Average Joe - Average Jane

When two people meet, there's a spark, the spark is born and takes shape by our emotions; the spark feeds off of these emotions, we gain strength from these sparks, but when the spark dies, we are at our utterly weakest. Our world's seemingly collapse around us as we become nothing more than a shadowy husk of our former selves. The spark within each of us is always strong, it never dies for any singular reason, and yet it never grows unless we allow it to. If we let it simply pop and crackle within us, then it can't grow stronger, we can't grow stronger, and in that instance, we are weak in both body and spirit. Whether we make it grow stronger on our own, in the quiet bedrooms without a soul around, or with the person who first created the spark, strengthening it together, or with a group of people, each holding an inferno of brightly burning sparks within them, as long as we allow these sparks to grow, so too do we grow.

Average Joe - Average Jane, I don't know why I wrote this, it's romantic in a way, almost comical, almost melodramatic, but it holds a certain power. It reminds me of better days, days to come that will be even better, and days undreamed of that we can't determine. Short and obnoxiously sweet, I give you my most recent poetic piece.

Average morning,
Average Pain,
Average warning,
For Average Jane,

Average Evening,

Average low,                                 

Average seething,

For Average Joe,

Average tasks,

Average fright,

Average Joe asks

Average Jane out tonight,

Average date,

Average heart,

Average mate,

Average start,

Average love,

Average woo,

Could my Average Jane,

Be you?

Heartbeats

 So, I've been thinking lately, no one really stops to write poems about the things we hear. I mean, even sitting at my desk at work, I hear the clacking of keyboard keys, the sound of a printer running, the mechanical wheels of a scanner feeding paper through itself, and even I hear my music playing softly to my left, but if I shut my eyes, listen closely, I can hear the soft drumming of my heart, and it's oddly soothing. 

What your heart says is important, but just by listening to nothing, you can hear everything.

What is that sound I hear?

Mice scurrying about in the walls?

Scratching about in fear?

No, too loud to be paws.

It’s almost a thump, thump,

I hear from below,

Perhaps a neighbor’s bump,

Hammer and nail the cheeky fellow,

No, no, it’s quieter than that,

It sounds soft as well,

Hardly a racket or drum pat,

It’s like a soft tum, tum, swell

A feeling now, a feeling I find,

Growing, spreading, boring,

Deep and warm, a burning kind

Feelings of wings soaring,

What is this sound,

growing louder now,

Tum thump, in the round,

Growing louder now,

Tum thump, it’s filling my ears,

Tum Thump it falls deaf to my peers,

My heart,  it beats loudly,

My heart speaks out proudly,

“Love”, it says over and over,

“Love”, it says “before it’s over”.

World Shaker

So, I missed my chance to post a blog post last week as I was busy with being lazy, so, in an effort I purposed myself to write the love letter of an old man to his wife. I don't much know how great it will turn out, but nonetheless it's a bit of work. Enjoy!

“You used to sit there, you used to sit in that very chair and smoke those cigarettes with the hearts on the filter. Smoking them, like you were kissing old lovers once more, like each one would bring you some sort of brief bliss from the squalor we lived in. The spark of your lighter bringing me from my paper to your face, my eyes staring with a sense of contempt before I would flash you the brightest of smiles. My eyes must've given me away quite a few times as I went back to my paper, they were tired eyes, eyes full of memories, eyes longing to forget, eyes longing to go blind to the world that we had created. You'd simply breathe in the carcinogens, holding them in your lungs as your shirt stretched fast against your breasts. I remember how I once lusted for you, once desired your form, once wanted to never stop touching such delicate beauty, once. Ah, but even now I can see that what we had is long gone. What was it you had said to me before? 'Beauty is in the Eyes of the Beholder'? I hardly remember what was said yesterday, it's hard to imagine I could remember something said all those years ago. I could remember seeing that sly smirk tugging at your lips, edging on a smile as you pressed your body to mine, urging me to dance in that old dance hall. My throat was so tight I felt like I would suffocate if I had done more than a waltz, but you opened me up to your devilish charm.

A sweet scent of roses, that was what you always wore, it was muddled behind the smoke, but it was there. Like a feather on a pillow, it was subtle, but it was there. Our first drink, sneaking in through the back of that tavern, my hands fumbling with my wallet while you had already downed every dripping drop of beer in your glass and had proceeded to drink from mine. We laughed as we walked home later, and then you stopped and we kissed in front of an old couple's apartment. They stuck their heads out the window and cheered us on as we giggled and ran off into the night. Your legs were so strong in those days, you ran everywhere, and when you weren't running, you were dancing, or skipping, or standing, or just walking. Anything you did would've made you a princess to strangers. I remember when you broke your ankle, the world crashed as you fell from the front steps, an earth quake happening precisely as you fell would've been insane enough for anyone to believe, but I was there.

You cried the pain was so bad, you cried so much that the blue sky turned an ominous black and the rain began to fall. I remember having to run with you in my arms to the hospital, you stopped crying as you clutched my shirt, but the rain didn't stop. Memories are great things...

Remember that time when you looked into the toy shop? Those children waved at you and we waved back, you smiled and it was as if those children had seen the most glorious thing they would ever see. That is what I see everyday I wake up to you. I remember the very words you said to me, the day you left, “and don't forget to smile, you grumpy bastard.”

The photograph I took turned out brilliantly, you would've been proud of the bowtie and suit I wore. But you couldn't have been. You weren't there to see it. The world seemed to be gloomy the rest of that day. There was even an awkward silence about the city, like everyone had already known what I did not. Now, here you lay, your body interred, your gravestone a simple marble monument, and the worst of it all is that damned cold nipping at my hands. The world is getting dizzy and so I guess it's time already. I've come to lay with you my dear, I've come to be with you in my final moments, because I can hardly bear the thought of being without you, even after all these years.

None of the people that I've met over my lifetime could make the world tremble, could make the clouds move, or make the rain fall. You will always be my world shaker."