Archive for the Poetry Category

Brisk & Icy

Dec 1st, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

early morning

jack-o-lanterns dissipate

twinkle lights glow in the dark

love waking up before the sun

———-r-u-n-n-i-n-g———-

music whispers in my ears

nagging thoughts invade

between broken lyrics

—–r-u-n-n-i-n-g—–

heel toe heel toe

through my head

ideas find shape

brisk winds &

icy daydreams

r-u-n-n-i-n-g

Copyright © 2010 N.E. Tasker

Coming Home

Aug 20th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

Tonight, I will be taking a red-eye flight
from Los Angeles to Manchester.
Probably have a couple hours layover
in a U.S. city along the way.
I will be tired from trying (and failing)
to get sleep on the plane.
I will be smelly from walking
around multiple airports
over a span of 12 hours in the same clothes.
I will be restless in an aisle seat, waiting
for my planes to take off and land.
I will be anxious in the stuffy shared air
as my fellow passengers and I tap
our fingers and our feet in anticipation.
We will politely push and shove each other
out of our way like cattle out of a cage.

I will wave my arm and hand in the air and
smile at my mother when she comes
to pick me up from the Manchester airport.
I will hug her and smell her momma smell
and let her arms wrap around my soul.
In late August as we exit
the air conditioned indoors,
I will no doubt be smacked in the face
by the thickest of humid air.
My eyes will feast
on the New Hampshire surroundings,
taking in all the lush greenery
as we drive towards Northwood.
I will delight in seeing
my childhood home in the distance.
We will swiftly approach the outdoor cage
enclosing a Black Lab and
larger-than-life-horse-sized-Chesapeake Bay retriever.
Their tails will wag and
their barks will bite the air.
Hopefully silence will fill the air
as I exit the car and approach the pups
while calling their names.

I will lug my suitcases from the trunk of the car
to the guest room inside.
My bedroom upstairs
will be calling my name as I climb the stairs.
Pink carpet will embrace my feet
when I reach the end of the hallway.
Printed pink hearts and plaid wallpaper
will close in around me.
I will flop on my bed and hear the creaks
I have memorized over the years
from sleeping and tossing and turning.
My arms will open and fall to the side.
My eyes will be blinded by the clang and clatter
of cluttered walls and desks,
bureaus and vanities, closets and shelves.

Inside my childhood room, my closet
is still full of my old clothes
and my mom’s new outfits.
My bureau’s drawers still hide
socks and jeans, pajamas and tank-tops.
I will pull my the stool out
from underneath the vanity.
I will sit and look into the mirror
at my pink surroundings.
I will remember when and where
I got every single trinket and picture
now dressing my walls.

Most of the Elvis memorabilia I collected
all of my life has already been shipped
to my home in California.
I will still take a gander and try to find
something I can bring back with me.
I will prepare a care package for myself,
carefully wrapping figurines and ornaments.
Sitting Indian-style on the floor,
I will sort through my bookshelf.
Removing invaluable pieces of literature
that I need on my bookshelf in California.
I will locate French-to-English dictionaries
to bring on our European vacation.
I will undoubtedly pause to flip
through photo albums, sparking memories
I thought were long gone.

I will kneel in front of the desk
in my childhood room, sliding open drawers
and exploring cubby holes.
Finding things I thought
I would never need, but saved anyway.
Thinking now that I have a use
for these long lost treasures.
I will reach underneath my bed
and pull out clear containers.
They are full of nick-nacks and diaries,
photographs and stuffed animals,
erasers and note pads.
I will try to obey my mother
and find some things to get rid of,
but probably fail and put everything
back in its place.

Copyright © 2010 N.E. Tasker

Light & Red

Aug 19th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

Warm sun
Like rain on my face

Arms open
Collecting yellow rays

Skin burning red
Hair bleaching white

So far away
Hardly spitting distance

One day closer
Six minutes late

Hug a girlfriend
Love her sisterly

Containers and lids
Grasp and salvage

Seal leftover smooches
Dwell on them later

Not over it when
There is nothing left over

Punch sponge
Permeate the deck

Mop up and sop up
Bucket and broom

Let it rain
In the light and day

Bleed blue
Blood red geraniums

Rickrack and lace
Tie it in a bow

Copyright © 2010 N.E. Tasker

Coming Home

Aug 16th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

I will kneel in front of the desk in my childhood room, sliding open drawers and exploring cubby holes.

Finding things I thought I would never need, but saved anyway.

Thinking now that I have a use for these long lost treasures.

I will reach underneath my bed and pull out clear containers.

They are full of nick-nacks and diaries, photographs and stuffed animals, erasers and note pads.

I will try to obey my mother and find some things to get rid of, but probably fail and put everything back in its place.

Ear-splitting & Unsaid

Aug 11th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

You bitch and moan
It makes me want to scream
If you do not like it—change it

Do not sit and wallow in unhappiness
Your negative energy invades
The positive I desperately try to emanate

You can not complain in one breath
Then do nothing about it in the next

You do not have the right
To soil everything around you
I am right here next to you

You think you are venting
Is it really my duty to listen?

You are ruining me
Negativity is now pouring out of me
In the form of whining and sighing

I agreed with your harsh statements
I mirrored your sarcastic tone
Bringing injury to my once happy demeanor

I do not want to erase what we have become
But have to prevent the not-so-distant inevitability
That I am going to snap

The only release I have
Is the pissed-off-poet inside of me
Screaming these words out loud

Copyright © 2010 N.E. Tasker

Coming Home

Aug 9th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

Most of the Elvis memorabilia I collected all of my life has already been shipped to my home in California.

I will still take a gander and try to find something I can bring back with me.

I will prepare a care package for myself, carefully wrapping figurines and ornaments.

Sitting Indian-style on the floor, I will sort through my bookshelf.

Removing invaluable pieces of literature that I need on my bookshelf in California.

I will locate French-to-English dictionaries to bring on our European vacation.

I will undoubtedly pause to flip through photo albums, sparking memories I thought were long gone.

Keep It All Inside

Aug 7th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

dark pictures
broken memories
shoved in a box of wine
organize my fridge
put the milk next to the butter
crusty outlines of water bottles
clear shelves
slide out and wipe clean
chilly air frosts compartments
close the door
keep it all inside

Coming Home

Aug 2nd, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

Inside my childhood room, my closet is still full of my old clothes and my mom’s new outfits.

My bureau’s drawers still hide socks and jeans, pajamas and tank-tops.

I will pull my the stool out from underneath the vanity.

I will sit and look into the mirror at my pink surroundings.

I will remember when and where I got every single trinket and picture now dressing my walls.

Fold the Corner

Jul 30th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

You’re silent and it’s showing
It’s aiming right at you
There’s nothing you can do
To fight this fever, it’s about to break

I want to be nameless like you
Lost in a wordless journal
Pages begging to be inked
Fold the corner, come back later

There’s a sledge hammer in the garage
Drag it by the wooden handle
Hold tight, use both hands
Squeeze, swing away

When the sunlight hits your face
Stare blindly into the beaming rays
Don’t shield your eyes
Carry on with the demolition

Or build something, make them wonder
About the burning need to blister hands
Do not recreate, forge new
Is your mind wide open?

Copyright © 2010 N.E. Tasker

Cool and Balmy

Jul 28th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

From warm bedsheets to hot shower,

body temps drop and jump.

Can’t find a happy medium in this wave of heat

that has suddenly taken hold of Southern California.

I step outside and the morning air is not cool and balmy,

but a sticky 80 degrees.

I can only imagine how hot it is going to be

in five hours when noon rolls around.

In my car, I can not crank the a/c high enough

as my skin surrenders beads of sweat to sticky surroundings.

We waited all winter for summer to step in

and now I wish it would cool down just a little.

The toasty drive to work is accompanied

by violent sunbeams streaming in through the windshield.

No one can focus on the road,

everyone is slamming on their breaks.

The only release is finally exiting the freeway

to enter a chilly parking garage.

The offices upstairs are being pumped full

of conditioned air, waiting for me to enter.

Copyright © 2010 N.E. Tasker

Coming Home

Jul 26th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

I will lug my suitcases from the trunk of the car to the guest room inside.

My bedroom upstairs will be calling my name as I climb the stairs.

Pink carpet will embrace my feet when I reach the end of the hallway.

Printed pink hearts and plaid wallpaper will close in around me.

I will flop on my bed and hear the creaks I have memorized over the years from sleeping and tossing and turning.

My arms will open and fall to the side.

My eyes will be blinded by the clang and clatter of cluttered walls and desks, bureaus and vanities, closets and shelves.

Mountain

Jul 21st, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

It’s like climbing a mountain

So hard to find the words to make it all fit

To make it all sound just right

The terrain gets rockier

My feet start to slide and I just want to stop

I am halfway up the mountain

My limbs fall limp, arms dangle at my sides

I won’t turn around but I need to catch my breath

The tip of the mountain is covered in clouds

My head falls back and stagnant air fills my lungs

The smell of regret stings my brain

It’s a flight of fancy as my feet stab the ground

It starts out slow but then gains pace

The unattainable is fulfilled

I take a brief look at the top of this mountain

Limitless possibilities surround

Marking the end of this climb

Copyright © 2010 N.E. Tasker