A bad day

iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 20.07.06    

a bad day,
maybe a year.

as the trees bud,
and bloom,
and leaves grow
dark and green.

I find the longer days,
are feeling short.
and the eyes are hanging dull.

and as the traffic flows,
and ebbs and weaves.
and coats are welcomed,
yet again.

a bad day,
maybe a year.
oh the trials, and woes, and pains.

surely a person grows,
digs deep.
their will strengthened,
and arms holding fast.

a bad day,
perhaps just in my head,
and so, never ending.


To choose this life

iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 14.07.06    

To choose this life,
of loneliness.
Forgotten, or alone.

What must one do?

The choices made,
the attitude applied.
preparing for a role.

In the theater,
acting out a tragedy.
With the actor as only audience.

What must one do?

How to alienate,
remove, and seclude.
to choose this life…

What must one do?


Sit down

iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 14.07.06    

go there.
go here, and come.

sit down.
let a person sigh.

you’ve felt.
you’ve lost, and now.

the insides.
tied up, and sad.

no option.
no out, but through.

though darkness.
maybe an end.


Blue jean V's

iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 4.07.06    

we sit down,
and our legs spread out.
making blue jean V’s,
on the gray wooden boards.

maybe we laugh,
or perhaps just sigh.
watching the clouds,
and dust from distant cars.

on dark blue plates,
and covered in butter.
we’d eat corn on the cob,
so crisp, and fresh, and warm.

sitting on the porch,
with our legs spread out.
blue jean V’s,
on the gray wooden boards.


Too dense

iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 3.03.06    

far too dense to breath,
too thin to actually hold…
this feeling you leave in here

too opaque to see through,
too transparent to perceive,
the effect you have on me

it’s too dry to drink,
but wafts from room to room…
this air of leavingness

all too impenetrable
but too waifish to believe,
the thoughts that spin

too naive,
too scared,
I’ll hide.

too long to tell,
maybe it’s gone,
but I fear to look out
from my little corner

tonight, I’ll block it out,
tomorrow you’ll be back,
and then we’ll start again


To the last

iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 15.01.06    

to the last glimmer of dawn,
as the sea clouds roll
and nearing thunder darkens angry waves

to the parting of the hands,
as wind fills our eyes with tears
and the grass sings final requiem

to the sleet and hail,
as a drumming, pounding, farewell drum
and those along the shore seek shelter

our eyes see naught,
as rain tears way
and the passage makes complete

the journey you must make
far away from home,
but never from those hearts,
lying broken in the sand

and thus our eyes see naught,
but as a mirror’s dim reflect,
the hint of life glints off the water
and we may glimpse
eternity beyond


July in January

iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 13.01.06    

till the last shimmer, when the fireworks at last fade away…
I will see… the world reflected in your eyes.

Drifting in the wind, and brightly coloured tendrils…
I can feel… the sky in your breath.

So as the notes of solemn patriotic strains forget the night…
Embrace the life, embracing me.


I think of you

iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 21.10.05    

when the rain falls down
if the leaves are blowing in the wind
when the moon shines bright
and my breath glows frozen in the night

I think of you

when the river runs clear
if the grass is wet with dew and footprints clearly show
when the heart of nature lifts
and on the dirty path is writ the path of people past

I think of you

and as the years progress
when the anger is softened with quietness
if the comfort of home is enough
when the sigh of wind is merely an echo of someone else’s

I’ll think of you with love



iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 26.08.05    

The fireflies are alive,
flashing from the branches of these sycamores.
Floating above the fields of grass,
in languages of silence,
of melancholy beauty…
impossible to grasp,
improbable to hold,
entrancing to merely feel.



Spring at school

iaian7 » blog » poetry   John Einselen, 17.05.05    

tiredness reeks from the loosely hanging eyelids.
the wear of odoriferous throngs.
spring. loneliness.