Wednesday, November 25, 2009

A Journey for One

by Noah Matthews
Copyright 2009

I thought this was a journey for as many as were willing
I thought I had to collect people, sing, cajole, amuse
whatever it took to convince them to come along

No matter how many people I collected
No matter how many email addresses, cell phone numbers, or entries in the contact list
it didn't abate, it didn't cease

The doubt
The voice like metal being pulled thin against its will
The sorrow of watching dreams die one by one
The march of time across my face, digging into the marrow of my bones

Suddenly you realize that no one is responsible for your happiness
Only you are
No soul wrapped in flesh, no memory, and no hope cradled in your palms like an ember shielded against the wind

There will always be someone richer, smarter, more talented
gleaming with all that calls out to our flesh
and seemingly untouched by failure, doubt, or despair

And so you find yourself in a room of 100 faces
and yet you feel all alone
and you ask
why in a world with so many places can't I count just one my own

Black and white drop from my sight and only grey remains....

And there it is
Me alone
And if I am to find happiness, if I am to shake off the years of oppression
I must do it

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Ching Ching

by Noah Matthews
Copyright 2009

Ching Ching
A link in the chain
A breakfast bar and out the door

Clang Clang
The race is on
Keyboard and mouse in the war

Beep Beep
dg thru up, cr nds brks
ttyl and stop 4 wine on way

Thump Thump
Anxiety runs
Filling every day

Tick Tick
Gripping hands
Murmuring disapproval

Flash Flash
Inbox filled
Meetings, calls, and acquisitions
Petty complaints and jealous suspicions
Greed, pride and repetitions
Words spewed as ammunition
Doubt and genuine ambitions

Ring Ring
Its only me
Don't for get that wine

Monday, November 2, 2009

A Dime, Three Nickels, and Four Pennies

by Noah Matthews
Copyright 2009

She slid across the worn carpet in tattered shoes
tired, a forced smile resting uncomfortably on her sallow face
just making it behind the cash register as he pushed the bottle of water in her direction.
Reflected in the high sheen of the marble, granite, or was it grarble or manite.
Of course not.
That is stupid.
If he watched one more imperialist displaying blinding white veneers set in silcone-plumped lips tottering around a gleaming marble temple to self disguised as a kitchen renovation on TV he might puke.
And there he was.
People passing, rushing, walking, wandering.
Planes landing, planes taking flight.
She took the faded bills from his hand.
Nearly three dollars for a bottle of water.
What a world.
"You know that is flavored water?"
Of course it is. And why not. This very day thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands walked two, four, seven miles or more just to get a bucket of parasite-laden water
A Refreshing Hint of Lemon and Lime.
Bottle after bottle lined up in rows.
Cold and waiting.
"Your change is twenty nine cents."
My change.