Category: Poetry

Self/Less

On By Tanner EarlyIn Poetry1 Comment

Staring into the mirror

As with any other morning

He does not recognize the face.

Circling his mind are her words. 

“That’s a lot of carbs!”

“That style is out. These are in.”

“I want you to be fashionable.”

Each comment chips at his mold

his carefully crafted identity.

“I’m trying to help!”

The clothe go first

Only the latest fashions now.

“I’ve done so much for you.”

Now go the muscles

Toned but not too big.

That wouldn’t be attractive either. 

“You should smile more!”

So go the teeth

Now pearly and perfectly straight.

“Don’t think like that.”

His brain reshapes

No longer his.

Not his body either. 

His nothing. 

Now looking in the mirror

The image vexes him

Escapes him

As he cannot name it.

A person’s essence remains

Though a Self is gone. 

Silence holds court.

He is finally what she wanted.

Out of the silence comes a faint echo

Sounding like, 

“You should…”

Winter’s Heart

On By Tanner EarlyIn Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

I stand among the trees

Enshrouded in pure white

Winter stillness.

Slowly

Deeply

The fog consumes the forest.

In haunted silence

Deadened oaks and maples

Loom tall and bare,

Monuments to dead idols.

Their gnarled-finger branches

Reach into the opaque sky

Grasping at nothing.

A frozen lake beckons me

With its glassy face,

A hibernal desolation.

With steps bitter and cold

I trudge towards it.

The December wind gnaws at my cheeks.

When I arrive I stare deep

Into its smoked glass mirror

Transfixed as Narcissus.

Unaware it was closer to

Nietzsche’s abyss.

Staring back at me is me

But not.

My face gazed back

The eyes were all pupils.

Black voids.

The other me brought his palms

Up to the frosted ice window.

Disbelieving, I lowered my palm to the ice.

But it wasn’t ice I felt. It was

Cold

Hard

Skin. 

Chills crawled through me

The spell is broken.

I ran back the way I came

Ignoring the knife scrapes from twigs. 

The trees were clawing for me.

After I escaped, I vowed never to return

To that forest brought to life 

With its frozen, black heart.

Autumnal

On By Tanner EarlyIn Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

The season’s change is upon us.

Yesterday, Autumn took its

First gasps of life.

Its chill pulled the air from my lungs

In one languorous exhale.

Vaporous, my breath hung in the air

For a moment, like a ghost, before disappearing. 

Walking through the park I gaze at the trees. 

Their leaves flare orange and red

As if suffering a fiery blaze. 

One that cannot be extinguished.

Isn’t it morbid that we find trees

Most beautiful as they’re dying?

Revelation shivers through me.

At the fountain

The water is solemnly still,

Anticipating Autumn’s breeze. 

Leaves dapple its surface,

Like a veil, hiding its face from the sun.

Waiting to break the stillness,

I dip my hand in the water.

Piercing coolness greets me.

It centers me.

It reminds me I have a place

In this Autumnal creation.

The Beggar

On By Tanner EarlyIn Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

Not for the first time

I sat in the cafe

Facing the busy street.

And not for the first time

The beggar was out

Hobbling between the cars

Cane in hand

And a cardboard sign

Cigarette lolling

Between his lips.

Grinning

He waves at drivers

Stopped at the red light.

One by one

Windows roll up

Faces stoically forward

Like statues.

No one spares change

No one spares a glance.

They think they are so smart

Masking avoidant gazes

With sunglasses.

Traffic moves

The beggar retreats

To the sidewalk

Where passing bikers swerve

Around him

No hesitation

No brakes.

I am no better than them,

No more exempt

Sitting behind glass

Observing the menagerie

Of human life.

Is he not drenched in

This ink?

His very dignity

Shedded in these lines?

His life is an endless loop

Of walking in the sea of cars

Back up the sidewalk

And round again

Ignored.

A ghost

A residual haunting on this street.

It is deeply naive

But maybe my contribution

Can be to write for the one

No one has written for.

Isn’t a haunting still

A remnant of a life?

At The Park, Early

On By Tanner EarlyIn Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

The Sun still lays low

Resting along its climb

Up the sky.

Shadows reach far

Across the grass

Caressing each blade

To ward off Sunlight.

The Basin’s water is a still

September mirror.

Only arcing fountain spray

Cuts the glass.

Walking up the hill

Grass greets me with

A gift of cold morning dew

Each blade offering a drop.

They soak through my soles

Nourishing me.

Reaching the top

I have summited to a moment

Of frozen serenity.

Not even a stirring

Breeze intrudes.

As if I entered a time slip or

Into a polaroid

-A perfect moment-

Developed.

Across the far horizon,

Haunting Monoliths tower above all,

Remnants of man’s devotion to

The faith of iron and steel

Lightly veiled in morning haze.

Nature does its best to obscure

Man-made structures.

They don’t bother me

Those distant, empty obelisks.

I know I’m safe among the trees.

In Your Bones, Your Nerves

On By Tanner EarlyIn Blog Posts, PoetryLeave a comment

Trauma is a dreaded guest,

The one who never leaves.

Even when he is gone,

A trail of destruction remains.

Vomit veils the sink, don’t touch it. 

Glass glitters among the eggshells,

Take care where you step.

Even with the door flung open

He may not have gone.

Once you’ve checked your feet for cuts

You hear the booming on the walls. 

A fist pounds for every drop of drink,

A slap for every lonely day.

Feral growls track hours through the night

Keeping feral time.

There is only peace when he sleeps. 

But that is never promised.

You can run, drive, fly away

But all roads lead back to him,

Always, he is there when you land.

With this revelation

Your lungs tighten with Anxiety, 

The snake that coils around them.

Your heart sinks into quicksand. 

Sliding down, down. 

A grain for every lie

Every bottle

Every insult screamed.

Slowly they all fill your lungs

Like a tragic hourglass.

Fighting and clawing does no good.

The air is getting thinner.

Your final thought is to wish him dead,

Despite always being the better person, 

It kills you to be at his level

Where he alone is the winner. 

With a sharp cry you jump awake. 

Clutching your chest, 

Basted in sweat.

The horror slowly fades

As reality illuminates your room.  

A note on your desk reminds you

“He’s been dead for five years.”

Most mornings begin this way. 

Dawn only brings the next 

Round in this twisted game. 

A knock at the door

Sends jolts running down your spine.

The ring of a text message

Signals anxious, shallow breathing.

He is gone from this life.

But he left you trauma as a parting gift.

A family heirloom, it cannot be returned. 

It will always be there

Burrowing in your bones, 

Living in your very nerves.

The Basin (A Summer Day)

On By Tanner EarlyIn Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

Standing at the Basin

Looking out at the gushing fountain.

Summer winds blow droplets onto my face

A cool kiss from Poseidon

A reprieve from the heat.

I cling to the wall of the terrace

I am standing at the edge of the universe.

My planets are aligned.

All is in place. 

This is where I am meant to be. 

Though the Sun berates me

Grasps me with her burning hands

I remain at peace. 

Vaporous sweat clings to me

To my every pore. 

I wear it as a mantle

My summer shawl.

I could stand here at the Basin forever

The winds softly caressing me

Waiting on Poseidon to kiss me again

Hoping for a full embrace.

Remnants of A Storm

On By Tanner EarlyIn Poetry1 Comment

After the rush of rain passes

The mud-brown waters roil about

In confusion,

Tossing driftwood around

In effort to fight

Against its impotence.

A harsh northern wind

Gales through the park,

Trees waver in the wind.

Leaves whipping about.

But the tree endures,

Steadfast in its place.

On the shore,

Perching on a rock,

I face into the wind,

Feeling its force move around me,

Its chilled anger spoken for.

Even the clouds high above

In there palace in the sky

Rush quickly past.

Hoping to evade the wind’s ire.

But alone I remain

Facing up to the wind,

Absorbing its fury,

Observing its magnificence,

Wondering when its last words will come.

Summer Storm

On By Tanner EarlyIn Poetry1 Comment

Coal-black clouds obscure the sun.

Rain plummets down

Drops like dimes scatter

All across the ground,

Keeping their own time. 

The slow drip-drop

Quickens to a choral hissss…

Muting all other sound

To speak to me. 

What are you trying to tell me?

Razor thin lightning flashes in succession.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Bolts striking chords in the Earth. 

Following, thunder claps

Across the sky

Directing me to its voice.

The storm booms above: 

Heed me, For I am greater than you. 

I may strike you down at whim.

Or wash you away,

Flood your home

Do not forget me!

Lightning streaks across the sky,

Illuminating my view

And my mind as I realize

How abrupt is the force 

And violent the wrath

Of a summer storm.

The Good Son

On By Tanner EarlyIn Poetry2 Comments

I wear many masks.

I’m sure you’ve seen them.

The one I don the most

I call The Good Son.

 

The Good Son is quiet.

He keeps to himself,

His burning truths

Remain stifled inside.

He does not let fly

His bottled venom,

Instead swallowing it all.

 

The Good Son is dutiful.

He wipes your vomit from the toilet bowl,

As an accomplice wipes down a crime scene.

He washes the sink,

Watching evidence swirl down the drain.

 

The Good Son is patient.

He bides his time until he is free.

He faces your drunken insults with stoicism.

Your slurred words only fall to the floor before him.

 

The Good Son does not engage.

His time is devoted to being scarce.

He remains cloistered away in his room

From your roaring curses

And thunderous door slamming.

 

Within his fragile dwelling he comes to realize…

The Good Son is breaking.

 

 

GoodSon