After the Clouds Passed

 

 

The weekenders all left by seven

so I stand as one this evening 

on the cabin’s cedar deck

just me and the super moon

bonding, naked to the lake

 

Crickets chatting with frogs

trees moving to the wind’s whispers

soft smacks of waves on dock boards

and a feral cat pining for friends 

who won’t return for another five days

 

It’s all readable in stars I can finally see

we share them, the gray and I

our skins cooled by white beams

that caused the birds to sleep before us.

Who knew this is how it worked?

 

That there must be one man, one cat,

some reptiles, insects, wind and waves,

and a super moon shining through oak leaves

to make us all silhouettes 

in a community of silver

 

@2024 Aaron Williams

Published by Zoetic Press, Nonbinary Review, Issue 38, Rituals

 

Pleased that my poem, "between the lines," is published in the road trip themed Superpresent, Fall 2024, Vol.4, Number 4 issue. 

between the lines

 

 

pastures of beige thoughts blow like prairie grass

vast   willowy   swaying   in a gentle   chaos

 

I am heading west of Colby, Kansas

driving 70   on 70   at 3:17 a.m.

 

trying not to think   at all

I just keep the pedal down

 

to get   some   where

else

 

hearing the heartbeat of concrete’s cracked horizons

that hushed   thump-thump   when tires meet tar

 

my mind blurs from the conscious whir

focusing on what is not here

 

between   the   lines

silence

 

@2024 Aaron Williams

Superpresent, Fall 2024, Vol.4, Number 4 issue

The Hand Whisper

 

 

dawn

is worse

 

the years

pass one by two

 

on my side

I wait for its return

 

a hand whisper

as her breath haunts my nape's chilled hairs

 

my heart remembers

that curved arm kiss warming up sleeping skin

 

the way she made air move

how it crossed over like a glider finding home

 

I wonder how much longer

before I will feel a her here behind me once again

 

to be a man a woman wants

to turn to and hold for morning comfort from night's smiling exhale

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

©2024 Aaron Williams

Published in Months To Years, Fall 2024 issue

A nice birthday present arrived in the form of an acceptance of one of my poems by Months to Years. The poem was written six years ago and was submitted about 100 times to try to find its published home. http://monthstoyears.org/the-backstory/ has a precious backstory and this poem of mine was a perfect fit for them and their journal a perfect fit for the work. 

Digital and then printed publication to follow in their upcoming Fall issue. In the meantime, here's a look at their Summer 2024 issue.

http://monthstoyears.org/

The Challenged

 The Challenged

 

 

There was a magic about him

to walk into a neighborhood bar

randomly, purposefully step up to strangers

shake their hands without saying a word

move on to the next, and the next, and then leave

 

Daily, his routine was celebrated

as was his name, Sedric

bespectacled, near bald

always wearing crisp clean khakis

solid-colored, short-sleeved shirts and patterned neckwear.

 

When he did speak

the words seem to stab

like they were interrupting

some inner voice already in conversation

like a waitress jabs, “Anything else?”

 

What Sedric wore brightest

was a smile of accomplishment

perhaps a set number of hands impacted

or a circuit finished, like a marathoner's last mile

like a pen happily returning to its plastic pocket protector

 

On the grayer days

he would drag his necktie

like some unholy umbrella

confessing to the sidewalk

how long the hours were

 

Everywhere we live

there is a Sedric shaking hands

whom we see in a foretelling mirror

beyond the taint of laughter

whispering, "There, but for the grace..."

 

                                              Aaron Williams

              @2023 by Arts by the People for inclusion in their Moving Words collaborative film project

Note:  Over a nine-year span, this poem was submitted more than 200 times to a variety of literary journals worldwide. I always believed in the piece.  It was only when accepted by ARTS by the People did I realize the deep imagery of the work and how it could indeed inspire a film. The film aired November, 2023.

 Whoosh of a Sliding Glass Door 

There is a part of me rural 
like deer gathering on Sunday morning 
like the scent of skunk entering my car vent 
cans of Busch rusting in red clover 
and lilacs blooming, lilacs blooming, just for me 

There is a part of me rural 
as a blue jay swoops, screeching at my cat 
as she explores an unleashed frontier 
green emboldens after a welcomed rain 
as I am ionized after each shower of the Perseids 

There is a part of me rural 
like dust resting on a country store's front windowsill 
"Come in, run fingers over your past" 
waiting to be reborn, then being reborn 
my inner child toddles on barn wood flooring 

There is a part of me rural 
as the whoosh of a sliding glass door 
has inside running outside 
mint green sheets waving at turquoise gutters 
free from a reality that nothing is on tv 

There is a part of me rural 
like cascading billboards for Meramec Caverns 
like winds winding the giant ball of twine 
streams of red, white and blue church doors 
staring at free air defining my simpleRR smile 

 

                                                                                                                                                Aaron Williams

Published 2023 in Kansas City Voices, Vol. 18 

Holiday Remembered

Fifteen years in the making, I am pleased to offer the now published version of "Holiday Remembered," appearing January 6, 2023, in Panoplyzine, Issue 23, Winter 2023

Link to Holiday Remembered

I am pleased that three poems were accepted in the fourth quarter of 2022. Yay. For some reason having problems getting the link for the first one appearing online to show in this blog. Please copy and paste into your search engine to read it. Not sure how to fix this problem. Hmmm.

https://panoplyzine.com/holiday-remembered-by-aaron-williams-2/

Buck on Baseball

a concrete poem published by Boog City, issue 137, 2020

https://wordpress.boogcity.com/boog-city-paper/boog-city-137-the-baseball-issue/buck-on-baseball/

"Mississippi"

  a Poetry Slab concrete poem published in the University of St. Andrews, Scotland literary journal, The Scores, Issue 9, 2021 

https://thescores.wp.st-andrews.ac.uk/aaron-williams/

Showing Me the Moon

(A Terzanelle for Dr. Michael Castro, the first official St. Louis Poet Laureate)

 

 

showing me the moon

underwear too far down

I thought of him a loon

 

more harlequin than clown

the pattern was quite checkered

underwear too far down

 

I feared a sight soon peckered

lower and lower slid his pants

the pattern was quite checkered

 

his grab too often on his lance

got the lad excited

lower and lower slid his pants

 

too soon he was self-knighted

waddle waddle everywhere

got the lad excited

 

the question remained who would stare

waddle waddle everywhere

showing me the moon

I thought of him a loon

Published 2019 in the now-defunct Not Your Mother's Breast Milk blog

 

Waiting for What and When

 

 

Soon, a day will come

when I will look in the mirror and not know who I am

not recall how I got that scar above my eye

stare at photos, unable to place names on faces

 

Already, I am opening drawers filled with keys to

locked doors in buildings that have been demolished

 

Daily, I pass structures haunted by long kisses from

lovers whose lips have long abandoned me

 

Today, I pulled the cord on the bus, stood up

stood   out   standing   still   like a stilled life

and  did  not  think   at all

 

I smiled, charmingly

they like me more when I smile

Published 2018, Vallum, Memory and Loss issue, Vol. 15:1

That Last Strand of Time

That Last Strand of Time

 

 

That last strand of time with you

I would twirl your white hair

‘round my finger ‘til it hurt

and never let it go,

never let you go,

if I could

 

That last strand of time with…

I would write L-O-V-E squared

twining words for warmth

to walk cooler paths

hold hands like wreaths

revered

 

That last strand of time

I would breathe you

like purple lilacs

steeping spiced tea

fresh cut mint

air

 

That last strand of…

I would cry

white darkness

the curtain call

falling

down

 

That last strand

I stare

at closed eyes

exhaled

depth

 

That last…

gold

whispered

mined

 

That

last

strand

At

last

 

Stranded

 

Published 2018, The Healing Muse, Vol. 18

Hope on a Windowsill

Hope on a Windowsill

 

 

a

wish

bone

one

thanks

giving

day

met

another

left        the

year          before

waiting      wanting

wanting          waiting

for that               special

some                           one

to                                   pull

on                                 the

 other                        side.

2018 Community Award Winner, Hope/Ephemera Poetry Contest, The Lawn Chair Soirée, Montreal, CA

Insight

Insight

I met a blind man on the trail

accompanied by two sighted friends

who offered to let me pass them by.

I elected to remain, standing,

almost alone, with my eyes closed,

and breathed in the first decaying scents

of the oncoming Fall and heard

the talking breeze that carried hawks

he had seen before me.

Winner, 2013 Poetry in Motion Contest, Metro Arts in Transit, St. Louis, Missouri

(photograph taken 9-30-11 at Castlewood State Park, St. Louis County, Missouri)