waiting: (to want)

 

 

i.

the chair faces a corner
where I sit and contemplate the crack.
to live I am made to work,
so I am not going to satisfy them by saving it.
   -I'm not going to savor it either.

I am a sieve. a holey device in transition.
only the thick will remain after the passing.
I am a crack in the sieve.

I'll spend it as I get it
   -so it may run out.
I will starve to death, for life,
but at least I will keep busy starving.

I cannot just sit.
I'll feed those trying to make me run out.
   -they are everywhere and proud.

they are not going to die. they think.
we must all buy.
   -we must all sign in ink.


ii.

the work space I am in is holding back
my mind which wants to become a rainbow.
this inadequate freedom.

rainbows are slow and crawl along slowly.

I know I can be forever here.
you understand that. it is disciplined imagination.
it is saying "yes".

this forever is a memory of the future.
in this place, if I blink once, I've crawled along.
time has flown away.

they are not going to die, they think.
we must all buy.
   -we must all sign in ink.


iii.

I want friends
so I can have a reflection without mirrors.

I want to be negative
so others can feel positive.

I want to move quickly thru life
so death will come slower.

I'm starving to death because I can’t say "no".
I want.
I'm sitting here waiting, waiting to blink.

   -waiting to sign in ink.


iv.

I'm waiting to want more.

trying to look like someone - I can find myself.

changing the way I do things - I can be accepted.

ironing my clothes - I can unwrinkle my soul.

working hard - I can have things I don't need.

taking pictures - I can remember things.

cutting my hair - I can wear a smaller hat.

growing old - I can be wiser.

dying - I can avoid rent.

I'm here waiting to blink. We must all sign in ink.


v.

denying I am here to work,
I am trampled by the effects of change.

it cannot wait for me to starve.
I'm on a rainbow moving slowly.
I am the rainbow.

my eyelids are heavy. I'm lacking sleep.
they are nearing a close, about to blink.

they are not going to die. they think.
we must all buy.
   -we must all sign in ink.

Mark David Jordan, 2010

Comfort

Comfort in a

Shadow


As time passed i saw my father
through the more detailed light of thinner eyes,
realizing who he really was and who he had been.

The earth bathes its way into the starlight of the universe
like my father cut a path into the bits of my life.
I did not know it growing up a self-indulgent person,
nor could i have, when the bits of my own life
were scattered.

I did not know him yet, other than as my father.
I could not complete a love until i searched for the end
of the path i myself had chosen.

The soul can hide a curious reality behind one's self-indulgence,
and our reasoning can zigzag through various paths
seeking a better reason, or a shortcut.

My father was a walking path cross-hatched by sunshine and memories.
I cut an enigmatic pattern across the hatches in front and behind.
He did not notice or care.

I pictured my father as in a dream
with a folded heart. arms outstretched, fingers to clasp.
His keen eyesight was overtly hawkish,
steadily pouring love into my tin-can heart.

Behind the minds abstract ideas
a straight stream of conscientiousness lies,
a beacon to the enlightenment from released pressure.
The soft touch of fortitude usually prevails.

I neared the end of my path in expected victory. cheering.
My father as a stone sat on the crest of a hill
his arms reaching like strings attached to the universe.

He whispered from the crest of the hill,
about seeing me unexpectedly on the same path.
My eyes grew thinner from the light rising.
angry. relieved.

My walk was staggered. My father's quiet but steady voice
dropped debris in the way of my walk.
These were spring buds i used to step on,
but now over.

His shadow obscured my path then vanished
and i stumbled off the way, finding myself at a rock
I sat. Heart open, arms stretching, fingers clasped.

Mark David Jordan, 2010

Squirrel

Squirrel

& I

In the fall and early winter months
A squirrel wonders near our back steps
To retrieve the peanuts we leave,
  So routine for him he thinks they grow there.

They are in the shell still,
  So he works very diligently
  To get to the goodies of that single peanut.
Simple movements efficient at the ancient task.

On hind end turning it about
  It is precious gift of a ball given to a rugby player.
The only thing to concentrate on
Except for a head turning so rapidly
To see if a robber is approaching
For other peanuts untouched on the ground.
  He claims them as his own
  During that quick interlude with his fuel.

I spy from the nearby window.
  He does not see me with darting eyes,
  My eyes obscured by concentration
  And outside glare.

He doesn’t even notice the birds nearby
Trying to figure out what benefit they can get.

I am on one side of the glass, he is on the other.
  These worlds are different.
In a brief lonely space of glass
I glimpse my own ghostly reflection.

I thrive on the single brief moments
Of interaction with my children.
  This makes me somebody on one side of the glare.

The squirrel looks up.
  I and the squirrel are somebody.

Mark David Jordan, 2010

Life in the, Cold

Alone
  i almost died while you were gone

Certain things happened
  that overtook my life

You were not there to stop them
  i didn’t have a care

I was in a bleak mood
  that struck me every hour

I was floating around my room
Contemplating singularity
  i was possessed by a shadow I called doom

It followed me from corner to corner
  it asked me why I had not marked the hour

I told it this simple fact
  the shadow that had no mind

The coldness of life is death
 the warmth of life is life

Live life to avoid the cold

Mark David Jordan, 2010

Love Poem #2


Did you kiss her?
  i did kiss her.

Did her skin touch yours?
  our skin did touch.

Were you fed by her?
  i ate of food and breast.

Was her mind given to you?
  i shivered when we met.

Did she call your name?
  i heard my name.

Did you recall a dream?
  i thought in contemplation once.

But did you kiss her?
  our lips brushed.

How did you talk?
  our knowledge was silence.

How did time pass?
  i sat still on the kitchen chair.

She asked for divorce in a bathroom?
  i pissed in a public stall.

Once she was somebody. I was somebody.
  she became somebody else.

Mark David Jordan, 2007

What Does Love Give?

What does love give in return for itself?
A thorough piercing of the heart
Or a slow mend to a previous wound?
What reward awaits the eager traveler
On the road to love?

Love can be
Pity united with meaning.
Stinging to faith.
Naturally weighty in its burden.
Deep Red in its reward
or light blue in its touch.

Clouded with doubt yet merciless
Love may be given as an afterthought to seduction.
But this is corrupted seduction
And not the achievement of great thought.
The love returned from seduction is sensual.

Is love a reward for passions
Struggling with the senses?
Passion is in a tug-of-war with long-term love
Because of their differences.
They exist together in a parallel bond or
Perpendicular lines.

Raindrops are love-like
Spreading dewy tentacles as they hit
The concrete and join together
Running down a slope
To form a larger pliable puddle.

Lust and love are ferocious combatants.
Lust is stronger, inconceivable, innocent and free.
Lust has more resources but they deplete easily.
Love wins.
It is a fearless steady arrow without drag.

Love is a permissible achievement
That travels on a plateau.
It seeks to be apart from Passion and lust.
It weakens the knees and normalizes the strong.
Unbent to your will it can cause pain.

But unyielding resourcefulness is what is given
In return.

Mark David Jordan, 1995, Revised 2010

Beauty of Calm

The priority of a motionless evening can exceed
The ability to accomplish anything.
With this idea in mind and action pending,
We proceed to sit quietly,
Last bird song and warm squares of light on the sofa.
We are in a living Seurat.
Our eyes glazed more with every slow breath.

This comfort dims darker moments of the day.
Dimming the dark makes it darker,
But less realism doesn't come without reservation.
Without the darker moments
We would have nothing to beseech calm.

Creating a calm with obligations pending
Is a heavy feeling of lightness.
Forced lightness can be a viable method to change.
Reality.
We can be elsewhere whenever we want.

It is with chaotic disorder that calm is present
As we relax, sitting or lying. Nightfall is eminent.
We glass over the days events and forgive loved ones.
Rejuvenation feeds us. Probability evades us.

The essence of calm is the pleasure,
Not the body's limp state. For a body is a body.
To love without the body present is calm.

This is love beyond the chance to conceive
Love is for this. Time is against this.
Yet time must give birth
To the inevitable memories forcing us to love.

We are reposing with a purpose. We sit quietly.
The bucolic evening pierces us
In a different place than the day did,
Taming us and regrouping our life,
Giving us the ability to accomplish everything.
Giving instead of getting.

Mark, 1995, revised 2010

Speak Love Speak

Unfettered and not tethered
Love cannot be controlled,
Nor see itself in its own sticky freeness.
It may exist unchecked and forever powerful.
It carries uncatchable secrets.
Love may be on the verge of dissipating
Yet not give up its meaning.

I heard love speak:
Summon me from the cliff edge when you see me.
Wake from the confluence of dreams when you feel me.
Come in from bitter wind when my meaning is to be.

Love is unattached, surrounding, un-accumulating
and quickly passed on.

Once I was summoned at the edge of the cliff
Love called and embraced me,
This warm encompassing womb.
This was my archway to go between two free paradises.
When tired of freeness I could return
Surrounded by the womb.
A slow clutching hold on happiness.

This was delirious love for me.
The exposed and expanding comfort of love.
I passed on its happiness
And instead brandished my soul.

Love is unattached, surrounding, un-amalgamating
And quickly passed on.

I heard love say:
Eyes do not easily give up information
Unless one's soul has been swept away by love.
Unfettered love I cannot see.
But revealed love is a captured soul I am free of.

Mark, 1995, revised 2010

Teenage Spring Evolution

In the late afternoon of a spring day,
School out, I lay on my bed. My temporary reality.
Taking a break from the accumulation of social stress.

In and out of a somniative state I would hear birds.
Mocking birds with their comprehensive repertoire.
Eastern Blue birds with a delicate lighter tone.

The faint collapse of rose branches against a window.
The breeze through a dusty screen,
Rustling against my exposed motionless finger tips.

In the distance I could hear
Two large wild cherry trees. The
Leaves rubbing back and forth.

This symphony of sound would propagate
Into my light sleeping state.
The leaves clinging onto what life was left.

Fading in and out of sleep I
Dreamed of distant memories of the day
And the day before. They came with ease.

The future was near and far.
I thought of a time with friends who would be gone
Someday. I thought of early crushes.

Girls who liked me or I might imagine they did.
Nature was a lullaby and a reminder.
How good childhood felt.

I did not think of spring as having a beginning and end.
It was a minute that borrowed vestiges of my day
And laid a warm path of this light across my chest.

I awoke to a fit of supper smells and time.
I was stifled awake in confusion. Voices.
It felt like life would better fit into tomorrow now.

Spring sounds and air rearranged my sleep.
My soul changed, temporarily refreshed.
In the afternoon on a tepid day I lay.
Awake in a typical position.

Mark, 1996

A Gap of Air

The air once widened into a gap
Is where shadow is lost to light
It is through that crack walked my love
Purposeful and imaginary stealth
My sight centered on her

I glanced skyward then in thought
Where shadowy clouds parted my mind's sky
The crease of grey clearly defined against white
The grass beneath me to either side felt soft
On this trail I stood

As in all trail ends
There is the path that comes before it
A walk from beginning to end
Unique and personal for each
I stood still now for this instant on firm dirt
This one spot on the path
My spot

My eyes closed gradually in quick slumber
The restful blackness visible
I lay down on my spot
This new love lay down beside me
Time flowed across the gap between us
Her hair flowing across my blind vision
Sensitive smell sensed perfume on her lips

You and I, both clearly in this path's space
The gap of air untouchable but there
A whisper of movement from you I felt
The clear soft skin unmistakable and fresh
Arms length away you were in the blankness of time
My own time

Your eyes were visible to me
Only like an old canvass in a dark attic
Like circular rainbows
Spotlighted from a sunbeam
Peaking through a crack in the wall

I watched your hair turn slowly to a fresh spot
A wave of lush love rippled down my skin
And was gone just as suddenly
Yes you were alive I know
The crease of grey clearly defined against white
The unbleached fragment in a wink

This is where the deep hidden temperature I felt came from
The restful detail left on this path's spot
Where once I lay encumbered in love
Gaps left covering the true condition of my heart

Mark, 2010

Clutter

I have too much cluttering my mind

The list never ends

Take the kids here and there, just for fun

Remember this technical detail for work

Start a home business

Can't get my computer to work right

What is my debit card number?

Car due for inspection

Another PTO meeting

Don't forget to pay the bills

Washing machine just broke

Add an item to the household budget

Help the kids with homework

Can't remember basic math

Cell phone is ringing

Make plans for the next vacation

Eat

Watch TV

Forgot my password

Got to the machine and my mind went blank

Got half way up the stairs and my mind went blank

What was I going upstairs for?

Clean the house

I thought we were to be hunters and gatherers?

Pardon me while I go sit on the toilet

Peace at last

Mark, 1999

Material Burdens

A homeless thief picked my pocket today

As I was wandering a crowded sidewalk fray
To remove my lottery ticket apparently so
Since the pocket he picked was light on doe
Was it I the burden should have won
Or will the criminal now win the sum

Later I view his image on the news at ten
Very boldly does he speak to friends
Informing the down and out how rich life is grand
Unaware of his joyous burden at hand

His logic is a mere tenuous trick
Pride enormous swelling his head thick
A 20 room mansion he buys at the beach
Unknown friends come around to leech

His mind is taking him places with no trouble at all
He's so high in the sky there is no place to fall
The news announces he is part of the jet set
But the antithesis of money is undoubtedly debt

My life rings clear my time here saved
The money trail is a path better left unpaved
The thief had relieved me of a heavy tow
There is still a field to plow and wheat to sow
For god has given man strong hands for labor
And not for trading in the ungodly colored paper

But Still, while lying on the earth in repose
I jealously wait and listen in silence
For joyous yelling of some sort in the distance
Of my ship to come in loaded with gold
Of the nature of my soul to turn around and be sold

Instead I hear bees begging at the dandelions so sweet
The wind pushing dropped cherry tree leaves on top of me
The blades of grass rubbing together in a song
The noise of a train whistle in the thick air lingering long

In quiet contemplation I think as I doze
Today as the wealthy lottery ticket owner I posed
But I am rich with family, a lover and friends
This is solid material and not pretend

Now the thief's burden is the wealth I supposed
Rich with new comfortable slumber I begin
Here I rest wanton for burdens naught again
Nor the vines of pain and misery it grows

Mark, 2010

Ring of Memories

The ring of memories is a pure belief in something
For a life which has its limits and technicalities
These surrounded my heart in uneven love
But comfortable love none the less

Memories born and exist from the Will…

Is this body real or am I nothing?
Do I exist as an entity in space and time
Or only as memories bending to the subconscious assumptions

Each beat of my heart creates sweat leaking from my pores
My mind's eye sees neither truth nor lies
This is just life leaking from the ring of memories

Memories born and exist from the Will…

Life filled to the brim has squeezed my heart tight
Trying to squeeze love from a stale lemon
An over-watered life dripping into the overflow

But squeeze and leak it can try
Emptiness on one end brings fullness on the other
The greatness of the psyche ebbs and flows with time

This body lies pure in a time with limits
Changing only when needed or desired
The Will stabbing its fair pain on occasion

All memories live and exist from the Will…

Mark, 2010

Be Tender to Love

Be not cruel to the Notion of Love

Nor, when found, let it fly off
Like rain rebounding from a hard ground

For tender are the words of love
When love is spoken in truth
That they remain steady on closed lips
Descending on the recipients breath
Seeping through those closed doors slowly

Confined to ferment

Hold tight to your chest the Notion of Love
Like a needle holds the pine tree up
When winds decide to tempt it to fall
Into the mire of used needles below

Do not become the hand of a love tyrant
Through life, love seeks cuddling warmth
Spoken too loudly, words of love
Will push tender air into an echoic refrain
Spoken too softly, the unsure words will fade

The idea of love is a kind friend
To hold hands with in gentleness
To an aching heart it foreshadows resentment
With a solemn soul at peace it is contentment

Leave your heart open as a receptive place
For Notions of Love to flow in and out
And to provide a soft spot for it to rest

Slumbering in its essence

Wonton love left floating alone in air
Will find the nearest spot for attraction
But leave the inactive participant alone
Loveless and fallen

Mark, 2010

Winter at the End of the Journey

Hours whisked away, the year's journey nears an end

The clock ticks even more quickly its urgent message to send
Unused last remnants of our yearly desires soon depart
A new list of wishes penned in the mind to start

Time stands still for no man at this late hour
Urgent memories soon lost dim, faded to sour
Days quicken down sunrise to sunset
Actions stalled in time turn to regret

Winters whispering white snow fall soon descends
Trees to grow heavy toward black ground bend
Cleansing deep earth of rot and rust
In its pristine white carpet defilement free we trust

Cold window air against the skin a near bitter delight
Time waiting at parted curtain for ray of warm sunlight
A staunch look of daydream turned to stare
Dust and ideas set free into the clean fresh air

The distance seems daunting from winter to spring
But starry daydreams of youth a moment of joy brings
The ground crisp with frost its winter coat does wait
A green grass grows alone still unaware of its fate

Minutes, hours and seconds pass quickly unseen
As the old year closes and the new one sets in
Fresh cheer for renewed energy the Earth beckons forth
All souls faded clean by winds from the north

Time stands still for no man lest it mend
New man reformed with bright sun behind him
Old dust nearly settles to form new hard clay
Winter arms of air surrounding a reborn day

Mark, 2007

Want, Need

Need and want comingle.
They become blurred together
when perception is left to the senses.

Don't let me perceive her, this one,
as needing my help. Then
I will love her eventually.
That would mean no chance for others
to come along. Make life interesting.
Especially other used women
who would be so easy to take care of and
not bother my senses.
A love life devoid of love and pain.

I tried before to find someone.
This someone I wanted was whole.
They did not like me since I
was the one now. I was the one who
needed help and that became my unattractive
weakness.

So I was caught in a game of needing help
or helping the needy. Unsure and
never fully giving my true self.
I sold myself as the giver.
I sold myself as the taker.
I sold myself to the unsuspecting
who didn't realize they needed me
to fall in love as much as I needed to be in love.

Mark, November 2006

Duck Flight

I saw a flock of ducks
fly past. I wondered the other day.
They cut a dotted shadow across a wide dawn sky.
A line from a black and white cut out.

I wondered if the last duck
wondered why he was last.

Maybe that duck is saying something else.
Maybe saying "I will take my time, while you others rush".
Rush from one place of waiting to the next.

Perhaps the last duck is old. Wiser.
Leisurely enjoying sites that he missed before.
When he was in the lead.
Or maybe he is just struggling to keep up.

It was obvious that all the ducks were intent.
Intent on a final destination for food and shelter.
All wanted to enjoy a rich history of to and fro.
A hearty meal.
Elders might be allowed to eat first.

But the elders were at the end.
The end of the dotted line cutting a shadow.
Thinking.
The last shall be first and the first last.

Mark, 1996

Lit, Burn, Forget

The People you meet
The short relationship from a perpendicular line

It was the match you lit last week
Giving off a light in the bathroom

An immediate sensation backed by years of experience

The smoke swirled away like dust caught in the updraft
You felt it causing heat and sensed you were part

It burnt chemicals in the air to work right

This was a real thing that you touched
A thing that set nerve endings to warm
Set your mind to contemplating its fate

You were touching it; it was real and existed

For a brief moment all you thought about
Was this amusement to the eye

Then after the flame and heat died in a blink
A flick of the wrist and in the trash

You did not think about it the next day
Did not dwell or consider its life after

It existed for this brief space as a thing
The brief friendship of two things

It burnt chemicals in the air to work right

Mark, 2010

Concave

Me, it's me in the mirror.
What are you looking at so strangely?

Me, looking at myself in the mirror?
When you you
You are the reflection of all that is wrong.

Your mind ready to fornicate on command.
The coded gene life you have.
The open black book dressed for success.

Why are you staring at your deep eye sockets
in the mirror? Now.
You are walking away.
Walking closer to the source of the reflection.

This is part of a long history of cancellations.
You and time don't mix.
Stare at the prospect of endless you.

Here you stand looking past me
at all the others like you.
This is like stretching an inch of happiness
into a brainstorm of activity. When?
All you are is a link in the action.

Why are you looking at tomorrow's someone
when you have subtly approved it already?
You donated data for the whole
and then exchanged remorseful glances.

You are apt to expire just when
turning the calendar to the next day's date
before the current day is finished. You.
Forget what's in the mirror as only a reflection.

This is you with face lit in the mirror
from a light to one side.

Mark, 1990