“I am the Coin that Falls Between the Cracks”

“I am the Coin that Falls Between the Cracks”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

parts of me have died
that no one will ever know
nor will ever mourn
and why should they
I am just a remnant of myself
writ small among the vagaries of life

I am the coin that falls between the cracks
the sub-aural hum of power lines
the mote-specked silence of barn lofts
the dull glint of galaxies
as seen through rheumic eyes
I am the shadow
in the corner
of my cold
listless
mind

amid the howl of eternity
there are worlds upon worlds
fractal multiverses strewn
with thoughtless hubris
across heaven’s filthy floor
the dice of fate, kismet’s craps
as reckless gods play
with the lives of men
and alabaster-eyed
sentinels gaze blankly
distant and aloof
into the cackling abyss

once, beneath a leaden sky
a sweltering path led me
through shag-barked copses
and desiccated thickets
to an obscure clearing
and there
in midday gloaming
a spring appeared
and I knelt at water’s edge
seeking desperately
for my reflection
proof of my existence
which eluded me
upon the stagnant rancid
larval-glutted surface
I sought to see my soul
but instead espied
the foul machinations
of a craven universe
amid pond scum
and the stench of reality
and as I fled in horror
the pealing laughter
of amused gods
rent the sky

there are sink-holes in my soul
where I’ve lost myself
along the way
suffocating in tenebrosity
the detritus of shame
trailing behind me
marking my path
from tepid light
to torpid darkness
from inutile hope
to abject despair
the inconsequential
bric-a-brac of
22,000 days
fallen from the cabinets
of my heart
shattered shards
of worthless memories
my mind
a stuttering dynamo
choking on its own fumes

I
have lost
myself in
this desert of
alkali flats and
creosote bushes that
leech all moisture from my eyes
rendering tears unfeasible
seeking shelter from this thoughtless sun
and the mindlessness of my existence

take my hand
if you dare
and I shall show you
a broken soul
a half-hearted man
a mind in free-fall
a dumb dying animal
too cowardly to drop
to the dust and merge
with oblivion
a leprous life
in exile among
incurious stars
shunned by
callous sun
and careless moon
and exhausted
beyond measure
a half-life
every atom radiating
a numbness of spirit

my lost soul slides
languidly
toward
day’s end

and when my somber sun sets
none shall be the wiser

“When Ivory Kiku Bloom”

“When Ivory Kiku Bloom”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

it’s my hope in time to come
when ivory kiku bloom
you’ll remember me
as I remember you

those days so long ago
in absence of joy
fraught with fear and agony
you gazed into the abyss

what did you see in the din
and darkness of depression
what peered back at you
shattered your very soul

in this winter tempest
golden suisen
hides its glowing countenance
waiting for the storm to pass

yet its radiance lives on
deep beneath the blowing snow
its beauty obscured
dimmed for but a moment

I saw your light shining
through your blackest night
with the brilliance of the sun
rising moon’s intensity

in your sorrow you were blind
you saw neither light nor love
nor could you believe
your heart was still alive

thus you mourned a life lost
buried your own soul
oblivion’s rueful loam
brings forth its bitter harvest

in my heart there lies a tomb
wreathed in ivory kiku
every day I pause
to offer my respects

every day I mourn for
what could never be
place my heart upon the shroud
of these fading memories

it’s my hope in time to come
when ivory kiku bloom
you’ll have found your peace
for I’ll remember you

“Snap-beans in a Wooden Bowl”

(originally published at Masticadores Philippines, 3/23/2024)

“Snap-beans in a Wooden Bowl”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

snap-beans
in a wooden bowl
and tears
on her cheeks
my mother’s sorrow
exorcised by
the rite of
working hands
the ritual of
silent contemplation
as evening sun
gilded her world
in holy ephemera
her safe place
ensconced
in her own
sacred light
her garden
her universe

the weeds she hoed
during languid summer days
of sun-burned neck
and aching back
how many belonged to her
how many the memories
of fear and violence
in desperate need of
eradication
her rough ancient hoe
her crucifix
against
my father’s rage
her blisters
turned to calluses
turned to armor
her fingers bent
with age and arthritis
yet strong enough
to hold herself
together
day by day
to contain
the tears the anger the horror

corn silk
her hair was corn silk
as she merged with
row upon row
of papery whispering stalks
her naked feet
rooting into earth
deeply
deeply
where her spirit lived
safe in cool moist soil
a fertile loam
a secret energy
regenerating her
scarred soul daily
only to be
shattered nightly
the cycle of the seasons
her heart always
an autumn heart
forever offering harvest
to all, then burned
to the ground
without a thought
as my father’s
winter approached

I passed her one evening
as she sat snapping beans
in a wooden bowl
her bare feet beagle-draped
farm cats lurking amid
squash blossoms
the westering sun
haloing her tired face
and she gazed at
the distant horizon
staring at the empty world
a faraway smile
nearly touching her eyes
as a tear fell
among broken beans
in her lap
and she looked at me then
and her smile was terrible
an anguish
I’d never seen before
and I knew
that she knew
there was nothing
either of us could do

“Still I Toil On”

“Still I Toil On”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

my old hoe is dull
and the weeds
resist its blade
still I toil on
iron sharpens iron
rust begets rust
the crucible of life
makes or breaks
which shall I choose
do I even have a choice

my garden’s neglect
pains my soul
its hardened soil
thirsts for more
than rain
too many weeds
too few blooms
a loathsome facsimile
of the worst of me

these hands
cracked and dirty
beset by age
and the scars
of a futile life
once strong enough
to break the earth
shatter stone
yet tender still
to caress the lotus
dry the tears
of my beloved
these calloused hands
empty now
save for the
piercing splinters
and burning blisters
of stillborn harvests
and sundered dreams

once, long ago
across the stream
my young man’s eyes
beheld the youthful willow
nubile and lithesome
her slender feet
glissading upon
the cool water
sinuous fronds
breeze-blown
her sultry-shy gaze
beckoning me
offering respite
from noonday sun
and I watched from afar
as egret and kitsune
nestled in her shadows
and I yearned for her
but my garden
needed tilling
my hoe dull even then
my back bent
from years of struggle
my heart distracted
by worries of harvests
yet to be
and in my hesitation
she turned away
and all was lost

cicadas drone
in the bamboo grove
their maddening chorus
a condemnation
their brief lives
leave little time
for memories
but plenty
for judgment
their desiccated husks
reminding me
of life’s brevity
all I’ve lost
all I needlessly
carry with me

it has been too long
since the rains fell
too long since the wind
cooled my brow
too long since
my soul slept
too long have I
gripped this
infernal device
my entire existence
rooted in this
garden of regrets
I have become
the very weed
I wish to slay

still I toil on
for there is naught left
but to toil
until my blade breaks
or the harvester’s scythe
takes me away

“Clarity”

“Clarity”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

in my twilight world the seasons blur
snow on flowers, freezing summer rain
I seek clarity

dim uncertainty
gloaming settles on this silent vale
neither night nor day exists for me

in the mist beyond the frozen stream
yurei whisper in the burning woods
Yomi’s fey lament

nowhere left to go
hesitance and indecisiveness
stranded on the threshold of the fates

in the heavens moon eclipses sun
as Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto
fervently pursues

Amaterasu
fulfilling his futile destiny
casting earth below in shadow gloom

machinations of the earth obscure
as this spinning orb succumbs to guile
in its rayless fugue

and all eyes fall, dazed
as the haze of chaos binds and blinds
my discernment crumbles into dust

truth has lost its glimmer and its sheen
pyrite baubles magnified as gold
in one hand a rose

in the other hand
a dagger; the heart of man depraved
confusion’s inferno conflagrates

forests turn to ash, and ash to snow
bitter flakes descend upon the tomb
of veracity

cloak in acrid pall
verity’s forlorn sarcophagus
candor’s mere slowly evaporates

I can’t tell the darkness from the light
hope, despair—awareness betrays me
every day the scale

of acumen fails
there is naught left but to close my eyes
and weep for lucidity’s demise

“A Latticework of Tears”

“A Latticework of Tears”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

autumn rain has come
orb weaver’s sorrowful web
a latticework of tears
a trellis of weathered memories
in this mournful
forgotten meadow
abandoned
as dusk’s demise
renders moot
vestigial joy
and hope
gives up its ghost

your dreams, you say
what of your dreams
those airy flights of fancy
those rumblings of your soul
tinged the hue of
virginal sun rays
so bright as to
blind you to
the world’s apathy
and horror
so urgent and strident
as to stay your sleep
at night
so incendiary as to
ignite worlds
birth universes

I know of dreams
I know of death, too
the slow withering
of saplings whose
brittle stems
shall never
reach maturity
whose once
verdant leaflets
become piles of
yellow dross
that fade into
oblivion

I know the soul-crushing
pressure of expectations
the futility of failure
the exhaustion of anhedonia
I know the tainted love
of depression
a foul mistress
the bleak and hollow
echoes of loneliness
the roiling pit
of dread and uncertainty
for what lies ahead

dreams memories tears
an elegiac dirge
for a life lost
a life misspent
bereft of love and lenity
the godless howl
of the past
the gaping maw
of the future
I know these things

shattered pieces
of my dreams
litter this lea’s
desiccated grasses
I must tread with caution
lest I slice myself
bloody

let the weaver’s web
display my tears
as trophies of defeat
I have bled enough
let what’s left of me
fall to the earth
as autumn rain

“Stream Among the Reeds”

“Stream Among the Reeds”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

stream among the reeds
peeks at me through cattails
laughs and runs away
do you know you have my heart
do you, little one

I am but an old man now
nearing the clearing
in the woods where I will lie
among columbines
and verdant ferns to make peace

with the universe
every season has its end
every leaf must fall
Luna’s aspect silver-sheened
cycles heavenward

but you, my fair lithesome stream
whose silken skin glows
gilded ‘neath this summer’s eve
whose siren-song calls
forth the sweetest memories

from a lifetime’s font
of sorrow and bleak despair
whose ethereal
caress balms this broken soul
you, my little one

nurture and rejuvenate
keeping hope alive
koi kitsune dragonfly
tree and earth and sky
all accept your gracious gift

but what of you, friend
what recompense lies in store
for your kindly ways
koi glide somnolently in
slow shadowed currents

oblivious to your touch
wary kitsune
drink covertly, disappear
into bamboo groves
gone without a second thought

dragonflies alight
absent-minded and aloof
on reeds and never
acknowledge you smiling face
as you watch amused

do you ever wonder, friend
if anyone cares
does your joyful mien disguise
a heart bereft of
love, a loneliness so deep

it cripples you and
leaves you reeling as you wend
your way on life’s path
through wood and meadow and cleft
choking back your tears

I am not long for this world
but I’m here for you
my friend, let us sit and talk
and commune beneath
this willow upon your bank

let us share our souls
let our words pierce through the veil
that obscures our hearts
let us spend what time is left
in good company

years ago you smiled at me
peering through the reeds
and that’s made all the diff’rence
in the world to me
you’ve made all the difference to me

“My Jade Remembrance” (reprise)

(originally posted 10/5/2021)

“My Jade Remembrance”
(c) 2019 by Michael L. Utley

I used to know you
9,000 tears ago
A tear for every mile
That kept me from you
A tear for every moment
Not spent with you
A tear for every hope
Not shared with you
9,000 tears

A jade remembrance
For my brown-eyed love
A dusky green heart
On a silver chain
I keep in my pocket
It was for you
Everything was for you
Everything I had
Everything gone except
My jade remembrance

You were already dead
Before I ever met you
Your path etched in stone
I was just a detour
A distraction on your way
Into darkness
A temporary reprieve
An unplanned respite
For the lost girl
The girl who would learn to fly
Or die trying

And I was the lost boy
The boy who had
Never seen the sun
Until I saw you
The boy whose shattered heart
Had one last beat for you
A final crescendo for my
Brown-eyed love

I couldn’t fix you
You weren’t broken
You were destroyed
Crushed by the weight of
Damnation
Hounded by demons
Unknown to me
Yet you smiled at me
And pulled me from
My own abyss
And I loved you

My jade remembrance
Are you still there
Did you close your eyes
And take that leap of faith
Did you learn to fly
Or did you die trying
You didn’t just take your life
You took mine too

I keep your heart in my pocket
On a silver chain

“The Barn” (reprise)

(originally posted 11/12/2021)

“The Barn”
© 2013 by Michael L. Utley

On weed-strewn verge of fallow field
The barn still stands, a silent revenant
Of ages past, a mournful sentiment
Amid the dying elms concealed

Its boards the hue of ancient bones
The wind has long since scoured paint away
As season after season rendered gray
Once brilliant lively crimson tones

Dead teasel husks caress its skin
A memory of lilac, wild rose
And hollyhock a melancholy prose
No longer whispered in the din

Of bitter zephyrs in the loft
That magnify each sorrow-laden groan
Each pensive sigh and every hopeless moan
Of dreams denied and yearnings scoffed

On cupola atop the roof
The antiquated weather vane points north
In rusted rictus, ever drawing forth
That demon wind on cloven hoof

Inside, the haymow lost to time
Illusory, a phantom from the past
Whose gilded straws have disappeared at last
An unseen grotesque paradigm

The ladder to the loft on high
Clings stubbornly amid the swirling motes
That dance in hellish pace to eldritch notes
The song of death, fey herald’s cry

And from the loft extends the beam
That transits barn so high above wood floor
Above the stack of hay that is no more
And from this, like some ghastly dream

There hangs a rope no longer there
Recast ephemeral by passing years
Whose insubstantial form allays no fears
Whose memory I’m doomed to bear

All silence now, sere winter’s grasp
Has stilled the air, the motes drift in the night
In moonbeams pale, and from the rope drawn tight
About my neck, my dying gasp

Lilts softly in the midnight frost
As it has done each night for years gone by
Eternal recompense to rectify
All that I’ve done, all that I’ve lost

(Author’s note: I debated whether to post this piece for quite a while. Some of the imagery could be considered disturbing, particularly in the last two stanzas. I used the narrator’s suicide as a metaphor for guilt, shame and loss and how those emotions can haunt us for a lifetime. I considered inserting a trigger warning at the beginning and spent several days researching studies and opinions on such tactics, with the results varying widely and no real general consensus met on how to handle sensitive or disturbing material. In the end, I decided against a trigger warning for several reasons, and chose to add this note instead.

If you or someone you know is suicidal, please talk to a healthcare professional, call your local area suicide hot-line or discuss it with a friend or family member. Above all, know you’re not alone. There is help available to get you through this difficult time.)

“Ripples” (reprise)

(originally posted 10/5/2021)

“Ripples”
(c) 2017 by Michael L. Utley

There are no ripples
On this frozen pond
The puk-puk-puk of
The pebble
Skittering on iced skin
Dampened by
Frost-thick air
Breath caught short
In lung-numbed gasps
Silent words
Suspended
In wintry sighs
Eyes pools of
Frigid tear-prisms
Bitter empty gelid rainbows
Where are you

You missed our flight to Tokyo
The cherry blossoms whispered your name
As Fuji, incurious and remote
Gazed white-helmed
At my solitary shadow
My empty hand
Holding more of you
Than my heart could bear
We did not walk
Beneath flicker-flamed
Paper lanterns
On blood-red bridges
Spanning koi ponds
Under the spring moon
The rising sun
Sought to kiss your cheek
But was denied
As I was denied

You missed auroras
Over Iceland
The Arctic colder
In your absence
The night sky draped
In shimmering iridescent
Thought
The emerald musings of some distant god
Snagged in dark desolation
My own thoughts of you
Caught in my own
Desolation

You missed the candent sands
Of Morocco
Capricious zephyrs
Erasing my footprints
In a desert bereft of
Your footprints
We did not dance
In the summer swelter
Beneath date palms
And stars that sought
To light your way
But failed
Your body absent
In my arms
The scent of your hair
A distant memory which
Hot breezes scatter
In the night

You missed our train
To the Rockies
Where larkspur and columbine
Awaited you with open arms
And later mourned in silence
My singular form without you
By my side
We did not hold hands in
Flower-burst mountain meadows
Azure lakes reflected only
My lone countenance
As conifers murmured
Demurely in cool breezes
Wondering if you
Would ever arrive

You missed our drive
Through New England hills
Autumn maple and hemlock
A conflagration burning for you
Yearning for you
The birches and beeches smoldering
In my heart
Red-orange-gold leaves
Suiciding in silent sadness
Loneliness wearing my face
Stalks these woods
You are nowhere to be found

You missed my arrival
In Singapore
The airport a swarm
Of faces
A blur of oceanic humanity
As I searched for one safe harbor
One stormless island
In this storm of chaos
Your face
A lighthouse to guide me home
Your beacon never appearing
No fog horn guiding me safely
Through treacherous surf
Your bottomless brown eyes
Nowhere
Your smile cut roughly from this mural
Missing
A ragged hole where you should be
In my life

Perhaps you were a
Phantom
All along

Puk-puk-puk
No ripples on this frozen pond
Not enough pebbles remain
To last until springtime thaw
One ripple is all I ask
One ripple to finally reach you
I’ll save a pebble
Just in case