This is very important

understand

the world does not exist

only we do

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©2013 Jason Anderson

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Death March

There’s something I’ve been dealing with lately about which I can think of one hundred reasons to keep my mouth shut, and only two to speak up: because I need to, and because someone, somewhere might need me too. I’m amazed how difficult it is sometimes to honor those two reasons, even though often when I take the risk someone responds: “me too.”

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Death March

Me too.

When I confide, finally

With great trepidation –

What will he think?

That I’m broken?

Damaged goods?

Will she think I’m tainted?

Marked?

Will they stay or go? –

So often comes the answer

I’m least expecting:

Me too.

Me too.

My God, who are all these people

Beating us,

Raping us

Leaving us by the roadside

Of silent death

Listening to the passing footfalls

Of comrades

Lovers

Brothers and sisters

Mortal enemies

And friends?

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©2013 Jason Anderson

This is an Anthem

The sun

Photo: author.

This might be more of a song, but since it’s National Poetry Month and I haven’t posted any poetry, I’ll call it a poem. Its tortured rhythm could be a result of listening alternately to “Some Nights” and “Carry On” by Fun. while I wrote it.

Be loving. Be strong.

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Don’t look for me when I’m gone

The me in your eyes wasn’t me

I was in your eyes all along

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And your eyes aren’t wrong

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Once you were a little one

Your blue eyes hated the sun

You’re grown up today, blind anyway

So let it shine on

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They’re going home, they’re on the road

Be gone they say if you can’t share the load

And travel on alone

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You know somewhere deep inside

They took bets on your flagging pride

And hoped you would call it a draw

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The math doesn’t hold

They’ve got a hundred truths

You’ve got one

And they swear they’re right

They’ve earned the blood they take tonight

Just lie back and feel the light

One last time

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Yeah, raise your face with a burning pride

Let the sun be your guide

It always leads you to the sky

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Now this is an anthem

This is a hundred choirs singing strong

A thousand drummers driving on the melody

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It took forty years to get here boy

So why not make a hell of a noise

You’re not going home

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Go on and blaze this empty road

With me forever in your eyes

I swear some days you’ll be alone

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But your eyes aren’t wrong

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©2013 Jason Anderson

Symptoms of an underlying condition

I’ll do my homework before you get home

Clean my room, and the house

And vacuum under the beds

I’ll write all my thank you notes

Take out the trash and shut the lids

Do the laundry, all three loads

And hang your delicates

With reluctant fingertips

I’ll iron, fold, put away

Then mow the lawn, avoiding the cord

I won’t go past the end of the block

Or have over unapproved friends

I’ll throw dinner on in time

Tonight it’s for one

You’ll find me in my closet

Between my blue striped shirt

And dress-up pants

Not wearing my good shoes

Read my thank you note without fear

I didn’t write anything

You don’t want to see

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Suicide is a permanent “solution” to problems and feelings that are temporary. If you’re in distress, PLEASE contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255).

©2013 Jason Anderson

Writing myself anew

Chair in snow 2007

I write myself a new story

Along the original lines

Some words and phrases

Showing through

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Old ideas I scratch out

Madly or editorially

Leaving a brief thought

If it reminds me

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Alone in this room

Kids laughing and yelling

Beneath my window

In the snow

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Thaw my resolve

I must keep writing

White snow and voices

Clear as bells.

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Image: author (2007)
©2013 Jason Anderson

The Last Dance

I was shot through with the thread of a dance

My body propped and shaken, a marionette

Accompanied by a player piano

When I didn’t even know there was dancing.

You danced me and I learned the steps cold

I won competitions and gave lessons.

Over years I even mastered piano repair

Unaware there was not dancing.

The dancing didn’t want to stop!

But you should have seen me today

A marionette clumsy walking his own feet

Tugging an astonished thread free.

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©2013 Jason Anderson