Poetry by Peter Kaczmarczyk
Good morning and welcome to another edition of October Stories! Today's is poetry by Peter Kaczmarczyk
Ember
By Peter Kaczmarczyk
I’ve never really loved and I never will.
My emotions have always been
tempered, squandered, unfulfilled.
My feelings nothing but the embers
of a fire that never burned.
I have never loved as one is meant to,
as I should have found a way to.
My chances were all lost, wasted,
cast away like a cigarette to smolder in the grass.
Fading, forgotten, never more than an ember.
I have never loved, never had the fire in my heart.
I never felt a passion in my soul.
Soon I will be forgotten, just a spark, then gone.
My desires always lost in the smoke
rising from a life that was never more than an ember.
Hollow Heart Way
By Peter Kaczmarczyk
Who would name a road Hollow Heart Way?
Was there no one to tell you
that no matter how much you stumble,
back broken by ruts of man’s making,
teetering along on crumbling edges,
that as deep as an abyss can be created
it can be filled again.
Of course there wasn’t.
You dug the graves alone,
placed the stones, now overgrown,
that marked the way to the house
big enough for a family soon lost to dreams,
that stood at the end of Hollow Heart Way.
I think we shared a vision.
Looked up into the clouds and saw a baby
wrapped in swaddling clothing, it’s face obscured,
leaving the mystery of whether it breathed.
Though I’m not a believer I knew it was Jesus.
You beheld the image while you dug the dirt.
I as I hurtled down the road at just the point
where a weathered sign marked the turn
to lead me to Hollow Heart Way.
I left the paved road to the track back in time,
went past the stones nearly weathered away,
slowed my speed as my pulse raced,
saw the crumbling house that was once a home.
Did you know when you cleared the land,
with sweat and screams and anguish and tears,
that you were preparing the way for many others?
We thank you.
You provided a final home for generations of souls,
a place to go when the time came to cease our travels.
We all arrive when ready to bury ourselves
deep inside the forgotten road called Hollow Heart Way.
I See Our Mothers
By Peter Kaczmarczyk
Today is the last day of the first days of my life
The wasted years too many to count
The aches and pains too numerous to ignore
The hours added up to days
The months so quickly to years
So much time filed with a false contentment
Illusory moments I thought I enjoyed
Dreams I convinced myself had come true
The moments of pleasure I believed were real
Never held my hand to dispel the fear
I worry my Best By date has passed me by
Though I want to think there is more to come
I see our mothers and I know what awaits
I’ve used up my quota of waste
But I never learned how to seize the day
I was best at counting the moments till the next commercial break
Now I will push beyond memories of lost days
The best words I have to say are yet to come
If you will please just hold my hand
As I learn from scratch how to do it all again
No Truce at 3am
By Peter Kaczmarczyk
There is no truce at 3AM
When the cigarettes run low
The whiskey turns sour
You must make your peace
As truth swirls in the smoke just out of reach
There is no truce at 3AM
When I see a face dancing upon the wall
Your eyes like Dali, smile dripping
I recall I once could melt with you
But now am too badly burned
There is no truce at 3AM
The war carried on by our words
In tones of mystery and mystique
A beautiful retelling of what was
Promising wisdom but offering only a false critique
There is no truce at 3AM
Dragging through the last cigarette
Shock and awe until the alarm rings
Calling me onward toward what I do With what I am, left behind, at 3AM
Bio
Peter Kaczmarczyk is a lifelong writer who has only started seriously pursuing poetry in the last few years.
He is a native Masshole but was willing to move to Indiana when he heard there were Dunkin Donuts there.
His writing is often assisted by cats, who think they can do better than him by walking across the keyboard when he is not looking.
Peter has been published in several dozen journals and anthologies and has one chapbook, Distant Yet Always Heard, from Alien Buddha Press.
Peter is co-creator of the Captain Janeway statue in Bloomington, Indiana.
