Debut Cologne

Sometimes when I awake,

socks half on,

comforter skewed,

and my nose worn from running,

I smell your cheap, debut cologne.

It's nothing special.

Just a store clerk's commission,

a blind leap into adulthood,

The facades of brands.

But,

It descends from inches above me,

Nonetheless,

a five year old veil,

perfect.

You run your cautious fingers through my hair,

Breathing reluctant cadences on my cheek.

You squirm your legs around mine,

Skin on cold skin,

upsetting the sheets.

You pull me from my sterile dreams.

No better than my clock's alarm,

Or neighbors' screams,

A lone strand of sunlight.

And a million intimacies.

But the veil falls,

and, with it, my nervous sweat.

I gather my arms beneath the pillow,

Cruelly bereft of that cheap perfume.

Just a life made of endless memories,

Five years old,

With others beside.

The hardest, impossible to forget.

Kevin Zimmerman

Copyright © All Rights Reserved

10 x 10

Today was a downer, I came down with sore throat 2.0, apparently last week's version was insufficient. Still, the day job must go on! But, after a sleepless night I had barely any energy today to read, let alone, write. I did get some diagramming of my text's plot and development down though, I think I have made some good progress using "The Snowflake Method" as discussed here ---> CLICK ME!!!! (note that the diagramming and the snowflake method are distinct from one another, the diagramming, however, was useful for me after using the snowflake method nonetheless).

In other news, I saw in Twitterland that Writer's Digest posted a contest to see who can write the top ten best poems using a rather clunky structure: 10 lines of 10 syllables. See here --> CLICK ME TOO!!! Being the go getter that I am....I decided to take a stab at it. See here:

Sunriver, 1997

The Summer had warned with her painted art,

Yet we failed to note the crimson brush strokes.

The cracked gold hay and milkweed in our hands

had kept us there wrapped up in that moment,

My barefoot brothers had turned stones into

Ships and cannons on the dark water’s edge.

And then, “all heed the signs we’ve been given!”

As they hoisted their arms to the heavens;

The stars had replaced the scarlet canvas.

And we raced home: three boys and three captains.

-Kevin Zimmerman

Also...Pictures of the fam!

A midnight memory

"Her words were soft"

Her words were soft, fragile, and tender.

They travelled to me as if cargo in a sheep’s saddle bags:

Hardly heavier than the plush wool of their courier.

But no less valued.

They seemed to ring with a visible echo,

Or so my ears heard.

Like a pixie heralding the arrival of morning dew,

She whispered,

“May I ask you something?”

Her words were precise, resounding, and decisive.

With a touch to the keystone they dismantled me,

As if years became days, and all a guise,

Having the gall to lilt lazily before falling.

Like leaves which vowed life everlasting,

Now lying, lying under colorless limbs.

Yet, the sound of her voice was calming.

“What were you missing from the Lord?”

My armory could find nothing,

So cunning, grand, and subduing,

As the barrage of attacks it had seen.

Nor did it want to.

It surrendered, “nothing,

But the Lord was not mine.”

-Kevin Zimmerman

For all the poets out there, here is another poem of mine. This poem captures a brief five minute conversation I had with someone very close to me and the unbelievable weight I felt getting through it. I remembered this conversation stayed rattling around in my mind for some time, even after I was forced to put it into poetry to try to settle the spirit. I hope it conveys some of the feeling I felt that very memorable day.

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On the Lighter Side

After yesterday's novella of a post, I thought I would shorten up today's and post a fun, Sunday afternoon poem I had written a couple weeks back. Comments and criticisms are very welcome! (This one was mainly just for my own humor though, not too deep.)

"The Month Of May"

By chance if you have seen my mate,

Perhaps beneath your dinner plate,

Or striking up a lengthy tale,

While drinking with the head of state,

Please could you ask him for his name,

In print, upon the card the same,

Provided in the month of May,

Last year, the birth of endless shame?

That month, I fail to undertake,

That pesky chore for hunger’s sake,

The edifice and with its place

The fire atop the birthday cake.

For, on that day I do restrain

From building such a sight profane,

That lest I ever find a male,

He does not take me as insane.

-Kevin Zimmerman