poems in the night

I have been posting to my poetry blog under my real name. Some of the work is new, and some is from the past. I have a lot of material, both good and bad, from the days when I was on the road driving the 18-wheeler (10-4 good buddy). Some things were posted in this blog in the past. Most things are written at night, but sometimes I will take a 15-minute break at work and write something on a sticky note.

I’ve been posting links to the site on Fakebook for my friends to read and maybe give feedback. I don’t think more than a few people see my posts, however, and even fewer people give me any indication they like or dislike my work. I don’t understand how Fakebook promotes shares and links for stupid shit and hides links to original content. I’m disappointed by the lack of reaction from friends and family, but I do get likes and follows from strangers, which makes me happy.

If you are interested, here is the link. I will continue to post more in the future. Let me know what you like and what you don’t.

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tidepools

I saw your picture on Fakebook, loooking slightly windblown in a sweatshirt and jeans, braving the Mendocino weather. You were leaning on a smooth bleached log in the sand, surrounded by friends, enjoying the moment.

That was supposed to be my picture.

I took you and our friends camping on the beach. I showed you the creatures in the tidepools; you got pinched by a crab, and I kissed your hand to make it feel better. We walked up the beach for an hour, and returned closer than before. The group drank and played games by the fire, and I told you this had been the best day we ever spent together. Your deep brown eyes hinted at something more, and later that night we broke through the “friend barrier”. I cooked everyone breakfast, and you surprised the group by giving me a long, full tender kiss; in response to everyone’s stares, you smiled and said “thanks for breakfast.” Best campout ever.

I saw your picture on Fakebook, and but for a twist of fate, I would have been the one behind the lens.

Of course the world moved on, as did our lives, and here we are years later in separate worlds. As tidepools are abandoned by the receding tide, so do the feelings of love, sadness, and missed opportunity become more isolated over time … until one photo brings the flood of memories back again.

fake

I’m holding my head in my hands while trying to work. I can pretend I have a headache. I can fake that.

I’m close to weeping at my desk. I can pretend my allergies are bothering me. I can fake that.

I go home and want to crawl in bed and just be alone. I can pretend I have a migraine. I can fake that.

I am tempted to put my real feelings on Fakebook, but instead I make a witty observation or post a funny picture. I can pretend to be my old self. I can fake that.

I don’t want to live being hopelessly depressed all the time. I wish I would suddenly just cease to live.

I don’t know how to fake that.