by Adam McFee
napshots
A Poetry Collection
By Adam McFee
Coyright 2012 Adam McFee
The Open Road
Yesterday is
Packed, wrapped, and stacked
In a warehouse of boxes
On a page with a date
And the calendar has
Already turned.
Tomorrow is
A freeway, a highway,
An open road
Running
Over the next hill, valley,
Or vista
In the early morning sun
A light fog burning off
And all the horses
General Motors can give you
Just itching to run.
Aged
Lead-lined
Basset hound eyes
Carved
Into a weary head
That leans slightly to one side.
Feeble, bitter fists
That pound away at padded arms
On an overstuffed chair
By the fireplace--
Angrily emphasizing
Lost dreams
Lost Loves
And the inability to get them back.
Dirty Rain
The wind is roaring
The dust and dirt
Ripped up into the sky
Infused into the drops
Of rain
That splatter
Indiscriminately
Much like the venom
Injected into the words
You call truth
Spit out without
Regard
To who you might
Infect.
Solitary Happiness
Living on the inside
ain’t so bad.
It’s the outside
scares me so.
People out there are fruitcakes,
and they want to help
me?
I’m perfectly happy
right here by myself,
but they won’t let me be.
Bring him back into the flow,
they say.
But maybe I don’t want
back into the flow,
‘cause to be totally honest with you,
I can’t swim.
Three Sisters
Fate pulled up a chair
Next to me at the bar
And proceeded to tell me
How it was going to be
Like she knows anything.
Why can’t a man just sit
And have a drink in peace?
At least I guess
She’s not as bad as Destiny
Always going on about how
I’ll never amount to anything
Having never finished college
Working back at a job
I left behind
Ten years ago.
But at least I’ve got a job
Unlike those two Harpies
That have never done
An honest day’s work
And like nothing more
Than to just nag and complain
About how I’ll never be
Good enough.
In the end, as always,
I go home to Faith
The only one that
Keeps me sane
In a world that’s changed,
and moved on,
The only one that believes
Like I believe,
In me.
Time Traveler
I open my eyes
And rationalize
Orienting myself
To the here and now-
Whatever that means.
The clock that used to tick-tock
Went the way
Of the rotary phone,
The calendar pages flipping
Like so many foreclosed homes,
And where did all
The families go?
Time marches on
To the beat
Of a demented drummer,
Summers flowing by
An endless stream of runners
Whose footfalls
Echo in the streets;
Generations of falling leaves
An immortal rain of colors,
A Jackson Pollock landscape
The mind sees
But no longer really perceives.
The Volleyball Net
It seemed like a good idea
All those years ago
When the kids were young
And we were younger
Than we are today.
Burgers and dogs
And pitchers of lemonade
Skinned knees and shade trees
Sundays in the sun.
Now it’s just a broken down
Sagging reminder
Of a time when
We were younger
Than our kids are today.
Election Day
You’re free to choose
Of the two
That have been chosen
For you by the
People that write your
Checks and balances
Need not apply
To the status quo-
If it ain’t fixed
Don’t break it.
Two sides of the same
Tarnished coin,
Tumbling through the air,
Heads we win
Tails you lose.
This message is a paid advertisement
Brought to you by the good folks at
Special Interests Incorporated.
Power to the people.
Can You Find the Pattern?
Achievement by any
Means necessary
Beware those
Individuals
That would get in your way,
Interfering with your
Opportunistic plans.
No one else matters.
Irony
Constantly waiting
For the other shoe to drop
While kicking it down the stairs
One excruciating step
At a time.
Making Good Time
There’s a lotta road
In the rearview mirror,
All of it leading to here.
There’s a blur of fence posts
Running beside us like
Hours and minutes and years.
Where we’ve been
Where we’re going
What’s to be
The not knowing
The next curve or vista
We’ll see.
People and places
Conversations and phrases
All part of our past
And future destinations
Wherever the miles may lead.
Gratitude
For every complaint
Or hardship
There are an infinite number
Of blessings
To be found.
For every loss
There was the advantage
Of having.
For every obstacle
There is the opportunity
To overcome.
Every plan has its problems
And every problem has its plans-
Yesterday
Was a gift of memory
Tomorrow
A gift of what can be
And today
Is just a gift
To use as we see fit.
We are all just poor sinners
In a Universe of Light
And Darkness
Is nothing to be afraid of,
But simply,
A gift of time,
To rest our eyes.
Cobain
All he ever wanted
Was much less than
What he got
Was more than
He wanted
Just to play
To sing
To write
To pay his rent.
To be your savior
Your conscience
Your hope
Was more than he ever wanted
And so he left.
The Totality of Existence
The moon rises
The sun rises
The wave leaves its mark
On the shore,
Until the next one
Comes along
And erases it.
The leaves fall
And the snow falls
Until the Spring thaws
And everything begins again.
Water drops
Shape the rock
And everything we ever
Thought or said
Is long since dead.
In the Beginning
Purple lightning flashes
through a black velvet sky,
dry ice yellow haze drifting
over smallpox-scarred terrain.
The lonely
red-eyed rock stares down
at once-mighty
crumbling cement ghosts--
dead
but for the tiny orange flame
from the tribe of
radioactive rats
who have discovered fire…
again.
Dreamscape
From the mist opportunity
A rose in bloom
The Son grows tall
In the West
Looking down
Petals on the ground
Like drops of blood
In the sand of
Time flows like the water
Drying on our skin
The sun shining on drops
That glisten
Diamonds in the night sky.
The Morning After
Streaks of lightning
Reflected in-
Emanating from?
Your eyes.
The storm passes
Warmth slides over the horizon
And the morning air
Smells clean and new.
Sunrise
On a West Texas highway
Burning through the miles
Of darkness traveled
The night before.
Everything I own
In this truck-
Everyone I love
Five hundred miles behind me,
And the distance growing longer
With every turn of the wheel.
Opportunity is where
You find it,
And it isn’t always
Just your employer
That pays.
The America Tourist
Tidy rooms of silence
Greet us with
Cool air-conditioned kisses
The beds turned down
Just so
And the sun dances
On the water
Outside
Something pretty to look at.
The compound is secure
And distant
From the places people
-who serve us deferentially-
Actually live
Around here
The stretch of groomed sand
At the edge of the sea
Is ours
For the duration.
The local culture of the region
Is tastefully displayed
Within the grounds
With no need
To authenticate it
Personally
So we don’t.
Cold clean water
And tropical drinks poolside-
A little vacation from
The realities of home-
Both here
And where we’re from.
A Self Portrait
He was born into this world
A miracle
Just like everyone else
Just like you.
He’s been more
Than he ever thought
But less
Than he probably could have been.
No remorse or regret
Maybe sometimes a little wondering:
What if?
He’s smart enough to know
He’s self centered
And humble enough to know
It isn’t warranted.
He’s a father
even though he wonders
How that ever happened.
What good deed did he ever do
to deserve that blessing?
If they were all he ever created
All the proof there ever was
That he ever was
It would be enough.
They were born into this world
A miracle
Just like everyone else
Just like you.
The Nice Man
He lived mildly
And passed
