Another Mourning (7/13/2020). -M.Weisgerber

I woke to a warning, a wandering, a wounded heart reeling, the simple gasp
of a reality settling in - a tinkering of clocks made mantlepiece

shifting upon the dreams, then leaving me to weep upon the real waking, a

realization uncertain now to rise to feet or self or mirror fade, a

cracking upon the harder nights, a creaking of a lonely bed

your coffee grinder riding steadily on.  

You told me to take some steps, love, but you, it was you

who pushed me to the edge of ourselves and what love really true should be 

didn't, wouldn't help - the fringes of our lives, the way such things really need.

I forgot the lessons of the calls from London, the many shouts
between parapets, and the funny ways and lines of your life that simply

had to be.

I've fallen in love, love, with your version of love and who
I needed to be.  Your shame.  Gazing round at times that shouldn't want to breed

I'm wounded in love, love - of the forgotten places we often said we'd visited, but then,

your moving on, pretending as I always will at the better things.

Making them, you up in my mind love, of the timelines we witnessed, circling forever round,

of you and me being better than your subtle hate ever attempted.  There is 

a learning here, and if you ever bear witness to these words I don't think

you'll have any choice but to receive it.  See it.  Hold them dearer than my frame.

So when I wake from this poison I look over, curious what your new name is
what kind scratches are cast upon a page, of a man still bleeding deeply

I forgot the daybreak calling, the wanton breath seeping round.  

The highlight of my night (the woman of my life), here and forever more.
Oh love why do I tread such terrors, when there is only your kind form to

every morn to arise to?  Besides a warming of cold feet, a temper of

a shuddered mind, I find that there is a failing of another kind, a 

taking of the time between the shatters, the visions arising of another

breaking.  A point yet still in need.

So low though I erred before the first plane touched down and have 

time before the next nears, their bodies cant long last upon such twigs

twisting round the hard rungs, brighter than the daybreak sun

Take that louder life, I just yet was a passing moment here, wishing to remain

steadfast and true. 

In this I finally found the Godsong; the why and way to make it work, for your dead
killed in that accident down below my own hands, and

out of your basement I am finally able to be set free.

Fuckery, simple n blue.  

Adieu.  

Fracture this quaking heart.

Adieu.

Thirst Trap (6/03/2020)

Sunday afternoons were our time to shine, at my old place,

at anywhere we could ever and want to be

watching the sun go down over the trees, you

 

falling so deeply in love with anyone other, I

feeling the same amazing presence, something more

that went up as all else seemed collapsing outward, onward.

 

I was slowly in many ways quickly beginning to realize,

that she really would not be there, in good times nor in bad

my corpse would rot, my eyes would fall

 

not just away from her, not just

glance in another direction, down and

my heart would plummet their too, so, no.

 

So why not run; why not beat her to the punch?  The opposite of love!

Didn't listen to the long (I'm hearing now)

Want to care, just want to sing along.

 

These lines would grow, the horror of my actions would spin,

fertile in their own dear right, spinning in the dead of night

(they are old, tried things wheeling, glancing over shoulders)

 

I realized she, we didn't know ourselves.  Needed,

to start with a different form of prayer, to

sing even within our sleep. 

 

We prayed then in our own way, wrote

so much spiritual poetry with bodies, and lives,

thus I doth made her leave.

 

Didn't mean to, never wanted, only needing

to understand, the pain, the many thoughts that 

come with wives, at night. 

 

So its me and the shame, me with another life,

Me and the blade, me by which to keep or toss away,

did a bad job the first time, a better upon the next,

 

I never prayed to God before I boarded that plane, never

asked for forgiveness, or tried finding another way.

So tired now, peaceful love,

 

Look out for those little headlights of yours, worrying darling, worrying

So many things in life to go so wrong

So often to set the only to a song.

 

I wrote much spiritual poetry, yes, now

to write to you.  To write of something more

between the phases of the moon. 

 

Of course I love you babe, a thousand times a thousand loves, these

letters son it never sets on my love, the drinks never they never

kept from the heart, the passion from caring.

 

Oh love, how I want to rip apart the sky.  How I wish

I love you I love you I don’t, couldn't do so anymore

Think I can(t?) say these words enough.

 

Just only wish this went both ways.

Thirsty, always...for something more. 

Hungry soon, morning soon, outside

 

the dark.  

Headlights soon.  Wake then and

soon to be ready.

A Fallow Sound a Coming: a Cry Amongst the Rents (4/8/2020). -M.Weisgerber

A pointe made all of Cedars, yet the smell
of grease, of petrol in the eve, burning bright
as our hearts, our passions rising
I miss the high heights, the passions that we forever held
never saw the forest there, never
cut past the limelight sighing.

Ride that bullet, a magnum falling
the dark closing fast, times coming still
the stars aligned, our
tepid passions spilling out over one another,
excitement growing:
for we were kids then, and
forever children yet will be. 

Will you cry with me in 2012,
weep along with my birthday nearing?
No, they will drag you from some strange park,
a corpse chilling on chill June eve,
along with my heart, a part of me I'll never know.

They'll beg to know what drives me, they'll
spell the warnings on the sidewalk
spill the wine with the heartache, the heroin
clogging up my arteries,
making life in front of me,
something dangerous, and yet
never yet will be. 

So cry with me, the women that will never understand
pray with me, a heart that cannot process, cannot
become one beside the land.
For there is a strange ghost coming yet to claim me,
a fire burning bright, still lie there in front of me. 
Done tonight, and yet never can quite compete. 

There Will Come a Point (3/27/2020). -M.Weisgerber

There will come a point, where I have lived here longer than there,
than with you and that large house, and all the heat festering on the outside.

The crows that wake me here every morn, it was
the thick of the treated air, the cold you desired that shook me

the lack of traffic and the utter stillness at your place,
the utter loveliness by which you in mornings did do up your face.

Your gentle kindness, always being a reminder
that something more approaches, it was always coming. 

Down the aisle, up the drive - it was always something seen
by you, sometimes I (not always I). 

For it was, is, still will remain a sweltering climate,
All brambles, and twigs, and an occasionally unkempt yard.

I wish I had accomplished more, for my mind now dwells
in the roaming litany of your halls, the walls too all an echo

of the many things that contain us.

Imagine me, traveling salesman that I, coming up that same drive,
Looking to sell, another number on a chart, when that door opens

The one seeming up high, with windows, and the many creatures looking down,
One girl, now behind me, who was taking out the trash,

just a solitary wife, looking thin, looking
as if all the world is in front of her. 

There is love in that house, and though neither I nor her yet know it,
that door did not open for her, nor me - only best sometimes for the leaving,

I prowling around the basement, her, keeping the same old shop
she ever was and used to be. 

I love those days, though I have had to make them up for myself, I love
the many ways the words now flow out and around to greet you.

May they be a cautionary tale, of a lovestruck man -
this salesman wandering by, if only just to occasionally hold her. 

The Cause Was Blood Loss (3/14/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Here's what happens love, when the gun, the rope, the very sky gets too much,
A mind comprehends, a decade worth of friends
Begins to fade.

I'm tired, love, of listening to the summer day,
Explaining to the layman, journeyman, to anyone passing by
The same tunes: why these things should matter.

They turned the water poison, love,
Shifted all the crappy things we didn't enjoy anyways,
Into something more recessed; banal?

It wasn't supposed to be this way love,
Successes of our fathers should be carrying on
The writing on the wall seeming not
to call us.

You'll cry love, sure, and hate me for what I've done
Blah blah blah - same old feeling that's defined the last few months,
But you'd be weeping anyways, at least now we'll both have

A reason.

For I'm stuck inside a new place,
Where equality reins.
Night as long as day,
tripping up
my mind,
making the cliffside,
tall, restless,
calling.

So reset, love
call upon that higher power,
drift back to the same place where you still think yourself
broken,

I didn't know love, didn't seem to try until the end,
(Forgive me friend, I got there; it mattered)
Finally got to where is, what is
real.

So go  now, throw on your sad songs, go continue all the
Crazy things that make my own trials seem
Trivial.

Like you've done so many times,
Tell yourself your lies,
Like you did from far away
Had to go get me out the way,

(something necessary at the time, I promise, its true)
Like my mind did from itself, love
The temptation of a pulse

(For its pounding away,)

The cause was,
the cause was

(Let it be still)
(Let it be real)
(let me be true)

Hard Sometimes (1/31/2020). -M.Weisgerber..

Its hard sometimes, but my love, shes worth it

Knowing that we arn't alone, seeing these thin streets 

or mighty lanes crammed thick along 

with so many voices, so many strong tales of overcoming;

Our time nearing, strong.  

So it's hard sometimes, my love

But each day to carry on feels worth it

Don't turn away, don't give in to the nightless day,

Tarry on, fight still, for we are forever always

Worth it.

Interpretation (Oct 30th, 2019). -M.Weisgerber

First Poem Ever Written To Me:
I'm not the kind of girl you'd write poetry about

I don't have a face you'd go to war for

You wouldn't use soft metaphors to describe me

Or risk your life to win me back

Yet I am like a summer's day,

Scorching and unforgiving, even late into the night

Like a great battle,

I leave a wake of wounded.

Rebuttal (Sad n True),

Yea, battle hardened: I get that.

Pessimistic, and hard headed too

I get it all, fought along with the best of them

Cried along with the rest of them

The laughter piling on

The flailing bodies still flailing, smiling, falling all around.

Fight babe, rail against the coming of the hate

Forgetting, burying the worst of them,

(And me?)

Or at least enough to put the sword a down.

A charnel hate beginning to grow,

that dreaded war amoungst ourselves.

Sing then:

Throw a tune out, to see who hums along.

Sometimes (Sept '19) - M.Weisgerber..

Its hard sometimes, but my love, shes worth it
Knowing that we arn't alone, seeing these thin streets or mighty lanes crammed thick along with
So many voices, so many strong tales of overcoming;
What joy!It's hard sometimes, my love
But each day to tarry on feels worth it.