Let’s Keep Pushing

Benjamin Jenkins, poem, poetry, writing

It’s late,

The streets patrolled by

The homeless and the sleepless.

The moon is giving it her all,

Obscured by an inch of fog

And cityscape glow.

I feel like an anchorless shadow.

One more cigarette,

One more shot of espresso,

Will make me feel whole.

I know when it’s time to roam,

Whether to weather the storm.

It’s time to blow back home.

Our love keeps us connected,

Kneeling at the starting line,

The beginning starts at the end.

I’m listening to the soft glow of jazz,

With a green bottle in my hand,

With nervous ambition in my skull.

Hours after noon are when I’ll stand.

Pull myself from the security of my bed,

Dressed for yesterday with empty hands

And blood pressure in my veins.

One of us may have made a grave mistake

But I have never been so sure

Of anything in all my ambitions.

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Sleepless Thinking

Benjamin Jenkins, poems, poetry, writing

The breeze carries a distinct breath of coast.

Ride the Tar River on eighteen wheels

Of chrome and shuttering steel,

Steal as much breath as photosynthesis can conjure.

Meet me in the graveyard,

Inquire and acquire what you require.

Borrow from tomorrow to pay off today.

Get back to you in 2-7 business days,

Leave a message after the beep.

Have you tried counting sheep?

The highways are narrow but the universe is deep;

When I surface and gulp down oxygen,

I judge the distance to shore and length of swim.

Slowly filtering through years of firing neurons

Coaxing mind and body into the same path.

Deadly nightshade asleep in the shadows

Of bar candles and peaty liquor.

I feel a magnetic pull

Holding my sole to the carpet.

I feel a knot in my heart,

Fond hours threaten to stop it.

I breathe through and feel my veins pump.

It’s all I can do.

A few words can change your environment.

One minute it’s uncertainty, the next it’s comfort.

All paths meet back up eventually.

Certain Decisions

Benjamin Jenkins, poem, poems, poetry, writing

As all things, it must grow naturally.

Why get mixed up in it?

For the love of the game.

It’s on the wind.

It’s in their mannerisms.

It’s from their actions.

It’s about that time.

It’s read in shadow.

It’s guided by light.

It’s the barriers of time.

It’s the creation of memory in those confines.

As all things, it must grow naturally.

Why get mixed up in it?

For the love of the game.

Momentum in the Moment

Benjamin Jenkins, Birthday, poem, poems, poetry, writing

Today I turned three steps away from thirty

My eighteenth years feels like an hour ago.

All that time between,

All an ethereal cloud.

Time stands in this moment

Read the next line-

Passing time is a fluttering book.

The accelerator is stuck

No matter how defensive the drive

There is inevitable crash.

It’s all so fast when you break it down.

Until then, the blur of colors

And attractions keep you pre occupied.

Enjoy the ride

We celebrate the day we stepped into this race

It was the easiest thing to do

Maybe one of the hardest too.

Its the same as today,

Different weather,

Different acquaintances,

The day you really felt alive,

Started measuring the cycle of the sun

Into bars clear as day.

Let’s do a shot for every year we lived

With one for good luck.

It’s my day so I can consume it.

Extinguish those years with blown breath-

Don’t forget to make a wish

So when those apparitions of years passed

Smoke into the dining room

You can dream.