Author: Nick

Expiration Dates

I check the first one and I check
The final one; if they're the same
It takes little time to inspect
The others, they're out of the game.
Often we see dates far ahead
Or dates looming, just vaguely near.
Many times it's this very year,
But also there are dates long dead
Which our auguries discover.
Old pharmaka now poisonous,
Lying in wait, danger smothered
Among others where what's transpired 
Few notice in a choice amiss.
Prophecies of our goods expired.

AC Issues

I'm so sorry the AC bit the dust.
Hopefully it's just a water buildup,
Though I fear we may have abused the gust-
Inducer which perhaps may be filled up
From overuse. And you stayed up so late
Washing clothes and towels, all for my sake;
For your help the world sees it fit to bake
You in your own home. As always, your fate
To be left behind while I go to work,
Which in this heat seems rather an escape.
I pray the trio of fans is enough
To lessen the burden of the heat's drape
Upon the sweaty bed of comfort's spite.
With luck, by evening it won't be so rough,
Dad's shop-vac could have it working tonight.

Pre-history

I wonder what it's like to love 
In days history never saw,
To feel without our terms to glove
Emotions impossibly raw
And unrefined. If I should draw
On a letterless connection,
What would be its intimate law?
A look, a subtle detection,
A smile's tender introspection—
Those feelings which birth deep inside
A spirit's true genuflection.
Even before a word was tried,
A submission was made, a prayer 
To feel a touch lighter than air.

Don’t you like to smile?

Don't you like to smile?
You know sometimes it is warranted,
Those times when we can laze a while,
Forget the world's exorbitant 
Amount of stresses and their warring bid
For domination of our psyches.
Slap some nonsense news on my dormant lid,
Tell me a joke to strike ease
Lightly on matchbox nights like these.
Tie a ring of embers around my tongue.
If we're laughing we're using the right keys;
Laughter is how the spirit stays young.
Then, even when we're old, your eyes and lips
Will never cease to make my heart do flips.

Prisoners

It's hard to love a prisoner, I know,
I too was locked away before we met.
The flower shut in a box will still grow,
But not to bloom: its fruit is regret.
I know you can find your freedom yet;
You don't have to change yourself quite so much.
Only give yourself the courage to bet
On your desires without needing to clutch 
Expectations of them. Our kind are such
That define and find our passions in pains
And restrictions; I admit there's a touch
Of attraction to lows, a kink for chains.
If you tie me up, I'll free you for fun.
We're prisoners of what we haven't done.

Would you love me if I were a worm?

"Would you be able to love me still,"
I ask him, "if I were a worm?"
"What do you mean by that, of course I will,"
He says, " I think I'd like you more in turn."
"I'm glad your love for me's so firm,
"But that was not what I was hoping for."
"Then why did you lay it out in such terms?"
"I don't know, I thought the scope would be more
"Assuring me I'm nothing close to a poor,
"Squirming worm," is my confused reply.
"Then you shouldn't give me that open door.
"If you were a worm, it wouldn't change my side:
"Either way you cannot help me escape,
"But I love you in any form or shape."

Come and shake the dust out of your hair

Come and shake the dust out of your hair,
You wallower—even in my dreams—
Take a bit of golden glare
From mine and tie it to the sunbeams
Refracting in your eyepair's blue gleams.
Allow me to rest in your plaintive gaze
While outside the sudden sun shower streams.
Thunder doesn't disrupt the rays,
And sorrow needn't cloud our days.
Light can be produced by sharing a kiss;
Warmth can be fostered together in praise
Of each other's touch and soul-tenderness.
All raindrops splash the shield of our embrace,
My treasure plainly hidden in your face.

Cadmeian Dream

Cadmeian dream where do you hide,
  dream of founding conquerors?
Novel ideas glinting beside
  innovative conjurers;

Narrative man, marionette,
  dance a jig we haven't seen.
Reveal things we'll never forget
  when their forms in shadows lean.

Discovery bright magnetize
  kindred soldiers to a fate
Inspired, driven to strategize
  campaigns toward something great.

Where's the ancient magic now,
  once from caves of numinous
Mystique? What are we to allow
  prophecies so ruinous?

Almost everything is given,
  leading us, fascinated
To the hollow shells we live in:
  blank slates, deracinated.

Almost everything we're burning,
  and we know the fuel won't last.
We're capable of discerning 
  danger but speeding too fast.

What have we left now that we've thrown 
  it all in for knowledge? We
Toil to relearn what we've disowned 
  pursuing technology.

Technology is not what matures
  insights, compassion, or trust;
Rather it's a pipeline for tours 
  of infrastructural rust.

Culture is gone America,
  schizophrenia and ads:
Our tradition generica 
  of attention-seeking fads.

Recognition at any price;
  everything exists to sell
Cult-of-personality heists,
  hallmark of our living hell.

What's authentic and what is not,
  and more importantly—who?
This pre-apocalyptic spot:
  nothing revealed, all on view.

Systems and secrets, sabotage 
  lurking at the rainbow's end
Sculpt from the mists a drab mirage,
  and the powers play pretend.

Or are we the real pretenders,
  gaming life to build a sense
Of importance? We upenders
  who'd shake up our portents' fence?

Flattened, diluted, left to run
  aimlessly, as in a dream 
Whose conditions are cunningly spun 
  for a big business's scheme.

So what are we, and who am I,
  what makes of me a Cadmus?
Why should people rally to my
  ideas of joy and sadness?

Yet Cadmus did know who he was,
  let his nation come from fate;
Clearing my own self-concept's fuzz
  is enough to contemplate.