Heart and Heart

Eyes close take a deep breath
deep breath through the nose slow inhale
never letting go never letting go
filling the lungs filling the emptiness
in hallowed walls muted color soaked sanitized
lack of smell
lack of individuality
lack of who I am
color soaked sanitized

Form A form B circle one cross out one two
all the others the others that don’t apply
what does apply when the chest rises and doesn’t fall
what applies when you are shuffled in different directions
more questions more questions more questions
answers come to slow answers drift into the abyss
or they never come at all they hang in mind air
eyes close and I ask the cosmos I ask the goddess
will I ever see you again
will I ever feel you again
I drift away deep out of body drift and dreams

A nonsensical arbitrary paper trail
the imperial order of a healthcare hierarchy
that moves in white lab coats and clip boards
that holds an oath to do no harm to do no harm
I drift in and out now and then lights flash I drift
I drift away deep out of body drift and dreams

My hand on your chest your hand on mine heart beats
my love my love I hold your gentle heart in memories deep
I count each beat I drift out of body drift and dreams
you reach inside my chest my heart in your hands
you count each beat you whisper as I drift
you whisper my name you hold my heart
it’s not my time you let go I drift out of body
dream twist you let go another time love another time…

©2017 TrilbyYates

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Pull the Trigger

Yea, I can’t quite shake the dreams that haunt me
those images that play out slowly drag on
black and white as if from another time
another sliver between now and then
a wedge between the past and the present
moving forward is a monumental task
and I’m spent man worn to the bone
sitting at a bar lifting a shot bartender’s special poison
like a gun to my head a little voice is whispering
pull the trigger
pull the trigger
but instead I wipe the sweat from my brow
hesitantly thankful for the distraction this time
it’s too warm in here the fan is stuck in repeat mode circulating a stale breeze and thoughts that don’t drift
hover like a helium balloon without the party high
they remain hyper focused details small minute
details – smell, senses, hot, cold, wet, dry, etc, etc…
old song mist the street I used to live on, lived on
searching for salvation self forgiveness God
and failing continually failing
shuffle buzzed stepping down a boardwalk
roaming around pinball wizard arcade
lights flash and maybe just maybe
I can call this hole in the wall, home.

©2017 TrilbyYates

Black Balloon

I fill my room with black balloons
helium high keeps me up at night
but that’s the least of my worries
and I have few in comparison
to years ago when I dreaded
the rise of the sun…or its setting

The clouds hang low every now and then
And off in the distance there is a haze
that can’t or won’t burn off for days and days
My personal prison wistfully floating
…and self-imposed
Familiar or not – it’s just my way
…reluctantly, I suppose
and I’m not sure how I ended black balloons shadows blended

The days slip by; the weekends turn around so fast
its remnants never leave they always stay
and wont resolve themselves until it’s far too late
so I continue to sleep walk night into day
I never see the sun set on the horizon anymore
because I can’t find the time to sit…or wait

Dreams fall short when purpose and angst
have met their match twisted ribbons I do adore
black balloons begin to fall leaving nothing
but latex shadows on the floor

Point of contention I do recall
this was never about you at all
This was never about you
and the dragons that you have slain
or the demons that sleep comfortably in my bed
and childhood pranksters do remain
…and black balloons shimmer in the night
drifting gently sweet-one as they dance with delight

©2017 TrilbyYates

Thread

Hanging on by a single thread silk woven bare bones
And you ask why I don’t cry or why I sleep walk instead
Of resting dream like in my bed and all I can think about is how my hands ache
Every time I walk past a grave site with granite stone shining bright
There is nothing left to say
I’m hanging on by a single thread silk woven bare bones

There is a line
Sometimes it’s in the sand
Sometimes it’s moral and won’t be crossed
Sometimes it’s blood, family, generations
A line by any other name is still a line
Tomorrow we say goodbye
Tomorrow we confirm within ritual our final goodbyes
A bloodline family a generation
Tomorrow we say goodbye and we never ever forget
It is family
It is a bloodline
It is a generation
A single thread

©2017 TrilbyYates

Crowed Room

Wine filled fluted glasses crystal cut with precise intention captures the essence of light introspective reflection of the heart and soul once a year – I take pause, it is a continuous process; the potential has no ending

Candles flicker sparks fly a room filled with joy and laughter prompted by the holiday high but off in the shadows prosperity is an illusion fading in and out – I take a deep breath to ease my discomfort; invasive anticipation angst fish out of water mentality

Music shimmers with sweetness harp player blows like a winter wind memorializes Brown, Cotton, Horton, Terry, Walter, Wolf another toast is made in honor of those no longer with us – I weep and smile at your angelic image conjured with ease; a private moment in a crowed room

© 2016 TrilbyYates

First Snow In The City

She stood still, cold wind blows, bare hands shaking eyes wide as the news translates from doom and gloom to Christmas cheer; she would sing if she could. Tangled web of high ratings money flows in an upward motion…there is no downward trickle in her neighborhood.

A few blocks tourists know a magical place to let reality go – peering through the windows Lord & Taylor, Macy’s, Saks Fifth Avenue, Bloomingdales, Henri Bendel, Barneys New York, Lincoln Center and Bryant Park a kiss waiting under the mistletoe!

Large glistening silver balls hanging in the windows and when the sun shines through a subtle spark of blinding light is carefully aimed at me and you. Perfection in a repetitive pattern behind every shade of red and blue the ultimate psychologically calculated marketing plan – reach into your wallet Mr. & Mrs. Who knows Who.

The ice meticulous zamboni stroll caretaker Rockefeller Center shave and sweep imperfections away there is nothing beneath the surface. The holiday songs are a familiar call ice skating within the directed safe boundaries of a well choreographed holiday dance for all.

West side 79th Street boat basin dock leads out into the frozen waters of the river tide. The Henry Hudson is bitter cold yet allows the imagination to float to a space and time of simplicity as history is told. A tale of harder days with ribbons and bows. Memories fill the mind, eyes close wishing for peaceful revery as a warm blanket falls within the purity of the first city’s winter snow.

© 2016 TrilbyYates

‘ Tis The Season

‘Tis the season for holiday cheer
for some it’s an innate time of dread
some glow from head to toe
count down to that momentous day
when the path of kings and gods alike collided
a child born a story told
carrying more than a few of the die harden
Old Testament New Testament
King James elegant English word stirring
emotion provoking version bible toting
faithful from the depths of Mother Earth
places unknown but alas capturing
the hearts and imaginations
generation after generation
war after war
century after century
oppression
regression
suppression
domination
subjugation
supremacy
ascendancy
blood shed…
countless numbers cherish and pray
to whom they have tenderly named
God Jehovah Yahweh
as their anointed and holy one ~
…yet the battle
still rages on and on
who are those chosen few
that will eventually rise above
the rest with wings of gold
and harps strum by feathered wings
of baby angels
we maintain our right to walk the path
of the glorious with the burden of
a self proclaimed hierarchy
…attempting to listen
comprehend without a judgmental
mindset weapon held tightly in hand
I continue to wonder in amazement
how one maintains sustains
faith unquestionably…

Holiday festive gatherings with family and friends Christmas tree and candle light twinkle red blue yellow the smell of evergreen and spice such a magical sight snow flakes if we are fortunate will fall from the sky setting the tone blanketing the world in white symbolic of peace and hope as we wait for the events once again to occur on this the most holy of nights…

© 2016 TrilbyYates

Christmas Songs

Tis the season, yes, tis the season
for joy, strength, purity of heart, purity of faith
unity in family, friends old and new
sharing and giving unconditional love
…yet there is a distance in the feel
of the Christmas songs
– at least for me
a detached sense of how blessed
we are all supposed to be
when the world is exploding
walls going up, fear and hate soaring
the eagles fly high – the eagle flies alone
and the baby’s cry and a child’s scream
mother, father, sister, brother
running into harms way instead of into the arms
of someone familiar, someone who shares – the same bloodline
maybe they are not hiding on my street
or bleeding in my city but there is a haunting howl
that penetrates and scars the purity of a holy night
and there is no sleep or restful place in my home
the sounds are loud, the sounds are clear,
deafeningly loud and crystal clear
the cry is there for all to hear – where do I belong
and what if we don’t, what if we tune out
turn up the volume on Christmas songs
drowning out the cries; what if we choose
to remain detached – and distant
wrapped in the warmth, wrapped in the safety
of our own homes; not knowing where I belong
what if we choose to close our hearts,
and block the sounds that are drowning out –
…the Christmas songs

© 2016 TrilbyYates

Safely I…

Morning sun rises in the east pinks and golden light gently wash over sand and sea leaves fall drops of dew glistening with song sea grass bend with ease.

I close my eyes feeling warmth on my skin. Safely I sway.

Branches reaching bare boned fingers of Father Time wisdom pointing to a euphoric sensation touching gingerly treasured within a sequence of knowledge revealed.

I breathe deeply salty air cleanse. Safely I ex-hale.

The voice of an ocean breeze whispers secrets told when the heart opens to the truths of the soul perception is as personal as faith as personal as a heartbeat as personal as cherished memories.

I skip sea-stones bounce counting; 1, 2, 3. Safely I smile.

© TrilbyYates 2016