A Work in Progress…
Such beautiful people;
remarkably strong…
They don’t live forever
and never stay long…
They brush up against you
then kiss you goodbye…
And that’s if you’re lucky
enough to know why.
They make you feel something
and then disappear…
Their absence is painful;
their presence was dear…
This price we all pay
is a heartrending cost…
The feelings we feel
when loved ones are lost.
Written By Jason Wright
October 12, 2011
The crow at your door
surprised me…
a vision…
Could not comprehend
it’s ghost like precision…
Crows can be murder
or rapture or rotten…
We entered beneath it
and soon twas forgotten.
I was in your apartment
and very much single…
When the spark in your eyes
made my skin start to tingle…
Though we weren’t alone
and we weren’t together…
I was laying there
hard
and wanting
and clever…
The throbbing
was robbing of fear and of doubt…
The sex of your eyes
made me long to find out
just how you would taste
and I couldn’t hold back…
And alone for just moments
I pounced and reacted
with hunger and lust
at the sights set before me…
You tasted amazing…
You tasted of glory…
You tasted of chance…
You tasted of trust…
But the moment
it faded
and it turned to dust…
Yet within me it lingers…
I know what the crow meant…
For I remain rapt
in the taste of that moment.
Written by Jason Wright
September 20, 2011
For Tom: more than a year after the fact.
Wasting away…
Ten years lost to illness.
The moments
between us
are filled with such stillness…
Cherished,
Exchanged,
Sharing our stories…
With chapters
in common
and frank allegories…
He gives it to me
and I’m touched
without touching…
He whispers to me
and I’m flushed
without blushing…
He leaves me
with passion
transcended to form…
The canvas
is thunder;
his heart is the storm.
The sea of emotion
by these colors rendered;
the work of a man
who never surrendered,
The man in the painting
who’s insides are bruised…
Is haunted by faces
that used and abused.
Some of the faces
are drugs that he’s taken…
Others are ghosts
that still leave him shaken…
Some are illusions,
Others invented,
Some are the sins that he’s never repented.
Others are faces
of boys he’s not dated…
He thought that he had
but they really translated
into nights meaning nothing
except what he’s losing…
For riches imagined
and instrument moving…
The face is the horror
of waiting untasted…
The face is my mirror…
The face of time wasted.
Written By Jason Wright
August 14, 2011
For: Johnny Vaughn, who’s artwork inspired it.
Johnny V passed away a little over 6 years after I wrote this. He was a caring friend when I deeply needed one. He and I had shared history but his adventures had been with people who were only ever on my periphery and I cherished each and every story that he gifted me with. He was also a brilliant painter and gave me the work that inspired this poem, though I also put in as many references to his tales that only he might recognize. I’m gratified that he read this and had such a positive reaction.
Rest in Peace brother.
“This Little Light Of Mine”,
that’s what they sang,
as they tried to steal yours away…
They bruised you and broke you
and tried to provoke you
in multiple Christian like ways…
A monster, they named you,
They wanted to blame you;
your truth had shattered their lies…
And they claimed to love you;
looked down from above you;
with “love” they said their goodbyes.
But the truth that was spoken
that left your hearts broken:
It wasn’t your fault; you were right…
And now we all see
what they cannot believe:
They were the monsters while you were the light.
Written By Jason Wright
June 16, 2006
For Jeremiah Kenneth Merklinger:
A Light Among Monsters.
In the cold summer heat
where the chill is inside…
The boy in the garden
has secrets to hide…
Walking with walkman
and singing a dirge…
A screaming erection
while fighting the urge…
To talk to his idol;
soft spoken and gentle…
The man is a monster
yet so sentimental…
The man is tormented
and torments this boy…
With feelings that threaten
to create or destroy…
The boy in the garden.
The man that was chosen…
By fate or by chance?
He never will know…
But the boy has been captured.
The boy is enraptured.
The boy is in love
with a man made of snow.
Written by Jason Wright
February 3, 2000
Inspired by Jason Alery,
who I obsessed over endlessly in school,
while listening to “Winter Marches On” by Duran Duran.