Submitted by Neil McKay on May 31, 2012
It is not an insult that I fall asleep first.
Too many years I spent my nights listening for regular breathing
Before I could relax enough to close my eyes.
Now I'm so relaxed, I fall asleep midsentence.
I'm sorry, my love, please understand,
I feel safe in your house, in your room.
We will wake slowly to your myriad of alarm clocks,
Jarring and loud but each silenced quickly.
Eventually the day will begin.
Submitted by Neil McKay on May 21, 2012
When death, with its sweet obliteration,
Finally acknowledges its joyful obligation.
When my life has reached the end of its duration
And my soul has given up in sheer frustration.
Then I hope you imbibe in bittersweet libation
To honor my impact on your situation,
And relate the tale without pontification
Of my various attempts to bring you liberation.
My goal in life, achieved through conversation,
Was always to connect with those above and below my station
And find the thread through quiet divination
That ties us together in mutual admiration.
So toast my life from first breath to cremation.
Tell the stories of my insubordination.
Remember the times I filled you with trepidation,
And shed a tear for my loss of all sensation.
Submitted by Neil McKay on May 14, 2012
There are no angels walking the earth
Looking for redeemable humans,
Like glass bottles to return for deposit
No angels taking pity on us
When we are at the end of our ropes
No angels earning their wings
By showing us how we had it in ourselves all the time.
It's just you and me here
Doing our best. Trying and falling short
Most of the time but coming close.
So close.
Trying again, trying again
Making mistakes, missteps.
And occasionally reaching out
Bracing each other, boosting each other
What can you see if you sit on my shoulders?
Can you reach it? How about now?
So close.
When we're lucky, we find each other
Paths cross and something tells us to follow
Or lead. Either way, we should be together
For a time. For a distance.
Match my stride with yours.
Head in the same direction
For a time. For a distance.
Share stories, sing songs
Tell jokes, anything to make a connection.
For a time. For a distance
Your mother is from Missouri?
That's where my father came from.
Misery, he called it. Did she?
We have that, then.
We are connected now.
You lived in New Jersey?
I never lived anywhere but here.
But I like Springsteen
We have that, then.
We are connected now.
You're a poet? Me too.
I write about rainbows and unicorns.
Kittens and children
It's all very sad.
You? Tone Poems?
Hmmmm.
Still, we have that.
We are connected,
But it's tenuous
And we will soon part.
I think this is where I turn.
You going straight?
Best of luck to you.
Hope you find your way.
Onward and upward, right?
Watch for angels.
Submitted by Neil McKay on May 7, 2012
Momentum works both ways.
A poet, not in motion,
Tends to remain in that state.
A poem does not arrive on the page
Spontaneously. It must
Be pushed.
Poetry is an equal and opposite
Reaction to some initial action
Like heartache or unexpected kindness.
Gravity is really just a strong suggestion
That I should stick around
To see what happens.
Submitted by Neil McKay on March 24, 2012
I saw on the side of the road,
A stone that, when looked at
From one angle, slightly resembled
A cartoon heart.
I picked up this stone
That resembled a heart
I brushed off the dirt and put
It in my pocket.
I carried this heart-shaped stone
As I walked to your house
My hand in my pocket
Holding it, warming it.
At your door, I pulled the stone heart
Out of my pocket and examined it.
It was warm now and clean but
Rough to the touch, mottled and gray.
I handed you my heart
And you were charmed by it
You placed it on your nightstand
Where it remains to this day.
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