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Monday, February 11, 2013

Two Poems


Under the Bleachers

Ray Van Horn, Jr.

1/11/13 

 

I hear echoes of Football Fridays past

the din of juvie hormones grinding in fifth gear

they hate their teachers, their parents

and the visiting team

their peers sieve out their aggressions for them

playing up to their outcries for  blood

junior gladiators, masters of one of a thousand junior gridirons

 

I see recluses of yesterday and tomorrow

sitting here where I now sit

perhaps writing their own poetry

perhaps talking themselves out of suicide

perhaps grooving on a tune and a doob

only the weekend joggers

obtuse to their confiscation in subterfuge

blast away their reveries,

clomp clomp clomp clomp

 

I don’t mind the broken glass

and the discarded candy wrappers

it’s what teenagers leave behind as imprints of their four-year-plan

and their booster parents are no better

all of this filth seems appropriate beneath the soulless aluminum  

 

in some ways I envy the ripped open condom wrappers

the memories of spontaneous, reckless copulation

and spent, wasted seeds leading to new days of freedom

still, I wonder,

if the ripped, lavender Size C

was left behind by consent or otherwise
 
 
 
 
‘Round Midnight
2/10/13
Ray Van Horn, Jr.
 
 
my heart sees things
I never want you to know
I embrace the sacred cacophony of silence
and I crave audience with the effigy of euphoric nothingness
 
your fragile fingers
and your tireless legs
know nothing of pain
nothing beyond the skinned knee
or the spill of milk in your silly, slight lap
 
play on, little man, play on
 
peace is mine when I know you’re asleep
and my words torment only me
I cherish your stillness as much as your noise
 
when you’re safe in slumber’s keep
then the voices inside are all I hear
screaming  for ambient empathy
from a wellspring of audile comfort
 
the stereo understands me better than anyone else
 
when it speaks, I know my day’s duty is done

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