Anything but Dreams by Eric Nixon
To calling
And essentially
Belittling
One of the greatest
Symphonies ever performed
By referring
To it as
Just a ditty
June 29, 2002
Chelsea, MA
Thinking back to the incredible mix of new emotions I felt as a teenager.
Delicious as a Whisper
Delicious as a whisper
Tremendous in a tremble
Craving the caress
The velvety fierce passion
Between our sweet shuddering
Exploding in luscious agony
December 31, 2003
Bay Point, CA
This was written as part of an erotic magnetic poetry contest, at my friends’ New Years party, in the last few minutes of 2003. I decided to go for eroticism as opposed to raunch…which is why I lost.
Out
Ratty Blanket
Looked up in the sky
At the ratty blanket
That covers us at night
The one with the little
Teeny tiny holes that
Let the pinpricks of light
Through all over the place
Reminding us that the bright
Is on the other side of the night
Then I saw the larger hole
Of the eclipse I’m freezing to see
Luminescently dark but brighter
The further you look down
Like the blanket had a tear
And a flap of fabric was
Hanging down backlit
Difficult to describe
But you’d know it
If you had seen it
Part of the dark
Hanging down
Needed to be
Repaired
Mended
Fixed
Brr.
Too cold for shorts
So back inside
To the warmth I went
November 8, 2003
Manchester, NH
I stood outside for 20 minutes looking at the eclipse of the moon. It was pretty cool, but I was only wearing shorts in the 20-degree weather (so, it was pretty cold as opposed to just being cool). While I was out there staring at the sky, it hit me that the night time sky is like an old ratty blanket with lots of holes that let in the light. Kind of a nifty analogy since a ratty blanket lets out the heat and it was wicked cold out.
Autumn Is Faster
Beginning of September
Driving up I-93
Cool with a crisp breeze
Even though there will be
A few days of summer
Left here and there
I can dream to dare
That autumn is faster
Approaching here
Thinking to steer
My car over there
Looking to stare
At all the trees
How now
They’re green
Somehow it seems
That it won’t be
For much longer
Instead they’ll be
Filled with color
And down falling
As I start wearing
Jackets once again
Those days are up
That road somewhere
Sometime fairly soon
Until I come to that exit
I’ll be lamenting the fading heat
And enjoying the waxing cool
All for no other reason than I’m
Stuck on the cusp of the seasons
September 6, 2003
Manchester, NH
The weather lately has been very cool with a definite autumn sharpness to the blowing wind. I love this time of year…it’s so refreshing after a hot summer.
Astute Frostian Observations
Driving home on a rainy Sunday
From spending the night at a
Friend’s house near Amherst
Driving north up Route 202
Drizzling down on everything
Empty road out there
Empty mind in here
My thoughts void of anything
Then I notice the bubbly gray
Of the petrified snake winding
Through the forest out here
In the middle of nowhere nothing
An old New England tradition
Stone fences that are separating
Everyone’s property under the
Astute Frostian observations
Of fences and neighbors even
Out here where it seems no one
Lives but I’m sure that someone
Did at one point decades or even
Centuries ago and for whatever
Reason they saw fit to mark
What’s mine apart from
What’s theirs with a permanent
Pile of rounded gray stone
What would the builders say
If they could see what I am seeing
Where what used to be their farmland
Was now forest
Where what used to be their lives
Was now erased
Too much to think about
On a rainy Sunday
So I get back to thinking
About nothing in particular
As the forest gets replaced
By the man-made lake
Of the Quabbin Reservoir
November 4, 2003
Manchester, NH
Nothing on my mind at all today (kind of odd) while driving back from my friends’ house in Belchertown, Massachusetts, when I saw some old stone fences in the woods. I grew up in the Berkshires and saw them all the time in the forest and never gave them a second thought. Only this time I did.
Streaky With Contrails
Beautiful cloudless
Crystal deep blue sky
Sadly, it was so scarred
Streaky with contrails
Criss-crossing above
The nature I’m in
Cutting right through
The indigo ceiling
Another thing of beauty
Marred by man
April 25, 2004
Manchester, NH
I’ve had the phrase “streaky with contrails” in my Palm for a few months now and finally did something with it.
Hush
The white shapes so pretty
Filling the world with serenity
The only sound is the hush
Of fat flakes falling around
Even then, they don't make a sound
February 12, 2004
Manchester, NH
The last time it snowed, I went outside and was treated to an amazing scene. Not a single sound. Nothing. It was like the gently falling snow had deflected or absorbed every last trace of noise. Perfection in a moment.
Happy
Only Good Things Can Come of This
Wonderful things
Running amok
Out in the street
In every house
Down here
Up there
Everywhere everywhere
Tossing out the cares
Ignoring the worries
Torching the concerns
Letting go of everything
Crazy go nuts time
Rambunctious and rowdy
Edging towards tawdry
With that ethereal quality
Sitting on the edges
Laughing like the one
Deliciously in on it
Who knows that
Only good things
Can come of this
May 2, 2004
Manchester, NH
This is what happens when I sit and write with nothing at all in mind.
Happily Ignoring
Looking around the room
Small piles of things
Wanting my attention
Books be
That want to be read
Bills beside me
That should be sorted
CDs on the floor
That need to be burned
And some of them returned
To the friends that loaned
Them to me months ago
Pictures that ought to be scanned
And emailed to the ones in them
In the room down the hall
A guitar crying to be learned
Sketchbook in the bookcase
Mostly blank and empty inside
In my bedroom a pile of clothes
Needs to folded and put away
Another pile unhappy and wrinkled
Waiting impatiently to be ironed
I have a day off and I can get it all done
But I don’t and I’m sure I won’t
Instead I sit here where I usually am
In my worn red office chair
In front of the computer
Happily ignoring the cries and pleas
Of the chores that surround me
September 28, 2003
Manchester, NH
This is my life right now.
Eggers Can Wait
The first truly warm night
That finds the two of us
Sitting on white wicker
Facing each other
Books in hand
Our feet up and out
And resting together
On the matching table
Pint glass half full
Of gently fizzing
Of gently warming
Diet Coke right there
Beside my left arm
On the white railing
My finger marks
My place in the book
Eggers can wait
As I take in the moment
And look up and watch
The pillar next to me
Reach up so very high
And hold the ceiling up
All of it perfectly white
With the notable exception
Of the yellow from the light
Way up there above me
In another month it’ll be
A beacon for bugs and moths
But for now it’s left
Undisturbed to do its job
Without fanfare
Without interruption
The high-pitched squealing
Of loud and bratty brakes
Calls my attention to my left
Out in the night I watch
As the car slows but never quite stops
Despite the octagon’s best intentions
It must be frustrating being a red sign
At the intersection
Of two, lightly traveled, one-way streets
No one listens
Hell, even a yield would be pissed
A moment later the squealy car is gone
And the peaceful silence
Once again crowds around
And fills the air with the light
And greenly living spring breeze
I look across the street
At the illuminated sides
Of the big beautiful Victorian
That lives dichotomously
By day
The first floor is a doctor’s office
(Psychotherapy as the sign says)
By night
The upper floors alive with apartments
Our building lives a similar life
Earning its keep in the light
With the dentist office down here
And making money at night
By the three apartments up there
Another gentle breeze
Closes my eyes and
Gets taken and breathed deeply
This scene is almost perfection
A nudge against my foot
Brings me back to now
I look up and return the smile
Correction
Now it’s perfection
Our feet interlace tighter
And we get back to our books
With the perfect night
As our backdrop
April 19, 2004
Manchester, NH
I think I’ve said it all.
Save That Wish
My friends being funny
Told the waiter secretly
That it's my birthday
So out comes a slice
Of cheesecake lit aflame
With a candle on top
We all had a good laugh
Since my birthday
Is four months away
And got back to talking
A few minutes later
Back comes the waiter
Sees the candle burning
And asks if I'm trying
To save that wish
We all laugh some more
But his words got me
Really intently
Thinking wondering
About the possibility
Of something I had
Never really considered
What if I could save it
Take my wish home
And use it
On a day
When I need it
What if the lit candle
Could safely be put
In my pocket
And wouldn't
Ever go out
Unless I blew it out
During the making
Of a needed wish
That would be so cool
But not something
That could ever happen
In any kind of reality
So I made a quick wish
And blew it out
Still secretly thinking
It was a good idea
December 26, 2003
Fresno, CA
We were having dinner at a restaurant in Fresno, California when my friend excused himself and secretly told our waiter that it was my birthday. Later, the desserts came and my slice of cheesecake had a candle in it. I was surprised but played along with it and told the waiter how much it sucked having a birthday on the day after Christmas. As I ate the slice, I let the candle continue to do its thing. A few minutes later the waiter returned and asked if I was saving the wish. It got me thinking, so I wrote this.
After Living a Lemon Life
She’s so good at making
Such awesome amazing
Yummy tasty
Lemonade
The kind made only
With practice
And experience
From the lemons
That life has
Given to, or
Thrown at her
Over the years
A fresh pile means
A fresh batch means
A fresh chance to succeed
So in the end
She gets the last laugh
Rich in the knowing
That she’s standing tall
After living a lemon life
Sipping the bestest tasting
Most refreshing lemonade
Anyone’s ever made ever
November 2, 2003
Manchester, NH
My mother asked me to write a poem based on a bunch of different suggestions. I didn’t want to use them, so I wrote one about her instead.
Going Mad With Smiles
Strangers catching up
On a lifetime apart
A lifetime of never knowing
A lifetime of never having met
Each other ever before
Talking for so wonderfully long
It drained my phone’s battery down
After the exhaustion caught up
We finally said goodbye and I was
Going mad with smiles
Thinking about her
Just a couple of miles
North of here
Across the city
Sleeping in between
The
Staring at the ceiling
Lying and replaying
The words exchanged
At last slowly drifting
Off to start dreaming
About each other
The matching smiles
Still brightly shining
While deep in sleep
Just a few miles apart
March 4, 2004
Manchester, NH
Seatbelting
You can't see
The smile on my face
Here in the quiet
Bedroom darkness
Your back against my chest
My arm wrapped
My hand cupped
Your arm seatbelting
My arm safely against you
Unseen matching smiles
In the sleepy darkness
Drifting off to sleep
Knowing that life
Is good to keep
December 10, 2003
Manchester, NH
Nothing really to base this off of other than past remembrances and future dreams.
Reason
I once had a reason
And the reason was her
Now I have a reason
And that reason is me
July 1, 2003
Manchester, NH
This idea came to me while I was driving to work one day. I stopped my mp3 player and recorded it. That was a few weeks ago. Today, I stumbled across it in my mp3 player and finally wrote it.
Heart and Fingers
Can’t stop writing, typing, whatever you call it
The fingers won’t stop doing what they’re doing
They, along with my heart have taken over
And I’m just along for the ride
As they take a nugget of an emotion and run with it
And just go go crazy and don’t stop until it’s done
I wish I could come up with these things I’m writing
I guess I do, but it seems that I’m a passenger
Looking out the window of my shell
As I pour my emotions down all over the keys
And they appear on the screen
No choice, no say in it whatsoever
Out it goes before I realize there’s even a thought
That supports the words
My fingers pause once in a while to grab the mug
Of frostiness in front of me
And swig it down the fuel that runs the creativity
Sometimes but not always
But it can’t hurt
And it can’t help
But whatever
An instrument a conduit for something greater
I somehow doubt it but maybe who knows
I certainly don’t
As I let the passive creativity flow through
The fingers as they dance in front of me
In the clicky-clacky style that is music
Only to my ears
The symphony of life
Only to my ears
So away I type
Not stopping until I’m done
And even though this one is finished
I’m not done with my work
Not done until I’m dead and gone
Not until my heart and fingers stop
April 11, 2003
Manchester, NH
I didn’t plan any aspect of this, I just typed. The hardest part of it was deciding to call it Symphony of Life or Heart and Fingers. I chose the latter because I really doubt I was the first person to come up with the phrase “Symphony of Life” and I didn’t want to seem like I was ripping it off. I’ve never heard that phrase used before but it seemed so borderline cliché that I had to go with the other one.