#damonrennaker

[damonrennaker]

“Tight”  - August 23rd, 2015

 No matter where we are, we leave something

Beer bottles, and caps in the grass after a night

in the field

Roaches and ashes on the picnic table at the park

Was on the ledges of

Trouble in a girl’s heart

The tighter I pack the longer I burn,

But if I’m wound I won’t burn at all

No ones just comfortably twisted in the way

we look at anything,

We fancy ourselves it being the best at things, that are more fun shared,

collaborated on—delved into

So cheers, to shared experience, and the traces we leave

[damonrennaker]

“I’s” – July 13th, 2015 

Another cloudy night, might turn out alright That kid playing guitar welcomes them just right I need to write something about family to get through these nights. Love the pretty sights—the hikes Those blue eyes, your lullabies That sparkle in my eyes.

[damonrennaker]

“Hell” – August 18th, 2015

 I like to surprise the hell out of people.

I like wearing trashed clothes, going to art galleries, bookstores, skateshops—everywhere.

When they hear that I work hard, that I suffer, that I try to make something of myself they stop—

Look me in the eyes, something in their eyes are ashamed

That they didn’t realize there is a very casual term called conflict.

I face it; I’m hitting the town, with my peanut butter sandwiches, in the Dickies I found and love on top of that trash can.

They won’t make a sound.

[damonrennaker]

“Seal” – June 15th, 2015

 Even though I only got the cap and gown

One scholarship, and a key to the town

Ashland, a home Martolli’s my new spread

My new room even has a bed

I’m hoping I’ll be tattooing one day

With these fonts and calligraphy pieces

My own cursive free wave style

Might last longer than a while

 The girls stare for longer, hold conversation

They smile and wave back when I’m feeling hated

Loving when I need the faded nostalgic feel

Making under the table all your best deals

On Main Street I’ll work

Cooking, cleaning blocks from my home

While I dearly love, and feel gratitude

Giving me the chance to test my movement

Towards a dominion, and testament to myself

What I wish to have held

Where I live, breathe, serenade longer

Even if it gets a whole lot cooler.

 Noon in my new home, writing as to clone

Making something to uplift and uphold

Standards of consistent behaviors

In all of our favors

That I had and present

Things I wish to represent

To rationalize with

In this font type and feel

Represented, and awarded

With the badges and forearms

Showing the tale of a pained story

Everything that will reveal me

And feel compensated

Fro everything that I haven’t had

Back to long lives that hold fluency

And claimed it in morning

Bye Ma, I love you pop, this is for you

And every good thing I do and prove

Much love to my family in Portland

For sending me off right

I’m all moved into another place

To fill the lines of fabricated space

In which I will erase the absence

Of receptive feeling creating receiving

And replication of the good things

That aren’t as mainstream as the one before

Planning on your floor, trying to sing at 4

In the morning, compelling story to relieve the burning

I love it all Portland, what we do in life echoes in eternity

This is my seal and belief

[damonrennaker]

“Deer” – August 24th, 2015

 I feel bad for the deer

They walk and are startled—

Jostled from anything the are doing

With the sense of another presence

Deer are constantly worried, cautions,

Almost get run over everyday

They almost look like they are designed to be haunted

They can’t run—they hop

They can’t fight—well I’ve never seen one try,

But it’s the fact that they always look terrified

Here, and even in the forest

In their own niche habitat

They look haunted.

[damonrennaker]

A couple negative that I found from a while back, I absolutely love these photos. 

[damonrennaker]

“Raining in Ashland” – August 29th, 2015

 It’s raining in Ashland

Something I have really missed

About my hometown, where I was raised

I miss the dark clouds, reflective streets

Everyone finally conversing as they run for cover

 I love Ashland, but I love Portland as well

My ankles healing, and I’m going to be out for a while

Because I miss the birds chirping, and the pine trees

I miss the characteristics of the patterns as they hit windshields

I love writing on the sidewalk here—I’ve been lucky

 I’m working—really hard to keep up with everything

I love when wind hits the branches; it feels like it’s pouring

But all you can manage is smiling though you’re miserable

At lease my foot isn’t broken, and my ankle is a fraction of what it was

 Everything is changing, and I like the pace

But I don’t like learning crucial things in a race

Against time barely—run to fry the slabs of information

Near the nature center off mountain, the barbeque on Sunday

“Drinks” with my co-workers, a good time, in good company

 I got up at six, rolled a spliff

Pushing the good in my heart to the world.

[damonrennaker]

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“Vulnerable” – July 25th, 2014

 I’ve always thought about writing as a freedom of expression

Over the years my words have been deeply rooted, and sympathetic

I take objects that personify almost a sentient vibe

 Now that I’m almost finished with my first book

I feel as though I have less to say about these places

That I’ve seen and pass by everyday

The horizons too expected, and the silence isn’t as reflective

 Maybe I’m just too picky, and I don’t like things all that much

It’s sad but writing may be out of my system for a while

 I need an evolved, fresh branch to my present roots

Something to take me farther, deeper into a personal world

A world that I don’t necessarily want to share

Or have not in any way observed for myself

I spent my summer cleaning, writing, and being alone

Except Robert and I talked a good hour yesterday

 I’ve been learning about James Dean and James Franco

About acting, an art-form that flows from you

Franco explains acting roles as in,

“Everyone is in him, and he is in everyone”

 I play guitar, and when I play the last note

I sit and wait, because there is a sense in the air

Something so ineffable, and ambiguous at this point

 I have a way with words, but like Bukowski said,

That “It took him years to write things that way he had meant to say them”

 It’s true; I guess I’m trying to be good

But as time has gone by, I’m trying to be more vulnerable

 Like James Dean who brought real life experiences to his acting roles

He changed my eyes on acting forever

So in all attempts I’ve made

I am trying to be vulnerable