flicking lit matches at the dark sky
summer storms like old man poems come so easily these days, each line written is through tears. sleep doesn’t happen too often, i could blame the kids but that isn’t fair, it’s my thoughts, it’s these poems and not poems. drunkenness lost its appeal, the drinks are rarely poured and the bar tab has long been paid. memories fade like book pages, the ink no longer holds. i don’t recognize my hands i don’t recognize my face i don’t recognize these streets memories fade like book pages, the ink no longer holds.
scarborough
with ink-stained fingers i trace pale shadows and shake glass at night time clouds. every highway looks the same. these days it’s harder to get the old gang back together. all my friends are depressed and drunk, we all talk suicide and laugh it off while glancing downward at rough floorboards soaked in fears. there is such sadness behind my eyes that will never be seen in sunlight, that will never be shared in these poems. i write poetry for the same reason i go to bars, because i am lonely. i count mistakes more than praise. i sing misfortune more than success. when the creek runs dry, poetry will die and i will die. these days every highway looks the same. these words serve a purpose…
september poem
prayers for wings go unanswered, there is not enough rain here snow burns my cheek ice becomes my life the fire inside my chest dies each year, july keeps getting colder and colder i no longer wish wings, just black nights and cool rain to wash everything away, to wash everything away.
Tohm Bakelas is a social worker in a psychiatric hospital. He was born in New Jersey, resides there, and will die there. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, zines, and online publications. He has published 17 chapbooks and 2 collections. He runs Between Shadows Press. http://tohmbakelaspoetry.wordpress.com
The Pine Cone Review 