#365poemchallenge

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #359 (December 26, 2017)

You’ve made your mark on me so clearly. 

Like strawberries on my fingertips.

Like the ink on my skin.

Like the scar on my thumb and the scar on my chin. 

[h-vanmeer]

176

The human experience —the grand tour— feels much like going door to door: a finite number of knocks at the fore of each façade, expecting that by a certain law of averages, a conceivable median of persons will plead and implore that we vacate their porch and their yard; a lesser fraction of which will permit the pitch; the smallest of groups will scratch the itch you’ve painstakingly stitched, allowing you a glimpse at their lowered guard. If in life you complete 1000 knocks, expect that you’ll speak with a special few— surface encounters most, about which and of whom you’ll remark on with such hazy indifference, unclear as to their details but aware of their existence and crystal of their lack of impact on your subconscious. Of these, some may find themselves as third class friends, ones with whom shared experiences took place but beyond this event-based head space no ideological neutrality ever made sense. Sparser still is the second tier, the one whose title might well be ‘peers,’ in whom you trust and share a bond, with whom you share your joys and fears; these know you well, buying and selling information like metadata drawn from the dark and dear of your shared psyche, producing memories loathed and of some you’re fond. Finally, focus on what inhabits songs, what carves the canon and scripts the sitcoms, the evermore friendships that are cast in concrete— the spectrum of the spiritual rainbow, the choice cuts of emotional meat. These are those you’ve loved and have returned the feat. These are those never forgotten. These, irrespective of blood, are family. •HvM•

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #351 (December 18, 2017)

It is all attainable.

I can make it happen.

I can make it fall apart. 

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #350 (December 17, 2017)

You are not just a memory.

You are almost seared into my brain.

Forgetting you is impossible.

But repeating is the same. 

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #349 (December 16, 2017)

I’ve never been on a trip by myself before. 

I’m leaving my comfort zone behind and taking a train to Montreal.

Embracing my fears and uncertainties.

Saying yes to new opportunities.

Following my intuition and all other clichés.

Here’s to new beginnings. 

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #341 (December 8, 2017)

Cop cars outside the building are never bearers of good news.

I was only trying to tidy up my room and do laundry on this particular morning.

I walked by the supposed crime scene and saw cops with notepads and pens.

I smelled something kind of foul.

The cleaning lady was in the laundry room and I asked her if she had any 

information.

She told me that the guy who lived in the unit surrounded by cops had passed 

away.

I’ve seen him on multiple occasions.

Always wore the same long black leather jacket and was in and out of cabs.

He was nice enough to me.

Always smiled, said hello and told me how beautiful my dog was.

I always noticed the music coming out of his apartment.

It sounded so haunting and enchanting at the same time. 

I never gathered the nerve to ask him about it.

Now I wish I had. 

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #336 (December 3, 2017)

Stroke my hair at midnight.

Help me fall asleep.

It’s the little things that matter most. 

You let me be me. 

An asshole with a kind heart. 

The world feels bigger with you, more wide open.

My dreams feel slightly more possible.

The darkness has dissipated for a while.

I can see the silver lines.

I can hear myself getting cheesier by the day. 

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #334 (December 1, 2017)

Questions to self:

Are you aiming for forever or just for the moment?

Are you concerned about competition or are you your only opponent?

Are you putting in the time or wasting it recklessly?

Are you waiting for signs or doing what’s necessary?