John-Ward Leighton

AUGUST

Photo: ©Copyright 2009 by John-Ward Leightonthe muse allows no sleep
and the summer itch
no relief
now sitting stunned for words

select the dark t shirt
and wash your face
brush your teeth
you ain’t going any place

the meditative drone
rises in my ears
the hum of the fans
is no more

there is only the page
and then the rage
to do something
significant

but there is only the page
and you haven’t yet written
a lover’s poem
for the two women once in your life

you’ve written about one night stands
and surprise orgasms
and the disappointments
when you couldn’t come

you mused on girls
who passed in the shadow of the night
or removed their clothes
to be made love to by your eyes

but the music is relentless
even when they were clueless
and moved their bodies
in response to the camera

someone is burning the park
what dark images
must haunt his or her mind
if they think at all

the heat does things to your mind
perhaps incubating all those
thought and actions
you wouldn’t otherwise consider

like this early morning
attempt to say something
of value
or merely the need to reveal

the industrial racket
has yet to start
and only the cries of the insane
separate the siren’s scream

two old friends
one barely clinging to life
in the aftermath of yesterday’s parade
at the intersection of coffee and indifference

and a continent away
a lover who never got her poem
suffers in her morphine dreams
the pain of an immortal disease

we await the news
from number one son
and note number one daughter
is on holiday

eating out
in restaurants of indifferent menus
where the only water available
was in poisonous plastic bottles

the restaurants in Gastown
seem to be in the business
of overpriced
barely edible food

they display their awards
from critics
who must have had their taste buds
shot off in the war

the local pizza shop
has found a new way to recycle
turning cardboard boxes
into pizza crust

wish you were here
the coffee is on my dear
and i await the tactile joy
of having you write your name

with your nails
on my naked back
and all those wonders
in the beds of our youth

fifth floor walkups in a small German town
and Sunday mornings
when the lovemaking
took us to places we’d never been before

it was magic
and it is tragic
that we didn’t know it
then

we never
managed to catch
that lightning in a bottle
again

The high point of my life
at least until now
because even then
i didn’t trust happiness

and the experience of
many years of depression
until i learned
to trust myself

but
that was then
and this is now
and a new sun has peeked over the edge

my month of conception and changes
has started
and i wonder
what changes are in store for me