A Short Poem
the leaning tower falls dust and debris drift like snow softly, the bell tolls A. J. Hayes
If there is a God, He will have to beg my forgiveness.– A phrase that was carved on the walls of a concentration camp cell during WWII by a Jewish prisoner (via matrioskaaa)
The End/The Beginning
Greetings and salutations! This marks the end of my quest to write a poem a day for an entire year. It has been a magnificent journey, full of ups and downs and frustations. I thank you for sticking with me, wherever you stepped in next to me on my travels. Now, I’ve done what I set out to do—adequately enough. What’s next? First, the poems in my year of poetry will be...
What The A Stands For
365 in one year? That’s impressive, Even for me. I guess I’m excited About faciliting a writing workshop. Today, I was still moving— Via public transportation. That’s tough. At least on my arms. I take on too much on my shoulders— The A doesn’t stand for Atlas. I wish I had a Greek name. I enjoy Mythology. My friend calls me Ajax— That’s what the A...
Hey, You! You Inspire Me.
Writing poetry before an open mic. Thanks, Adam Robinson! Your words Inspire me—plus I like the picture On the cover of your book. When clean-shaven, I wonder How long it takes you to grow Your beard out again. I have trouble Growing full beards, so I wonder About these things. I also want to thank You for introducing me to Chris Toll; Not directly, but you published his work And I purchased...
Cold Coffee Blues
Cold coffee gives me the runs. Guess I better run to the restroom. Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
You Aren't What You Are Called
Understand your name is a joke. It isn’t who you are, but what people Call you. Shakespeare said this more Eloquently—you know, the line about A rose being a rose. Or was that Bacon? Some say they are one in the same, So forgive my transgression. I only have an A. A. in English; I am not an MFA carbon copy (I have nothing against MFAs). I am but a silver link in a chain Dangling from...
Where Was Your Mind Yesterday
Happy birthday, grandma! I called to say hello. Everything was fine when you thought I was my older brother. When I reiterated that I was your Youngest grandchild, you suddenly Aren’t doing so well. Am I really that undesirable That I bring you additonal pain? If that’s the case, I wish I hadn’t called, but you Say I don’t call you enough. Well, I hope the card I sent...
Life Is Around You*
Around you is life— You already knew that. People, animals, trees Are all alive, just like you. But that’s not all that is alive. Rocks, the wind, buildings Are alive, too, in different ways. There is a science behind life, Though scientists fail to comprehend It. To them, “life” is limited by certain traits. Until we discover proof otherwise, This is the default method Of...
House Pets Are Family Members Too
You are not the epitome Of life. I am happy being A dog, or comfortable in my Felinehood. Partially because, Although I know we are not the same, I do not think of you as different. You rub my back when I ask, You take me out for walks when I beg. You listen, because you understand. It is that understanding that makes us Family. Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
Failure Of Words
I will tell you a story As briefly as possible. I represent failure. I am never precise enough. (How can I be when there are So many intricate pieces to every puzzle?) Efficiency is an unachievable goal; To express a thing as it is is to travel Back to before the dawn of the cosmos And follow its trail of song until reaching The desired destination, whether in the Present, past, future or...
He Said Nothing
He said he had made it a rule not to date poets. They were too sensitive, too emotional, he reasoned. To a poet, each argument was Armageddon; Every less-carefully chosen word was an insult. Poets drained him, emotionally, he complained. In trying to find happiness, they sucked all the joy From life and those around them. She asked him what made her different. He said it was the way her mouth...
It often ignites, frequently warms and is always hot. Plasma: the seldom whispered 4th phase of matter; Fire: tangible energy manifested in the physical world. Flame: able to be held, though doing so isn’t recommended. It is pure heat. There is only heat. Cold is the transfer Of heat from one object to another. It is rare to find Anything hotter than a blaze, perhaps lightning or the...
The penis is the measuring stick of manhood. Whose is bigger? Whose has been in more women? He with the higher number is crowned champion. But the loser has the option to wrestle the crown away. Perhaps this why so many disagreements between men Boil down to pissing contests and brawls. Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
Becoming Black Again
We are the last stars born Under a colorless atmosphere. Our smiles refract light, Taking it apart by wavelength. I do not want to live in a colorblind Society where everything is white. Give me purples and browns, Fuschia and yellows—combinations And primary colors. I want to absorb The world around me and become black again. Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
One Day We'll Hit The Ground
A tumbling essence of words, Art, culture, history: when will You cease to plummet? What is the ground to you? A bed, a mother’s embrace. I suffocate under blankets, Yet wake the next morning. One day I’ll be a euphemism And you’ll be a metaphor; At that moment we’ll finally Understand what a poem is. Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
Polaris Is In The Sky*
Follow me not; I Am neither Polaris nor A compass. I am A man—riddled with errors, Pierced by flaws; naked, but warm. *Written yesterday, Feb. 23rd. Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
A Lion In Winter
A lion stretches out upon the land, Right side of his head cupped by his Massive paw, staring at the falling Snowflakes as they drift from above. His golden fur is soon covered in icy Shavings from clouds. The lion shivers, Involuntarily. He does not know that humans Call the fluttering flakes “snow” or that What he is experiencing is called “cold.” The lion rolls his eyes...
Art Or Love?
The underground corn pops; That is the end of the discussion. Drizzle it with butter, sprinkle it with Old Bay. Sit back and enjoy the couple making out On video taken by the museum’s security cameras. What is the difference between art and love? Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
This veggie patty looks confused. Nestled between two ends of a bun, It resembles a hamburger but is meatless. A skirt of lettuce peeks from underneath it, Causing the veggie patty to questions its identity. It flaunts its appetizing appearance On the edge of the plate, hoping to be Bitten into, punctured until it oozes ketchup Like blood, until its personal crisis subsides. Copyright 2013 A. J....
A Bottle Of Art*
In the beginning, I was the wine glass. Now I am the bottle. Inside me, bobbing In the liquid like buoys, are eyeballs. They enhance the flavor; make sweet Wine fruity, turn dry wine arid. As a bottle, I have a mouth, Yet no tongue to taste what floats Within me. I am jealous of lips That tilt me at an angle proper For a kiss, and then suck, slurp and swallow The wine—and...
A Watched Download Bar Never Fills
I stare at the bar as it fills with cyan. I count the seconds between 12% And 13%. High speed internet Isn’t as fast as light, or even sound. I’m mesmerized by the bi-polar Countdown climbing up and then Plummeting downward. My mind drifts. I imagine the bar as a trough Of water upon a hot stove. Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
Knight Of Glass
I could be more, A better man, But I prefer to wear A coat of glass shards Rather than glistening armor. Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
soda can, emptied, crumpled and tossed, makes coffin from burger wrapper misfit castaways, discarded from the square, find solace together Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
Bubbles the Monkey dances for his meal. He shakes and twerks under strobe lights; Climbs up poles like, well, a monkey, and Slides down effortlessly. Shower him with Bananas, smash them into his thong; Give him something to munch on backstage. Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen
The Pain In The Pen
I finally understand why bitter love Poems are popular, why sadness Is a more frequent muse than elation. It is not because pain is stronger than pleasure, But because we guard joy like a dragon does gold. We believe happiness is a thing that can be taken away From us. We lock it up and hide it in order to protect What makes us happy from everyone—including ourselves. Copyright 2013 A. J....
God Is All
We knew the answer before primordial seas parted, Before life was breathed into handfuls of dust. Sentient, yet stupid; inquisitive, yet forgetful. Don’t doubt the question—it is valuable, as questions go. Question your definition of “answer.” It is merely a response, Not a truth, not a falsehood—merely a response. Silence says as much as yes or no; another question...
Heroes Of Existence
I used to believe flowers Were under-aged trees When I was a child. See, I was young and small, And colorful and beautiful Just like the tulips and buttercups In my mother’s garden. Adults were taller, sturdier And far more rigid than I. They were less likely to be blown This way and that by the wind, While I spent my days swaying In whatever breeze blew. I tossed To and fro, giggling as...
Twilight: Between Dawn And Night
There is no change to spare— Only stasis. Either light or dark; That’s all there is, and I’m sick of it. From the cosmos came a question; Humans are the answer. How long can we suffer between Two extremes, pulled this way And that by competing, contradicting forces? I miss the brown and grey Of yester-year. The infusion Of good and bad to create something just right. Neither...
A Lesson In Miracles
The two inches that separate bird shit from Landing on your shoulder and splattering on the sidewalk. Deciphering my handwriting. Having a poem published. Again. Life. A full stomach. Decent parents. Avoiding nuclear war. A reliable WiFi connection. Unlimited 4G service. Unlimited text messages. Having someone to text an unlimited number of times. A puppy’s slobbery kiss. The warmth of...
Everything you are Begs to be listened to. It is not simply a matter Of tuning your ears To the whispers of the world, But pausing long enough To allow silence to share The secrets of All with you. *This poem was written February 9, 2013 Copyright 2013 A. J. Hayes Give a poet a pen