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Posts Tagged ‘light’

If Ever You Slip From Up There

To know you are out there in another
sense, I think that if you ever peek down
you lean too far and slip over layered
cloud tops and hit every soft tuft until
a sliver of sunset sky captures you,
stretches you over the scene to look down
on us, spread out over the sea to where
light goes at end of day, or over
shadows around the peaks of ranges,
or tops of endless trees, a meeting place
just out of reach for us, stuck on the
earthly side of things.

I could burrow into a rocky gap on a coast
or mountainside, wait for light, hope
it’s you staying to warm the night.

Kyle McHale

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A Night on a Train Window

I don’t know that face that’s
over mine, it seems old,
not in years but in time spent,
it stares back, through me and
I stare through it
floating on a night-train window.

I focus on the whites of his eyes
to not see the black of them
and wish I had another drink so
I could forgive, forget the world
flicking by, through my
translucent face, printed smears
of distorted sweeping concrete
and light, black air and purple
silhouetted trees, missing fields
with broken flowers after heavy rain,
and litter angels picking up
what they can find on the streets.

It goes by so fast.
I don’t talk to you anymore,
you are in the past
and I cannot get there.

Am I the train or the dark air,
the seat or the glass,
those eyes or the sadness
of that translucent mess?

Am I the past tracks,
or am the next?

Kyle McHale            2016

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Hanging Heart Dripping

Running, running, running away,
To peaceful place where heart has fled,
I need, I need, I need to catch
My heart before my spirit’s dead.

Before the buzzing flies go round
My corpse, my corpse, my corpse that sees,
Just black in distance, distant air,
Catch up, catch up, catch up to me.

When my body finds my heart
In that serene swirl color,
I promise, I promise, I promise I will
Keep my word to friend and brother.

I’ll then be able to complete
The life, the life, I wish to live,
Bitter heart and angered soul,
Release, release, release, forgive.

That heart of mine I think I know,
Waiting on a steep face of rock,
Around it a protective orb,
Protect, protect, protect its thoughts.

I hope it waits and thinks of me,
Sends out a guide in white light beam,
So please, so please, so please arrive
So I can show it what I’ve seen.

To fill it whole and put in chest,
The face of rock is mighty steep,
I climb, I climb, I climb the beam,
My brain with memories to keep.

The only color is the heart,
Blank eyes, blank thoughts, blank skies, blank trees,
Life would be with a touch of grey,
Life is gone with no memories,

Unless the hanging heart decides
To wait, to wait, to wait for sight,
Sight my lost eyes could provide,
To call, to call, out into night.

Roar at the wild hanging heart,
Sitting, thinking, color-dreaming,
Ensure it’s mine and not turned black,
Raining, raining, raining, thinking.

Rock face wet and fingers bleeding,
A storm I will not soon forget,
Blank heartless land should not have rain,
What’s heart’s, what’s heart’s true habitat?

Pulsing, pounding, waiting, needing,
It needs, it needs, it needs to stay,
Was that a touch of color sight
Or are my hopes falling away?

Drip-drop red in front of grey,
The rain is not the rain I thought,
My heart, my heart, my heart it drips,
It drips, it drips down into rock.

Dripping liquid frozen love, and
Spraying, raining a forceful spit,
Into my eyes, the cracks, the brain,
I slip, I slip, my finger tips

Still seem a hundred miles out,
All that’s here are red and wishes,
I wish, I wish, I wish to cry,
Shades of redding-grey blow kisses.

My thoughts, my thoughts, my thoughts alone,
I ache, I climb, I shake alone,
I miss, I cry, I shatter bone,
Dripping heart, drip my love, take me home.

Too much this scene has weighed on me,
Storming, flipping red collection,
I think, I think, I think it has
More than one color reflection.

Reach the ledge, hope it wants thoughts back,
Liquid rocky mess, hope it knows,
I touch, I touch, I touch my heart,
It then, it then, it then explodes.

Kyle McHale      2009

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The Keeper

The farewell light, the watch tower,
The candle keeper up so late,
The flickering thoughts, the sadness stays
When off go those but some must wait.

One day upon returning, maybe never,
The coastline torch that was left behind,
The keeping light may have changed hands
But the light still stays for those to find.

Aged old man are you the one
Who sent me off those years ago?
Are you the one who keeps the light?
Are you the one who guides my soul?

A ship amongst a lonely shore,
A night hanging low in moonlit air.
Fade away into the world then
Find light from a man with silver hair.

Tell him a tall-tale or two,
Watch the light and share his drink,
Do not forget he keeps the shore,
And as you talk, he will watch as he will think.

Kyle McHale      2012

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Reflections

The way our souls are drawn to the underground
As if roaches were surviving the end of times,
Crowded, shoulder to shoulder wishing the
Worst to be over.
We travel in trains under the earth like blood vessels
Moving us to work everyday, from light to darkness to light.
Time moves normally above ground.
The complexities in a day that never cross our mind
Lead us somewhere unknown in the layers of daily routines.
Outdated D.C. metro trains pass by through mind numbing tunnels,
Our reflections flicker in train windows
And we rarely notice them spying on us,
Like mirrors aligned at a barber shop
In endless worlds of ourselves,
Each receiving a slightly different haircut.
My reflection self may have had a better day than I,
Stepping left instead of right to avoid tripping,
Or arriving a minute earlier to catch a train on time.
Our reflections live every part of our lives and theirs.
The poor ones who live only underground,
Stuck to the windows of things,
Remind us that when we have a chance for light, or love,
We must take it without flinching.
Time is patient, though we are not,
And we must love so that our
Limited reflective selves know there is hope for them too.

Kyle McHale       2012

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Remember to Live

So remains a clear picture in the night,
Half forgotten, off centered, on the wall,
Some room of forgotten candles and wood,
Where moon sees its light on that picture fall.

In this hour the picture is perfect,
Remembered by and painted by light,
A man in that picture standing at
Some high valley stream absorbing his sight.

If it were so to cut out of life
A still piece memory of faith dreaming
Real hopes, perfection driven moonlit landscapes
With true uncertain guides, not plain predicting.

Find me in that lofty moment to freeze,
To capture what will never be again,
A moment of real love, inner faith,
Spirit warming from a real friend,

A first mountain morning mist that lifts away,
A snow covered east-lee wood that whispers,
Moments of greatest loss and greatest gain,
Of midnight madness and shifting mixtures.

Throw those moments in a hidden room of
Misplaced items, lost gathering places,
Where deformed, disconnected from the living,
Hoping to catch lost wandering faces.

But only catching moon light is enough,
Forever living moments need themselves
And a touch of all that midnight light to
Truly dance and breathe with content on shelves.

All that’s past and captured, lost and remembered,
Where is that unknown link from us to them?
That they lived, danced, dreamt for us may be enough,
Enough to love that spirit light again.

To see what is and forever will be,
For who we are is who we were,
Amongst the characters of the absurd
Resides some truth, half clear and half pure.

Lock the door to live again,
Join the man at that high valley stream,
Carrying the truth, the love, the light, the right,
Into the living past and present, into the dream.

Kyle McHale      2010

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The Warming Cold

Sweet snow powdered white wintry ground,
A place where my senses are keen,
Big sky is far from black with stars,
Serious ways, confusing dreams,

Have led to this culmination.
The coastline is out there afar,
Water holding secrets to life,
Floating pieces of what we are.

Cratered moon is in second place,
Though any other night it would
Steal my gaze to its secrets.
A night alone in deep cold woods.

Ice shield sides of far ridge lines
Parallel the ridge in my thoughts,
Tempting my senses to tingle,
Wishing for bear or arctic fox

Spirit to help contain my mind,
For cold white wild is calling.
Coastline follows to meet the ridge,
Ridge then seeks the live sky falling

Away to vast arctic places
That stretch their wonders to my feet,
To ask me questions without answers,
A place where cold and soul do meet.

It’s frozen time that keeps me here,
Just one thing is moving slowly,
The colors dance up in the air,
Reflecting on me fully.

This place is known by several names,
The sky is called different things,
Frozen rocks and trees lay still,
Compilation of all things,

Stir up my thoughts and frozen dreams
To hit my heart so very deep,
For in this wild dancing place
The warming cold I have to keep.

Kyle McHale      2008

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