Medicated

Medicated
By: James Dubeau

My eyes grow heavy
On this afternoon
As pen scratches paper
On this dreary day
I need to be up
Active
Moving around
Running around the block
But today
I cannot
Not while this illness
Hangs heavy
Upon my head
Keeping me weighted down
With medications
Unable to move
Unable to enjoy
That which
I typically do
All that I can
Accomplish today
Is writing these few lines
Before nodding off
Returning
To dreamless sleep

Pain

Pain
By: James Dubeau

Pain
Scratches
Clawing
Where I cannot reach
Where I cannot comfort
Nothing can be done
To sooth this hurt
Deep inside of me
Every movement
Exacerbates
The pain
Jabbing knives
Deeper
Into my flesh
Cutting
To my very soul

Can’t Sleep, Must Write

Can’t Sleep, Must Write
By: James Dubeau

When evening comes
Exhaustion wins
Driving me
To bed for sleep
However
Mister Sandman
Has not found me
Willing to take
His gift of rest
My eyes
Grow heavy
Can’t keep them open
But my mind
Is alive
Screaming
To dance and play
Creating visions
Playing out scenarios
Thinking things through
More than is needed
Why does this happen
I scream to my pillow
Is it because
My two jobs
Do not leave time
To properly unwind
Or is it simply
That I’m overtired
And my body is rebelling
Against the lack of sleep
If that was so
Then why can I
Only fall asleep
After write a poem
Or three
I fear
This is due
To my need
My want
My drive
To create
Without scratching
Words on paper
I am nothing
But just a simple man
With a pen in my hand
I open the floodgates
Of my mind
Creating
Worlds to play in
Releasing
Built-up pressure
Keeping me awake
Each night

Drifting Clouds

Drifting Clouds
By: James Dubeau

Drifting clouds
Floating by
Blanketing the sky
Turning to black
I watch you float
Across the sky
In puffy gobs
Is there a storm
On the horizon
Waiting for me
To leave the sanctity
Of the indoors
Or will those clouds part
Showering me
With the last glimpses
Of sky and sun
Until the day
Finally turns
To night

Sickened Muse

Sickened Muse
By: James Dubeau

Where is that spark
Where is that idea
Which will carry me
To the end
I need something
To write about
I need something
To dream about
Worlds to create
Worlds to live
Worlds to meander through
With rambling words
Filling the blank pages
But the spark
Does not come
No inspiration today
Not while I’m feeling ill
Not while I’m nursing this tea
My muse is gone
Away from me today
Hidden behind
The mucus
And illness
She will not return
Not until I’m better
And well rested
And full of spit and gumption

Sunday Afternoon

Sunday Afternoon
By: James Dubeau

Curled upon
The soft leather couch
Pen in hand
Scrawling
Upon the tattered notebook
Words flow freely
Gliding in black
Upon the page
A trumpet solo
Rolls from speakers
Dotted across the coffee shop
In six months
A fire would be roaring
But today
Artificial logs lay lifeless
Taking in late spring warmth
Notebook pages flap
Curling
In the conditioned air breeze
As I sit here
Relaxed
On this Sunday afternoon

Walking Together

Walking Together
By: James Dubeau

Lush green expanses
Roll in every direction
Deep in the heart
Of the city
We walk together
Hand in hand
Down un-groomed trails
Every pebble is felt
Though the soles
Of well loved shoes
Early spring overcast skies
Begin to part
Showing glimpses
Of bright blue heaven
Hills were steep
As trails wind over
But our steps together
Come easy
Around the bend
Over the ridge line
Towers of brick and steel loom
Watching us
Reminding us
That we are still
Surrounded by urban landscapes
And have not
Been transported back
One hundred years or more
As the isolation
Had led us to believe
No other visitors
Were on those trails
Nor could automobiles
Be heard
The only accompanist
On our journey
Were chipmunks
And rabbits
And blue jays above
But our time
Amongst Mother Nature
Had come to an end
And we had
To return to city life
Grasping each other’s hand tight
We took a deep breath
And stepped from the wilderness
Back to the concrete
And steel
And realities of life

A Solitary Tree Stands

A Solitary Tree Stands
By: James Dubeau

A solitary tree stands
Off in the distance
Brown
Dead
Grandfather
To the life of late spring
Even in death
He stands mighty
Against wind
And weather
And time
Proving how strong
He was in life
Tornado bearing storms
Were not enough
To bring him
Crashing down
He stands
Strong
Tall
A monument
To be revered
By all who pass

Nervous Anticipation

Nervous Anticipation
By: James Dubeau

Nervous anticipation
Slips through
Controlling fingers
Calming breaths
And pen on paper
Work free doubts
Restore sanities
Keeping any hesitation
Just below the surface
However
There should have been
No fears
Not for actions
Done a thousand times
But fears do lurk
Behind each shrubbery
Deep in the mind
Only carrying through
Would rise the sun
Illuminate the path
Vanquishing darkness
And bring a smile
To my face

Rage

Rage
By: James Dubeau

Rage
Anger
Hate
Bubbles up
From murky depths
Every word
Every action
Brings fourth
Feelings
Thoughts
Words
Actions
Which have been
Bottled up
For seven years
For a life time
Only now
To be unleashed
With unapologetic
Rage

Here I Sit

Here I Sit
By: James Dubeau

Here I sit
Waiting
For the day’s events
To come to me
Killing time
In my car
Trying to write
A poem or two
But I cannot
Not today
For
My pen is dead
Out of ink
Unable
To scribble
A line
Or two
While the radio plays
And the sun
Falls across the sky

Hidden Danger

Hidden Danger
By: James Dubeau

Towering
High above me
Sandstone
Reached for the sky
Piled
In majestic simplicity
But yet
For how sturdy
The imposing structure
Might have been
There were signs
Of weakness
Discoloration
Water stains
Ran alongside
Turning browns
Dark
Deforming
Warping
Destroying
The surrounding
White rocked walls
Signs of damage
Signs of danger
Lurking
Buried
In dark recesses
Invisible
To naked eyes
If only Invisible
Shades of red
Could be seen
Then
One would truly know
Of the darkness
Growing
Upon wood and fiber
Ready to strike
Ready to kill
Those who choose
To inhabit
Near the sandstone tower

Wine Cave

Wine Cave
By: James Dubeau

Sprinkled across
Hard wood walls
Little caves
Of joy

In a pattern
Of polka dots
Zigzagging
Here and there

With uniformity
But yet chaos
In those dark caverns

As corks and caps
Do emerge
Protruding
From those walls

No pattern
Could predict
Which was filled
Or which was empty

Necks reached out
Yearning for me
My grasp
My caress

Drawing my eyes
Back and forth
From the many caverns

The green one
The gold one
Or maybe the blue

Which one shall be mine
Which one shall I consume
Which one shall I take home

Closing my eyes
I reached gently
As if caressing a lover

My trembling hand
Returned the bottle
From the wood wall

I held it close
Not wanting to drop
My new found treasure
Of joy