poetry

Perception (#poem)

R. Horton

What if the hyperreal really isn’t real,img_3901 (1)
And the news never happened?

Our perceptions are just pixels, photons,
Bits and bytes scattered on a screen.

Gods and monsters both just
Misapprehensions of a troubled mind.

But whose mind is responsible for
The anxiety provoking representation?

Surely some eternal consciousness
Has not conspired to create in you

The illusion of evil and the construction
Of unlimited chaos battering the bulwark

Of what was once known as rational thought,
The eternal barrier against the evil of doubt.

So rest easy, troubled child, your current form
Is ephemeral and passes in an instant.

For E. Pound from the Thoroughly Smug

R. Horton

I didn’t really understand what you meant

When you said you saw a family picnickingdeath_comes_calling

And they were happier than you,

Even though I felt it must be true.

 

And when you said you were happier than I was,

I knew you weren’t actually speaking to me,

But I decided to stay miserable

Just so your poem would always be true.

 

Christmas Rap (#poem, sort of)

R. Horton

I’m sure you can tell I’m

Part of the hip-hop community

So I take every opportunity

To spit rhymes like a hot tap

Gushing cheer in a Christmas rap.

When the weather is cold,

When the weather is hot

My generosity never stops.

I keep giving without a pause.

They should call me Santa Claus.

What? Don ‘t know who I’m talking about?

Then you can give Father Christmas a shout.

I’m so jolly in this season of folly,

And I’m as comfy as a teddy bear dolly.

I’ve got eyes that twinkle and a smile that shines,

I like reindeer, but I’ll never have nine.

I admit I don’t have a sleigh,

But I think my Bentley will take me all the way.

I’d fly around the world, but I’m afraid of heights.

So I might just hover, and it could take two nights.

Still, I like to see smiles on all the girls and boys.

If I had elves to build them, I’d give away all the toys.

I’d love to break into strangers’ houses,

Eat free biscuits with all those silent mouses.

There’s nothing creepy about having me in your home,

You told your kids to write me letters and stay in bed when I roam.

Everyone is so trusting, and all seems good and right.

We’re filled with love, and the spirit takes flight.

So, merry Christmas to all and to all good night.

Christmas Advice for Nonbelievers (#poem)

R. Horton

You’re not a believer

And Christmas isn’t for you

But you can enjoy

The festive season, too.

Your whole season

Doesn’t have to be wrecked

Just focus on all the

Commercial aspects.

You don’t have to be spiritual

To enjoy lots of useless tat.

Or flashing lights, tinsel and all that.

And there’s no reason

You can’t have lots of treats, puddings

and sweets, or just an excuse to overeat.

If that’s not your thing,

There’s still plenty of cheer.

Have an eggnog or vodka

Or plenty of beer.

Just be as naughty as you like.

And promise to be better in the new year.

Another Train Song (#poem, #villanelle)

R. Horton

Standing on the platform, waving goodbye to yesterday’s train.
Perhaps you wanted to feel you had a little bit of control.
You’re saying you hope that train never comes back again.IMG_2697

A peripatetic pretense helps to ease the pain.
It’s a phantom journey, but no one has to know.
Standing on the platform, waving goodbye to yesterday’s train.

You collected yourself, stood erect, and hoped to appear sane.
I’ve been on this journey for years—the train is so slow.
You’re saying you hope that train never comes back again. 

I think all I wanted was shelter from this rain,
But you’ve let the rot set in and grow,
Standing on the platform waving goodbye to yesterday’s train.

You’re still battling the demons I thought we’d slain,
We could have escaped together and reached our goal.
You’re saying you hope that train never comes back again.

 You wished me well, and I left after the hurricane,
And now you seem darkened by your own shadow.
Standing on the platform, waving goodbye to yesterday’s train.
You’re saying you hope that I never come back again.

Salutations for Sally (#poem)

R. Horton3 Comments

A poem for my wife’s birthday.

Salutations for Sally

 The years don’t pass slowly anymore,

But there’s still time for an eternityIMG_0329

In your eyes, in your arms, your love.

Each moment a step to infinity,

But time doesn’t march, it ascends,

And we rise on the years,

Sadder, yes, but wiser and

More loving, more understanding.

And you lift everything around you

To the stars and beyond.

You are both the zenith and quasar.

And as time dissolves to energy,

I will be your light—particle and wave.

Photons on a joint journey—

Born of a supernova—

In eternal abandon,

We will live forever.

 

Close to the Flames (#poem)

R. Horton

I stood outside the gates of Hell,

Ready to dive headlong into flame,hell

But you put your hand on my shoulder,

Turned me toward you and kissed my face.

You held me tightly against you and promised

You’d protect me for all eternity.

You assured me I was one of the good ones,

And I never should have been in this place.

You led me from the depths to a softer light,

And we lay, exposed, face-to-face,

But still I forgot to ask why you were loitering

Just outside such a damnable place.

To Define a Thing (#poem)

R. Horton

He broke her spirit when he declared

He didn’t even know what love is.IMG_7275

She had only asked a simple question

As she planned her own future.

Whilst he resisted closing his options,

He never noticed how open hers were.

She awaited his answer as her suitors

Sat on the sidelines biding their time.

 

He pretended he didn’t understand

The comfort of constant companionship

Or the fear of inestimable loss.

He needed time to think about

This question of love, to contemplate

The reality of solitude or the

Possibility of greater satisfaction.

And his hesitation was her answer.

 

She knew that whatever love is,

She would never feel it for him.

She could see a future free from

Waffling and wavering solidarity.

She imagined a life where love

Never demands a sacrifice.

For her, love was ultimately freedom

Of choice to soldier forth in unity.

 

And she knew love as a litany of lies:

Each person has only one intended.

Love is blind to the beauty of others.

Love is a freshly paved road.

Love is a bind, a prison, a restraint.

Love is devotion, obedience, compliance.

He saw love as a list of restrictions,

But she saw love as a prison break.

 

She no longer thought so much

About love. She only lived

With enthusiasm for those moments

That brought her unalloyed joy.

She decided to be selfish and

Forget about the cares of others.

And her dogged egoism brought her

Continually to your arms.

 

And if she had not, my dear friend,

You could not stand on your own.

 

Confessions (#poem)

R. Horton

At the interview, she said,

“These are some designs I’ve beentruth

Working on since I got out of jail.”

 

On his dating profile, he said,

“I’ve finished the last course of antibiotics

And feel I’m ready to date again.”

 

At dinner, she confessed,

“I listened to a Justin Bieber song to see what it was

And I ended up listening to the entire album.”

 

At the office sexual conduct training, he admitted,

“I once positioned myself in the audience

So that I could see Grace Jones changing costumes.”

 

And I feel I must disclose that

I saw you eating in a café,

And I wanted to break through the glass

To get to you as the door would take too long.

 

I wanted to be close enough to absorb

Stray electrons orbiting your body.

I wanted our consciousness to commingle,

So I could know all that you know.

 

I wanted to share your feelings of

Elation, sorrow, indifference.

I wanted eternity. I wanted permanence.

 

As your gaze rose, I started,

Coughed, looked toward the pavement,

And shuffled off, slack-shouldered, to the east.