Anything but Dreams

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Anything but Dreams Page 6

by Eric Nixon


  Closing My Eyes

  Playing the songs

  Needing the feeling

  The way it turns me

  The way it makes me

  Feel see believe in all

  The things that I never

  Never knew about ever

  Closing my eyes

  Shutting out everything

  Preferring the blackness

  Covering over the world

  With nothingness listening

  To the music which fills

  Which becomes my world

  Giving me the chill that I

  Know I’d feel sitting here

  Listening to these songs

  Letting the mp3s shuffle

  Their way through my

  Feelings, emotions

  Hearing this now

  Feeling this way

  Seeing nothing

  Wanting more

  Of what I’m in

  All the while

  Knowing that all

  Is good and great

  Knowing that all

  Is well tonight

  I’m not needing

  Or ever wanting

  More than this

  What I have here

  What I feel now

  October 20, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  I closed my eyes and typed.

  Appreciate Perfection

  I’ve learned the hard way

  To recognize and appreciate

  The little things

  The perfect moments

  When you see them

  When you’re in them

  Hit record on the VCR

  Inside my head

  Realize and remember

  The beauty of it all

  At that moment in life

  Savor and swaddle

  And take it all in

  To be replayed forever

  If I don’t

  They’ll always subtlety

  Slip, slide, sneak

  On past my senses

  And be gone

  Without me

  Even realizing it

  And instead of just

  Replaying

  I’ll be trying to be

  Recreating

  Without success

  Because I didn’t

  Appreciate perfection

  When it was here

  In front of me

  In my face

  In my life

  But I learned

  And now I love life

  So much more

  January 19, 2003

  Salem, NH

  I got the idea for this one while eating lunch in the McDonald’s parking lot on Route 28 in Salem, New Hampshire. I was looking at the giant snow bank in front of me and realized in a few months it would be gone. It made me think of how everything in life goes away so you need to learn to appreciate it all while you have it. It’s similar to how I view the seasons. I always have to make an effort to notice that the most perfect days of spring are on hand, or realize that fall foliage is peaking. Otherwise I realize too late and I end up missing and regretting it. I’m very careful to not only see the beauty in all things around me, but also learn to appreciate them while I’m in the midst of their beauty.

  Cautious

  Concerns Voiced

  Concerns voiced

  Inwardly

  So stunningly

  Cowardly, I know

  But there are some things

  Better left unsaid

  Even though later

  I might regret not

  Projecting

  Telling them

  To the person in question

  I’ll be kicking myself

  For keeping them

  In the dark

  When I know I should have

  Lit the light high above

  Their head causing the spark

  Of thinking within

  That maybe this isn’t

  Such a good idea

  But no

  My social mores

  Keeping me less

  Likely to speak out

  To avoid a scene

  Especially one that

  Might demean

  The person I’m trying

  The person I’m hoping

  To eventually help

  January 12, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  The title line of this one was from the notes of another poem I wrote earlier tonight.

  Riding the Red Line

  On the subway

  On a hot summer night

  Riding the Red Line

  Outbound to Alewife

  So is everyone else

  Standing in the packed car

  Staring blankly at the

  Reflections in the window

  Stealing looks every so often

  At the pretty mid-20-something

  Sitting on the seat near me

  Noticing that she is

  Glancing sideways

  At the paper the person

  Next to her is reading

  Well not so much reading

  Since he’s got his eyes

  Looking to the side at

  Someone else behind me

  Everyone is pretending

  To look somewhere neutral

  Everyone is experiencing

  Ulterior motives checking out

  Everyone else around them

  Trying to be all sneaky about it

  With each stop

  The people change

  The dynamics change

  Keeps the subway car

  Fresh and interesting

  Just as long as she doesn’t leave

  I’ll be happy standing here

  Packed among strangers

  With wandering eyes

  And stealing glances

  Alongside them

  On this hot, hot night

  June 24, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  This happened tonight. I was on the Red Line coming back from the Guster concert at Boston City Hall and there was this very cute woman sitting nearby. I was glancing at her occasionally and I noticed that she was looking at the book that the girl next to her was reading (ok so I changed the poem a little, but hey, I’m allowed). She, in turn, was glancing at other people out of the corner of her eye.

  Dandelion

  The flower of speech

  Formally exquisite

  In its own right

  Of the beautiful language

  That we all share

  Has died and been

  Replaced by a dandelion

  And we’re told to deal

  You have no idea

  How much it angers me

  To open my Palm and see

  A word like ‘ponderous’

  Or maybe even ‘fastidious’

  Listed as a Word Of The Month

  Words once commonplace

  Have all been replaced

  We’ve all shelved Moby Dick

  For half an hour with Andy Dick

  Closed our books and picked up

  The TV Guide and clicked on

  One of 500 channels of warmth

  I for one won’t capitulate in this

  We’re dumbing ourselves down

  And the idiots are gaining ground

  You killed the flower of my speech

  So give me the dandelion in its place

  I’ll observe its overt simplicity

  And your usual inert complacency

  Hold the stem and let the wind blow

  Assuaging my fears as I watch the flow

  Then I realize that each seed will plant

  A whole new generation of miscreant

  September 11, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  I hate it when I use a “big word” and no one knows what I’m saying. Same thing when I use the word “whom” in the correct usage and people look at me like I have 10 heads.

  Massh
oles Heading North

  Another Friday late afternoon

  In the early part of August

  I-93 is at a standstill yet again

  On the border of New Hampshire

  And it’s all because of them

  All the Massholes heading north

  Looking around at the other cars

  Which are sitting still around me

  They’re all from Massachusetts

  We’re the minority of plates

  We’re just trying to get home

  Why do they do this to us?

  Sitting and hating what they’ve done

  To me, to us, who live up this way

  Making us sit in the thick of them

  Making us take hours to get home

  While they jockey for position

  To get to the mountains or the lake

  Then again they even do this to themselves

  Every weekend going to the Cape

  The traffic starts in Boston and just

  Radiates outwards to all places nice

  Causing traffic and delays everywhere

  Just follow those damnable Massholes

  August 12, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  I am in the precarious position in that I still mostly identify myself as being from Massachusetts. I’ve spent all but 2 years of my life there so I guess it’s still home in a way. The problem lies with the atrocious drivers form the metro-Boston area that think each and every one of them have been crowned King Of The Highway. It’s beyond unbearable trying to get home to Manchester, New Hampshire on a Friday afternoon when they’re in a hurry to get up to the lakes or the White Mountains. All because of those darn Massholes.

  Fresh Linen

  Tired

  Oh so tired

  All I want

  All I need

  Is my bed

  Fresh linen

  I know it’s there

  Can’t function

  Anymore

  Trying to

  Trying to

  Focus

  So hard

  Keep them

  Eyes open

  Window down

  Radio up

  Way up

  Hands on

  10 and 2

  Eyes defiant

  But I’m

  Fighting so hard

  To stay

  In control

  Lids almost

  Almost down

  Blurred

  Vision through

  Fluttering slits

  Darkness

  Elation

  !WIDE OPEN!

  Extreme fear

  Racing heart

  Clutch harder

  On that

  10 and 2

  Still in lane

  Busy road

  Bright sunny

  Sunny day

  Gotta get home

  Gotta get to bed

  Comfy bed

  Fresh linen

  Thinking about

  Fresh linen

  Eyes are sneaky

  Taking the chance

  Slowly edging closed

  Tapping on the wheel

  A little less often

  Movements a little

  Little more labored

  Head bopping

  To the music

  Slightly slower

  Each passing minute

  Each passing mile

  Each passing car

  Back to the expected

  Fluttering slits

  Trying to fight it

  But

  Sleep always wins

  In the end

  Eyes closed

  Elation returned

  Body shutting down

  Not caring about

  The inside

  The outside

  The inside becoming

  Becoming the outside

  Anything

  Except for

  The last thought

  Fresh linen

  August 1, 2002

  Chelsea, MA

  Dent in the Guardrail

  Each ding, each dent

  In the guardrail

  Every parallel

  Set of rubber lines

  Is a flashing of life before the eyes

  Feet jammed deeply on the brakes

  Immense tightening of the thighs

  Each breath could be the last they take

  That is if they had the time

  Or the ability as the instincts

  Kick in

  Take over

  Fingers digging deep

  Into the vinyl

  Of the wheel

  Turning and trying

  To keep alive

  Despite the laws of physics

  Slamming the gavel down

  Passing judgment

  Before they’re able to react

  Whenever I see those leftovers

  Of a last-ditch enactment

  I think of the unabashed terror

  That someone experienced

  And wonder if they made it

  And how that double line

  Of melted tire on the highway

  Has changed their life

  For better or for worse

  That is, of course, assuming

  They still have one

  Because the end of the line

  Just might have been

  The end of the road

  For that frightened to death driver

  Which now serves as a warning

  To everyone else who cares

  Who takes the bother to notice

  And heed its cautionary advice

  April 25, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  Just one of those things I think about on my daily commute.

  Continually Constant

  The life that never changes

  The ones who live entrenched

  In the continually constant

  And are unwaveringly steadfast

  In their desire in their need to be

  Living the perfectly straight line

  Are the ones who are stuck on

  The road that others paved for them

  The road re-driven over and over again

  Never wanting to drive off that road

  Never thinking about what else may

  Be out there because they’re scared

  Of the unknown of it all

  Of the chance they might fall

  Off the road they’ve known

  Off the road always traveled

  In a way I feel sorry for them

  The ones who won’t deviate

  Or change their sameness

  Not even for something new

  And wonderfully amazing

  Because it’s different from the

  Laid-out organized orderly life

  They’ve known since whenever

  I used to kinda be like them

  Back when life seemed almost

  Perfectly predetermined for me

  But I’ve since broken free

  And I’m living life just for me

  August 23, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  The title of this has been in Line Ideas for more than half a year at least. I just ran with it tonight and ended up with this. I’m not sure how I got here; I just put my nose in my keyboard and kept writing until it was done. This is a commentary on those 100% straight-laced people who are determined to make sure their lives never change an ounce.

  Mass Corona Injection

  Way up there somewhere

  The sun is having a lot of fun

  Happily or angrily shooting

  Spewing a coronal mass ejection

  Huge magnetic storm coming

  Heading right for us on a collision

  All over the news I’m hearing

  I guess we’re not avoiding this one

  After work I find myself stopping

  At the store to pick myself up a six

 
And have a mass Corona injection

  Ok, so I’m kinda sorta dyslexic

  As I lay in the backyard staring

  And think about things of importance

  As I wait for something to happen

  Like the universe and thinking things

  Until I eventually fall asleep

  With the bottles around me

  And an aurora dancing

  So quietly

  So spectacularly

  Above me

  October 28, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  Tonight one of the most powerful solar storms ever recorded will be hitting Earth. The dyslexic part of me got the rest of my mind thinking and writing. This is definitely a work of fiction (I hate Corona).

  Romantically Drowning

  It’s much more romantic

  If you drown in the ocean

  As opposed to drowning

  At the bottom of a bottle

  While our lives will never

  Be made into an epic story

  Featuring a luxury liner

  We’ll have to be content

  With drowning in the other

  More sociable, slower

  More fashionable, happier way

  Where it takes years off our lives

  Where it takes years to finally die

  All the while smiling

  And blissfully unaware

  Until we wake up

  And we’re at the bottom

  With no way back up

  To the daylight and

  The surface above

  And the realization hits

  That we can’t swim

  So we just give in

  And let the liquid envelop

  And swallow us whole

  As we sink below

  One last time

  Romantically downing

  In our own special way

  Happily smilingly thankful

  For the dizzy foggy end

  As everything becomes night

  July 27, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  The other day I jotted some notes while driving and it became this.

  Delayed Waylaid

  Delayed waylaid

  Once again I’m in

  The doghouse

  With myself

  For forgetting to do

  All the things

  I wanted to

  Get done

  I wanted tonight

  To do so much

  And I let it go again

  Like I always tend to

  Like all the yesterdays

  That I’ve lived through

  Like all the tomorrows

  I haven’t yet come to

  Maybe someday

  Just not today

  November 8, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  It’s “Describe My Day” day.

  Inaction

  Can the chance

  Ever be recovered?

  No it can’t

  Maybe partially

  But never fully

  If you don’t take it

  You will lose it

  To inaction

  And the time in between

  Lost the chance

  And the dream

  Leaving you with

  The ticket in your hand

  To remind you

  To haunt you

  Of the time

  You let it all

  Slip on by

  February 28, 2004

  Manchester, NH

 

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