your
long locks wrapped up
in second chances,
maybe summertime
will bring us
answers.

Can i
hide
from you?

Can i
die
of you?

Can i
collide
with you,
again?