Tag: jeremiah ray literature

the plum

i have misunderstood

the plum

something so simple

something often overlooked

we feed each other slices

of sweet

ripe fruit

collecting the juice

with our tongues

and sucking out the flavor

from our lips

we taste both the fruit

and each other’s skin

this is our language

words don’t work for us

it feels primal

it feels perfect

this is all we want

sticky fingers and lips

and the pit we leave behind

ink

i dreamed last night.

i couldn’t find my pen.

wait, that’s not quite right.

i didn’t really lose it.

it was just hiding from me.

that’s different.

i couldn’t write anything.

my fingers felt tangled.

and without it,

nothing made sense

at all.

maybe this sounds confusing.

but it isn’t.

in my dream, i woke up

and saw the pen

was in my bed, and it had burst

now i was covered

in thick ink

that flowed over my body

and eventually into my mouth.

when i tried to speak,

i gurgled

and jumbled

and tangled thoughts

spilled out of my mouth.

time

This is time.
Cedar shingles
tell the story of seasons,
weathered and gray.
an unasked question.
a hint of passion
left unresolved.
Time heals
in scattered pieces.
Small fragments
of a face
once kissed and
now forgotten.
Time is a name,
one called out
in a dream
and unanswered in
waking life.
This is time.
a boy full of innocence
becoming a man
far too soon,
holding steady,
offering shelter,
holding words.
Time hasn’t moved,
only the distance
from my fingertips
to yours,
from my mouth
to your body.
This is time.
a face
aged by life,
wrinkled and worn,
with eyes
that burn with
fearful intensity.
a gift given by time,
Only by time.

unseen

you are gone,

time cannot hold on to what it once held.

you’ve seen this before,

somewhere

we were together here,

just like lovers are,

unseen by anyone.

you drift away,

lost in dreams.

gone

but time still brings you back.

lovers remain in time,

in dreams.

memories still kept close.

you and i,

lovers kept in time.

to the heavens

i woke up to blue skies

and noticed how gently everything moved

as the pine trees swayed

out on the horizon.

my tea is black

rich and strong

i try to sip it slowly

the mug is hot

against my lips

i do not remember

if yesterday was the same

or if the day before

was any different

now, i’m not sure

if it even matters

today the sky is blue

tomorrow it might be

dark gray all the way to the horizon

and when the gray

stretches on and on without

any definition

i’ll remind myself it doesn’t matter

and that tomorrow

it might be deep cerulean

endless from the earth

to the heavens

 

a word

When I was a child, I copied
the way you moved
and I would ask,
What should I call you?

I tried to find
a word I hadn’t
learned yet,

a word beyond
what a child could understand.
It was something unfamiliar,

Now, as an adult, I still
find myself asking,
What should I call you?

There are no gestures now.
I don’t understand
That’s what it means to grow older.

This is a shadow,
and this, too,
is part of life.

the lilac tree

the lilac tree

is ready once more

with blossoms almost here

about to bloom

and last year’s buds

are now just reminders

turned inward on themselves

this is how nature

teaches us to move on

shows us that

we have to accept

with time

we also need to let go

in time

of every season

and their memories

only a lilac tree

could

show us this

with such bold defiance

with such gentle grace