Morning Affinity

Low level hum of the fan in here, the day looks sparse- wide open,

under sheets and cool air.

Theorize and project, but I’m not there. Something tickles my throat,

feeling fortunate to be anywhere.

Anyplace but the past, left to broken down pastures, now tall fields of grass.

Nothing sings like waking to a new day, the hum, background noise.

The morning dew, a life to renew, somewhere above ground

between the rough edges left behind, silver lined persistent, and the new found gravity I’ve found.

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The House of Altogether Nothing & Other poems by Jan Sand

Poethead; a poetry blog

The House of Altogether Nothing

The countryside in which it stands
Is broken with large jagged rocks.
Its trees are dark, from northern lands,
Whose branches scratch the sky; boney bough knocks
One against the other. Cold winds finger through
Odd strands of captured human hair,
Torn newspaper strips look as if they grew
Amongst the leaves to bleakly declare
Of violence and despair. Black groves smell
Of damp decay. They display white fungoid growth
Through which black insects grope, explore a shell
Deserted by a snail that caps its glowing trail. One is loathe
To venture near this place of threats
But winding through dead leaves, broken rubble
Is the path where stumble those, full of regrets,
Replete with fears, burdened with trouble,
Pass to reach the house. Its peaks and walls
Assault the sky like a cataclysmic scream,
Intertwined grotesqueries that captures and enthralls
Those destined to drop…

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bi•lat•er•al

I almost got used to missing you.
Almost never gets it done, the trade-off is love:
the dig your heels in the earth kind, revolting against the sky-
your body taken miles from here,
but never the mind.
How my heart aches without you, nothing you get used to,
and I’m glad it’s temporary.

This is like a film splotched up on screen,
played out like so much Hollywood sheen.
Watching Before Sunset alone, and the reminders and cues,
our first silent pauses and what followed afterwards.
The subtle, not stark, revealing, black gives way to blue.
You don’t easily forge ground that holds no foothold on uncharted lands,
long trails that remain hush no matter how many people clutter backroads from backhand.
It was always you and me, and that’s how it will be.
Your goodbye, only temporary.