Running ̊Son – Poems collection pt. 16


November 10 by The Running Son

-• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •-

Here’s the best of my unpublished poetry over last week or two. Part 16. Love you all. Enjoy. 😉

Related posts:

All Poetry by RunningSon, aka Jim Aldrich

 ̊Running ̊Son


collection pt. 16


” Nobody likes________

Nobody likes…ellipses,
and we all hate
long lapses__________
of thought.

Flat laughs and bad timing?
Near misses.
But nothing a long kiss
cannot solve.

written for The Poetry Question Daily Prompt Nov. 8


I sit here thinking up ways to frame
my depression and make it acceptable.
In a mixed up academic malaise, I obsess
in attempting to name the ineffable.

Confessing to sins seldom committed.
I admit learning lessons—a few reconsidered.
Taboos, thick fogs and selected omissions
condition my message to seem less embittered.



Previously unpublished.

½— bi-polar bummer —½

Some call it manic depression, that’s OK by me.
By any name
It’s still a game of extremes, an amalgamation
gone array;
when daylight fades, and black and white bleed
to grey, poles
and shifting perspectives miss the moment’s lesson


previously unpublished

“Light Leaks”

The truth
about the lunar you
becomes more clear each new cresting.

Moon vines
tendril, slip in between—
slip through—to the other side unseen,

where apparently
light continues to shine
long past midnight, and clear into high noon.



Previously unpublished.

Over seas

Land passes us, fast by.
County to state of grace, to countryside.

Continents like great hands interlace,
weaving deep beneath the sea

as the ground, receding, shakes and sighs;
tears gather in that basin,

then by the sun, tectonic uplifting,
and the moon’s patient mothering, lactate dry.

Adapted from a duet with Poetic

All the properties of home

Called up! Adopted off, shown
to a room, left in the gloom to execute
janitor’s duties,
ghoulish gait and affect, my teeth rattling,
stealing peeks, squeezing through cracks
in any door fitting an adoptees with needs,
or lock cracked to receive adoptable latch-keys.

Got rocks in my pockets, and a fat sling
where my wallet oughta be.
Got a backpack bursting
with tshotshkes—shards of glass I grabbed
in passing; kept souvenirs
from past lives littered with regret and confetti:
a ring of old keys. Shrapnel from old dreams.



Previously unpublished.


Alchemy is sorely needed,
wisdom reborn from mere reason.
The right math, egos conceded,
clears chaff to refine wheat season.

Wisdom re-soles well worn heels;
divine sight, granted by feel,
sealing holes in souls, wealth revealed,
spilling the gold all hearts conceal.

Comment poem

“Genuine communication deconstruction”

Strange how apologies went unspoken.
Token words broke in–smoke in the mirrors
(best reflected kept clear,

or clean enough to see you, or to see
if you were teasing all along like I feared).
Strange how things got broken,

sharp words darted with focus, penetrating
slow, a gentle easing (reticence  in fear of displeasing?).
The slow blade separates

bone from reason and meaning from seasonal
upheaval, feeling from evil, agape from semen,
and genuine promises

from real live people, genuinely leaving.



Previously unpublished.

♫ hope u enjoyed! Jim  –

-• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •-

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RFB editor Jim Aldrich, Joshua Tree CA 2013

RunningSon aka Jim Aldrich, Joshua Tree CA 2013 | This site is dedicated with the deepest gratitude to Dr. Cláudio Naranjo, whose writings gave me life.

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