Irrational Fear of Thunder Jon Hillenbrand, May 28, 2013September 7, 2015 Tie a ribbon on the things that you want, pink or red and it doesn’t matter for the poem of life will continue with or without you. The wind pushes the curtains away from the light. I sit in my room shrouded in my cloak Shadows fingering down the walls like wet paint. For me the distant rumbling reminds me of hot summer evenings And the promise of love coming to visit for a month Bringing a break from the unpleasant unending heat of loneliness. But there’s an itch under the fingernails of my friend who’s gullet rises at every twitch from the night sky that extends out like the creek from an opening basement door. Driven slowly open with the finality of a monster from deep below. Emerging from darkness like a forgotten sin, it sometimes sneaks into the kitchen. Other times, it charges into your black bedroom crashing your door into the wall over and over Penetrating your brain with absolute fright as the sky tears apart like a father drunk on anger. The long exhaling bellows brings a peace to me. Falling droplets like pennies in a fountain carrying promises from the fingertips of children Wishing for their favorite toy, their mother’s blessing or their grandfather’s health. Yet somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it brings a sense of dread to my friend Who cowers behind headphones, eyes glued to a book, hoping for the storm to pass. Feeling it trickle down her neck, between her shoulder blades, spreading like a chill with every flash and delay. Poetry angerirrational fearnaturenoiseparentsPoetryrainsoundstormsthunder
Poetry The Death of Dusty Brown October 15, 2008December 30, 2015 I took the reins from Anne and mounted up. The sun was setting across a fall landscape of tall grass which licked my stirrupped heels. I was looking forward to riding again not having ridden a horse in some time. The feel was familiar and I looked forward to the… Read More
Poetry The Doorway October 21, 2008December 30, 2015 The door banged open dustily halting the men’s filthy conversation. She paused there in the opening, a sudden wind taking its cue to wrap around her silken form. Red swollen lips threw daggers at the men. Her word leveled with the finality of a commandment, a gale force whisper, the… Read More
Poetry The breakup February 7, 2009December 30, 2015 The blink of the stop light and the metronome of the wipers compete for control over the beat of my heart as I think of my final moments with her. I’m writing her features on my mind so I don’t forget everything important to me now. I feel her close… Read More