On a Pier
You're waiting for me
somewhere on a pier
silent in the mist
fog surrounding you
your hands trembling -
how I miss that tremble -
your fingers moving nervously
like knitting needles
flashing in the wind
so palpable so wondrous
and you're waiting for me
I think of you always
and will miss you forever
whatever swept you away
that brusque winter morning
has departed long ago
we never said good-bye
or held hands
there were no final gestures
in a sleepless moment
I thought I saw you
standing near me
looking serious and bewildered
but I know my mind was playing tricks on me
now I can only hope
you hear these words
hear the ache in my voice
the longing that is ceaseless
the words rolling ever so slowly
on that nameless mystical pier
poetryrepairs #245 18.01:001
Eleven years ago, I was standing in
a field surrounded by towering
trees. As on many nights before, I
was taking my dog Scotty for a walk,
and then letting him run loose for a short
time. This particular night he seemed
anxious, restless. He began to howl - a
bloodcurdling, evil bark that shattered
the stillness on that crisp autumn evening.
He seemed to be responding to something
only he could sense and then there was
an enormous floating cloud, a sort of heavy
mist that filled the atmosphere quickly.
Suddenly a spaceship with blinking green
and yellow lights materialized and landed
not so far from where we were. I lost sight
of the dog, just heard him barking wildly in
the distance. A door opened on the spaceship
and a steel gray robotic creature with one red
eye in the middle of its head stepped out. It
was brandishing a silver sword and it was
then when the entire field became engulfed
in an overwhelming darkness.
I was in shock and started to run.
Somehow, even with all this terror
and confusion, I made it home.
Breathless, anxious, fearful, I told
my wife what I'd seen and heard.
She approached me, grabbed my
trembling locked fist, and pried it
open; Scotty's leash fell soundlessly
on the rug. Startled and sobbing,
she shrieked, "Where's Scotty?
What happened to Scotty?"
I had no answer then.
poetryrepairs #245 18.01:001
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