This is the first installment of short free verses written in transit. I'm rusty at poetry, so by making these attempts public, I am forcing myself to polish what I write and cause as little embarrassment as possible. Here goes.
Nine Hundred Seconds
As the pink flames beckon me to take
The first one hundred and twenty steps back to earth,
A single thought crosses my mind.
When the lights perform their reversal,
The twinkling beacons are bittersweet reminders
Of your sudden absence.
And then I question the loneliness of heights--
Perhaps a spiteful poet's invention.
In my head nine hundred seconds
Go on perpetual repeat,
My feet retracing each step
Back to the moment when
I bid you a silent goodbye.
[LRT, 18 April, 7:15am]
untitled
waiting for the red dots on the clock to blink
into their next configuration.
a trivial game is better
than the thought of a lifetime's splendid summers
fading before your eyes.
anything.
even the radio kindly lends an upbeat tune
to pick up the speed of a heart
beating ever so slowly.
waking up with dry, uneasy eyes
and squeezing words from silenced lips--
a terrifying routine as comfortably hidden
as rehearsing lines never to be spoken.
the lonely umbrella against the door
is the sole witness to the distant but visible
pulse of the lighthouse,
measuring the distance between us
as muted memories drown
in these clipped, vague replies.
[Skybus, 18 April, 8:10pm]
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