Some of my Poetry

*Interloper*

Age had made me
somewhat content,
Allowing certain negotiations
With the fast rising tide,
Assuring the wolf within
that nothing had been missed.
Until you arrived,
And assailed the peace.

I'd known the likes of you before
On warm beaches,
On sailing ships,
Enjoying exotic museum tours
where wicked knowledge roams.
And at night,
I'd watch you masquerade
In the fallen streets of Rome.

The splendid way you moved,
The fragrant breezes that playfully
Tangled your hair,
An impromptu display
Of flesh as you danced
Further into the festive night.

Than abruptly....
and without notice,
I was struggling again to
keep myself contained.
It was useless I knew,
Melancholy violins whinning in rebuke.
Only a quick demise would suffice
if I were to survive you.

It's all I could think to do.
But noone understood this
last and final longing of mine,
Or grasped your restless need.
Except of course,
Your Wandering Soul
And
me.

By: GJB aka Highland

Copyright
All Rights Reserved

*Longing Smiles*

Outside, the night is cool.
I can feel it in my hair as it
whispers past my ears, searching
my thoughts, inquisitive about
my trembling skin.

There is no light tonight. The
moon forgot to rise. Leaving
this space I occupy filled with a
singular silence that unnerves me.

But I cannot stop the smiles, not
even in my melancholy. Its power
beyond my strength, it's warmth
strangely disengaged from the
shivers of sadness that envelop me.

Somewhere there's a screech.
An owl perhaps, or maybe even a
ravenous hawk scouring the
neighborhood for prey.

Through the open window I peer,
but there is nothing, nothing but black.
Nothing but the crickets that are
always a part of the quiet .

She is out there you know.
In everything that pulses; in
everything that moves or waits
in stillness. In every breath of
breeze that curls about the shadows.

And still I cannot put a halt
to these incessant smiles. These
joyous curvatures in my cheeks
that will not cease their grasp
upon my face.

Yet at the same time my heart aches
with a kind of exquisite distress.
A torment beyond words yet it speaks,
instructing me in the myriad
lessons of longing.

In the end, when the prowling images
slowly blur and sleep finally comes.
The last thing that fades is this smile.
This smile in which she lives. The
one that she gave to me.

By: GJB aka Highland

Copyright GJB
All Rights Reserved



*de-renaissance*

Down amongst the bearings
and gears resides a pool of
liquid images that is his life.
The grinding, meshing beings
of so many years. All of it down
beyond his sight.

Broken bits of pulverized moments,
most of which he cannot recall, that
linger slightly further than his reach.
Chanting, nearly metallic harmonies that
might have been music at one time.
But now nothing more than sound.

Banging blares that rip and tear at
him as if they were angry; as if they
were engaged in a battle for the few
fragments that remained of his promise.

But he knows more than they do,
at least about himself. Knows for
instance that he cannot love outside
the prejudices that fester within; nor
can he bring himself to care.

Once there had been a time when the
colors evolved without the potential
for hate; devoid of the lust to rule and
lead and rise above all the other
minds that mingled with his own.

But not anymore.
He is lost inside the explosion.
Perplexed by those who would dissent.
Mired in the juices of power.
Hurtling our world into an abyss.
Into a darkness of de-renaissance.

By: GJB aka Highland

Copyrighted
All rights reserved



*So Few Do*

The slow, smooth jazz played
just above his head.
Outside, the rain came down in
sheets of finely sparkled drizzle.

No matter how many times he
found himself seated just so,
it always made him ponder for
all the horror that could befall.

And somewhere, just then, as he
sat and pondered, there were
others not so lucky; not so safe
and free to sip warm cafe
coffee whilst gentle rain fell.

Somewhere, as he swallowed sweetly
flavored java, horror was indeed
stamping its pain upon the sweating
flesh of his brethren. And still
he sat in silent comfort.

Far from the darkness that could
sweep across the mind of tyrrants.
Distanced not only by the miles,
but also by the apathy of the life
he wasted.

Not all will rise.
Just those with no other choice.
Those who refuse to sip at a
slow sweet life as others
bitterly drown.

By: GJB aka Highland

Copyright (3.18.2007)
All Rights Reserved

(Postscript: I wrote this
as I sipped coffee this morning
inside a warm cafe while it drizzled
outside) I too am apathetic,
but Im working on not being so.


*Neon Slice*

In circles they flow these thoughts.
Errant little bastards with nary a
fear of demise. His only hope the
deepest recesses of himself. An
optimal solution this lonely trek
toward his own darkness, yet
strangely uninviting and dry.

A polluted landscape populated
exclusively by ticks and whimpers
he dare not share. Oddly dressed
memories that skid and slide as
if they were the jolly tidbits of a
childhood come back to life. Come
back to life as a spectacularly
colored neon slice.

And though he is blind.
And deaf.
And stupid beyond his years.
(Metaphorically speaking of course)
There is a certain fundamental
grace that lingers at the tips of his
eye lashes. Drippy chilled dreams
that poise themselves before his
eyes as if they were waiting.
Just hanging there pulsing in an
orgy of silent patience.

And still he cannot distinguish
between the flashes that vie for
comprehension. A paradox of
tangles that rip and deform each
attempt to inhale. Leaving only
gasps where the intent had been
splendor.

Justifying the grace of tears that
finally let go and fall. Obscuring
the already minimal vision that
begrudges even the tiniest bit of
clarity.

And so he is who he is.
Yet not who he thought.

Just paying the price.

For a neon slice.

By: GJB aka Highland

Copyright
All Rights Reserved


*Sheets of a Kite*

In the wafting sheets of a kite,
its full blown body kissed as if
by the whispered breath of a
hidden beauty, there is life.
Her life.

Its tethered heart holding
memories of such nights as to
blush red upon the cheek of a
man as he recalls warm breasts.

Making even he without softness
smolder in smiles, while leaving
gentle shadows to grow and
spread as nighttime comes.

Silky smooth remnants of her
scent drape themselves. Permeate
and drip as if she were still whole.
As if she were still his and only
his to touch and feel and have.

But without gravity be these
thoughts, these hopes of reconcile
that will not fall back into his
grip again, not now, not even ever.

She is gone.
Gone without regret.
Freeing herself from a love.
A love cast of stones.
Of crumbling stones that
fell away as she grew
beyond it’s crush.

In the wafting sheets of a kite,
its full blown body kissed as if
by the whispered breath of a
hidden beauty, there is life.

Her life.

By: GJB aka Highland

Copyright
All Rights Reserved


*Certain Places*

Certain places can be loved.
Places rich with earth and green things.
Home town places where hearts attach.
Where tendrils run deep and low beneath.

These are the places we seek.
Surroundings coveted in memory.
Cast over by shadows that thinly veil.
Shreads of moments that have been and gone.

Wisps of happiness elusive and taunting.
Crying out for company in lonesome tones.
Recounting tiny episodes of existence.
Remarkable only for having once been real.

Inviting sequences of vivid images.
Whole segments of brightly lit patches.
Woven squares of time that vibrate and
in so doing awaken thoughts and times of old.

Each little piece a portion of that which
cannot be altered or separated from the whole.
Tightly woven ropes of connected events
that tether us to those places we love.

Places rich with earth and green things.
Home town places where hearts attach.
Where tendrils run low and deep beneath.

Places we all seek.
In search of pieces we hope to keep.

By: GJB aka Highland

Copyright
All Rights Reserved


*Perhaps*

Sometimes deep in the night.
Deep in the cool quiet shadows,
there lingers a smile from thoughts
that pass in the day.

Seems quite strange that such a
thing could occur. That a smile
already conceived and appreciated
could breathe again, yet they do.

Some may consign them to the ordinary
explanation of memory. But they
seem more than just tethers of
recollection; or remembrance.

They seem more real than just simply
an elusive grip of reminiscence. In
fact, these smiles, these thoughts,
these moments, feel tangible.

As if they were holding all the
many loose and crumbling bits
together. Connecting those parts
of a person yet to be lost to the
daily attrition of life.

Perhaps, and again this is just a
theory. But perhaps these smiles
are engineered into the fabric that
surrounds us. The air, the rain,
the warmth of the sun. The mysteries
which give us comprehension.

Perhaps these smiles that linger past
their time, are the woven alliances
that bind the breathing beings of
our world into a single, symbiotic
web of reliance.

A kinship of smiles that strike a
liaison in the name of humanity.
And without which, would spin
our planet into oblivion.

Perhaps.

By: GJB aka Highland

Copyright
All Rights Reserved


*Windblows*

There are things we never possess.
Things we will lose nonetheless.
Treasures hidden beyond our grasp.

Deeply held fixations that lick at the
edges of expectation. Germs of
thought that migrate in directions
wholely contrary to desire.

Counter revolutionary forces that battle
against the course we may have set.
Filling the many sails of self with the
ill-winds of unanticipated fate.

The quirky whims of circumstance
that dance toward unforeseen noises.
Dressing perfectly laid plans in
unrecognizable costumes.

Regurgitating gardens half-grown
with flowers others have planted.
And that we have no hope of fixing
into beautiful bouquets of our own.

These truthes; these unrelenting
dictums of life contrast the victories.

And though they may be few, perhaps
just a handful these glories, how sweetly
they paint the dark of loneliness left by loss.
How indelibly they ascribe their light
upon sadness.

There are things we never possess.
Things we will lose nonetheless.
Treasures hidden beyond our grasp.

By: GJB aka Highland

Copyright
All Rights Reserved

*His Table*

The table where he sits,
is a fine table.

Round, shiny, navel high
when he sits and partakes
of its company.

Perfect for reading or elbow
leaning. Even just right for
laying his head upon while
day drifts into night.

If he looks really close there
are tear stains. Marks of past
reveries when in the throes of
bittersweet angst he cried.

Encompassed here are pieces
of his time. Not just fleeting
moments but indeed tangible
bits that circle and land.

Statements of his past rendered
in the smudges and nicks that
make this inert piece of wood
remarkably his. And only his.

A round wooden realm where
he is king. Where all things good
and bad can whisper their secrets
without reprisal or fear.

A kingdom only he can see.
Where the mighty decisions of the
day are given absolution and he
can rest until sunrise.

A place of solitude that is his.

By: Highland

Copyright GJB aka Highland
All Rights Reserved


*And So We Sit*

She sat beyond my grasp,
the cool marble table between us,
her dark brown hair loose and
long save for a single barrette
which held her forelocks back
to flow down behind her shoulders

So many moments as these we
have spent, lost in the other's
presence, absorbing that which
neither could possess, gathering
every second in sacred regard

Our eyes locked in some hypnotic
encumbrance of thought cast
silent by the reverence we felt,
touched, tasted; but more
importantly recognized as love

An affection to be shared when
possible, yet kept at bay for
the most because of the battlements
laid against us in the fires of
combat waged by circumstance

A cumulative beseeching of
morality devised out of loyalty,
yet so rampantly shackled as to
render even the most intimate
cravings mute

And so we sit; separated by so
much yet secure in one another,
drawing strength in the form of
time; giving fate our consent to
mold the future as it will

by: GJB aka Highland

Copyright GJB
All Rights Reserved


*A Girl and her Clarinet*

There are certain nuances that
lend themselves to the gentle
curve of sensuality. Constantly
molding harmonious notes into
melodies that wrap her in
luxurious sensations.

Lilting utterances blown through
lips which still recall the joy.
The soft and lonely warmth of
irretrievable nights. Darkened
memories lost beyond the grasp of
even her most envious recollection.

And still she plays. The slim and
graceful fingers that once touched
his face, dancing their magic across
the gleaming keys. Stroking long
and languidly the smooth and
polished shaft that vibrates within
her hands, gifting lyrical cadences
reminiscent of a deeply darkened jungle.

Breathing balefully it's tortured resonance
as if the mists which entangled it's pain
were but the conjured ghosts of jilted
lovers; of promises once given with such
striking perfection that still they wander
beneath the unconditional facade of hope
she erected. Which she built to stave off
the slowly descending certainty of gloom.

And though there are times she can barely
convince herself to play, she does. And in
so doing she becomes that which she knows
herself to be. An essence of sound. A tool
of artistic performance that lifts her above
the petty tortures of mortal existence, into a
space only she can see, and feel, and be.

Just be.

By: Highland

Copyright GJB aka Highland
All Rights Reserved