Surrender the night

It seems unlikely the easy
path would hold me, this
fit of confusion that swirls
over me like a whirling dervish,
holds no harbor, less a pattern,
opiate release so foreign now.

That I could, somehow, be capable
of collective thought simply regulates
my bewilderment further, like a ‘51
Chevy spinning out of control, I hold
fast, shutter speed slows reaction,
the more stable surroundings diffuse.

Then, when Eddie took the stage
and I was there to egg him on,
he seemed reluctant to make a
splash, I clapped my hands over
my head, my Bic tucked away,
safe in my overcoat pocket.

At 3am life seems less notorious,
sidewalks turn up to greet me,
I list my reasons for living with each
step, it seems unlikely the lint in my
pocket would be considered litter but
I have been accosted for much less.

The drizzle pixilated walkway
reminds me of the media constant,
vying for my attention at any cost,
disappearing as fast as the rain spots,
permanence seems an abstract, fleeting
reminder of my early life, dysfunction
greets me at every corner.

The traffic light blinks yellow,
on, off, on, like slow motion strobe,
just as hypnotic, less chromatic, more
room for pleasure, Lisa once said,
“life is for the living” her razorblade
blood stain left no room for doubt.

I stall at the front door, understanding
this threshold brings reality home, my
front lawn slowly grows up around me,
each star cutting through the overcast
reaffirming my need to keep reality at
bay, if just until daybreak, dream big.

Backstreet Avenue

sparse streetlights glow,
their condensed perimeter
giving way to periods of dark
foreboding spells of loneliness.

slight glimpses of failed dreams
catch the rain passing through
each beam as if to wash away
each broken promise’s reflection.

the tarmac whispers brighter days,
its sheen caught in secondary reflection,
gutter river flow gives motion where
stillness has tried choking resilience.

a single traffic light at the far reaches
announces stop, go, slow as if to beleaguer
the cycle of life, slow, stop, go in radiant
color bursts filling a peaceful night.

a lone breed interrupts the calm, sulking,
head low, hunger overwhelming despair,
hunting curb to curb, in zigzag affair,
a deliberate ritual lost to repetition.

JD Roland is a visual poet and creative writer.
A canvas painter with words. He has been a
singer/song writer for over thirty years.
In 2004 he settled in a small town in southwest
Colorado to begin writing fulltime.

He has self-published one book of poetry
“Beyond the Blue Door”. He has been published
in Ezines – The Blue doodle, World Speak Network,
Helium, and two Anthologies: Satiated Heart and
A World of Love. Graduated from Colorado Institute
of Art in 1991.

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