Poetry by Ben Holland
More October Stories continues, with poetry by Ben Holland.
Uninvited
I was at the skeleton party
again last night.
You know the one, where the
faces are never in focus
and the music never stops
and never changes
and the drink never quenches
the thirst.
The thirst.
That is your ticket
to this maddening parade
where the stories never end
and the hollow eyes scream in agony
and solidarity
with the joy for each new guest
who never arrives
and never leaves.
But the party never seems to get
larger than the back of the closet,
that hole where you buried your dreams
long ago.
Control and Contemporary Art
I really thought today was the day
I don’t know if it was the news of hearing that my friends neighbor
was just found after rotting away for three days
or the news of yet another veteran taking action
Leaving behind 3 kids and a wife
Not much older than me
The shells were placed in a pretty row
waiting for the grand show
And it almost happened
I am not sure if it was the thought of the kid going on alone
or the wife in black
or the friends somberly weeping
or the pact I made to wait for my grandmother to be first
I am never truly sure if this is the Truman show
And we are all actors
waiting for our final cue
But I am still here
For some strange reason
Fighting on
Perhaps there is peace in the coming hours
Days
Months
Adam would know
I would hate to disappoint
Pale Horse with the Marble Eye
All things considered
I would take the Gambit of
the pale horse with the marble eye
He slipped silently from the fog
on the periphery of my field
Marking the little time that we have
Thanks for the update you say
As I go about our day
and I’m lost on the on- ramp
waiting for the excuse to cut in to the line
of human succession
a blinker should do
But
Is that right?
Or is it left?
Not knowing the weight of the day I put on the hazards
Just to play it safe
And yet
I have managed to go no further than my
Driveway
I am stuck
along with the oil stains
wishing to be
Gone
without a trace
no spark
no idea
As to what makes us human
Makes us move forward
We are the generation of promises
The generation of easy
The first family of peace
And
We suffer for it
We are not defined for defending
We are not defined for freedom
We can not see the absence of war
Entirely connected
And yet
fail to grasp the consciousness of the day
we are your parents lost generation
There is no denying it
The truth is
We can have no authority to what America is
We have landed in a reality that betrays the word
And we can not unite
And we can not understand the truth
Only the difference that we are
We have lost the Great Dream
The Great Experience
And we are too scared to do anything about it.
Forever the in between
So give me the Gambit of the Pale Horse
with the marble eye
and we will slip silently back
into the fog.
Bio:
The new face of the seeker in the crowd, Ben Holland has traversed the globe in search of many things – mostly himself. To now reside in Kentucky after having been chased out of Camelot (some may call it Connecticut), surviving tours of duty in as far away and exotic places as Iraq and Kuwait, is what could be called a small miracle. Belonging now to tribe of transplants that is Louisville, he finds himself square amid a life that is once again evolving into something more fit for his creative spirit. At the urging of his lovely wife, he is finally pursuing an active writing career, and it starts now with the Final Gonzofest!
