Whispers of a Rambling Man

Treading Water

J. Michael Ward — Fri, 25 May 2012 12:42:24 +0000

So many shores I can swim to
But instead I float

Speaking of ellipses…

J. Michael Ward — Mon, 21 May 2012 23:35:51 +0000

Please allow this tangential allegory:
I’ve been walking for fifteen weeks
There’s no feeling in my feet
And still I can’t complain
This from a guy who trademarked frowns
And charged those who wore one a royalty
Unemployment and this recession
Made me rich from others’ misfortune
Sadness taxation! Who would’ve thunk it?
Neither a conspiratorial legislator,
Nor a conniving mastermind
Instead, just some guy from the midwest
With a calloused sole

This Peasant Breath

J. Michael Ward — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 13:15:15 +0000

Brisk December
The sky is clear and I can nearly see the stars
If I squint enough
The neighbors are bumping R&B tunes across the street
and hordes of college students arrive
toting 30-packs of mainstream domestic brews
Hypothermic winds whistle through the trees
And finally I exhale

Argonauts

J. Michael Ward — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 02:43:26 +0000

This is the way we run now
The wind at our backs
A carrot before us
Our twisted, lurid bodies
Bent over, lurching
Stumbling, grumbling, aching, churning
Kicking up dirt and grime
Making divots in the ground and assholes of ourselves
God, nothing feels better
Sunshine in our faces
Three sheets to the wind
Sky’s the limit
The world is our oyster
And every hour’s rubbed worn like it’s Saturday
This is the way we run now
In circles
In fields
In dreams in our sleep
And when the sun sets we sprint home to our beds
To our families, to our friends
To everything and life ever after
We run
We run
We run

Sunset Builder

J. Michael Ward — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 03:52:35 +0000

You waited for this moment
Crickets dance and chirp in the dirt
The day holds on
Until you exhale the moon
And scatter the stars with your spit
Another job well done

Until I Reach the Sun

J. Michael Ward — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 23:25:42 +0000

I want to build a rocket.
I want to build the world’s fastest,
highest-flying,
gravity-defying,
motorized,
packed with bells-and-whistles,
space exploration vehicle.
When I strap in,
“oohs” and “ahhs” begin.
Fire rumbles below and lifts me skyward,
into the beyond.
When the smoke dissipates,
and I’m gone,
the rest of you will go back to your day jobs,
your nine-to-five grind,
your suit and tie existence,
your lives without dreams come true.
But you’ll dream of me,
floating in space,
out of jet fuel,
and for once
you’ll wake up
fully rejuvenated.

In Frequencies

J. Michael Ward — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 21:27:51 +0000

I have a voice
It starts deep, way beyond
My lips
And the back of my mouth
Down into my throat
Through my heart, and
Into the very pit
Of my stomach

On most days, it is quiet
Conversational, fluid, and friendly
It tells jokes and pokes fun
Teasing friendly smiling-eyed company

Other days,
It rumbles
My gut swells and tenses
The sound travels
Through every pore, each one
Emits decibels of shrill, coarse, unbridled
Fury

I have a voice
Its memory is long
It keeps secrets, and it knows
My past
And the present
It’s calling

Wet Amends

J. Michael Ward — Tue, 03 Apr 2012 17:13:07 +0000

The scene:
A long, winding road with coniferous trees towering on either side
Fat, slovenly clouds hang overhead, graying with perspiration
A black tunnel, built with bricks and the sweat of men, looms at the end of the S-curved road
You lean in, and it envelopes you
You lean further, and it smothers you
The tunnel ends, and you wake up

Outside, it is raining
People dressed in black hoist black umbrellas high above their heads,
As if to salute your unwavering courage
Wearing your finest threads,
You look up at them,
And they look down at you
They look down on you

A Joy Ride, You Know

J. Michael Ward — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 18:42:40 +0000

The memory is cloudy;
Overcast

The weatherman,
Oh the weatherman,
Calls for 53 and a 40% chance of precipitation

Sandra, my clothes are wet
You cling like burrs to a critter
The top is down
And as the wind whips my face
A night watchman stirs

Seconds later,
Forgiveness

Erosion

J. Michael Ward — Mon, 26 Mar 2012 12:22:42 +0000

Looking across the table
Through the smoke of your cigarette, smoldering
Cloudy, ashen, and gray
Your face is leather
Cracked and scarred and worn from the years

I touch it,
And you disappear