Posted on by Trevor Elms

Presently Present.

Seems like I’ve seriously slowed down with my writing, but there is only so much free time. I’ve been spending a lot of it with Megan and my friends lately. The buddies live across the country so it’s been online playing a video game. I consider that hanging out all the same.

I decided yesterday that too much time had passed and I needed to write something. Could finish one of the many drafts I have laying around now, or write a poem, as the last thing I posted was an article about balance.

So, I again found myself writing about time. I was supposed to get this posted this morning, but didn’t find the time yesterday to get it prepared. Had to do so this morning before work and get it out at 4PM. I really like sticking to specific posting times, at least. Gives me the nice illusion of a proper schedule I have set for myself.

Anyways, here’s my most recent poem about time,

Presently Present.

Tick.
Time.

There’s always so much.
There’s never enough.

Tock.
Time.

Looking ahead so far away.
Looking behind — just yesterday.

Hand.
Clock.

Staring, steadily sweeping.
Swiftly sacking all sense of certainty.

Tick.
Time.

Tock.
Time.

To live in the present.
Conquers some of the meaning.

Behind this rhyme.

 

I do want to continue pushing myself towards writing more regularly again. However really enjoy these periods of reflection when I build up that burning desire to write. I also enjoy consuming media myself and of so many forms that it is easy to get distracted. Trying to release at least something every week. That’s more than I have managed in some time aside from when I first started this site.

Thank you for reading.

If you have interest in reading anything else I have written please check the Table of Contents, here.

©2017 Trevor Elms
Featured photo by Trevor Elms ©2017
Posted on by Trevor Elms · 4 Comments

Familiar Fortress.

NetherRealm Studios released their newest video game “Injustice 2” recently. It’s a fighting game with the DC super hero pantheon. As a big fan of comic books, the franchise is my bread and butter. Because it released just yesterday — I haven’t wanted to spare much free time for lots of words.

I played and played, then realized that I hadn’t gotten that feeling of accomplishment that I have grown used to before bed. When I get something written down and completed. So I wanted to write a bit of poetry about video games and what they are meaning to me in tandem with writing as I get older.

Familiar Fortress.

Moving pixels in three dimensional space
give unquestionable escape.

Hunting for treasure,
scavenging for leather.

Climing rooftops,
to collect a feather.

Sated.

Used to be the desires to create.
Polygons streaming across.

Ornate.

Clashing of plate and steel,
feelings easier to process.

Intake.

Moving pixels in three dimensional space
give unquestionable escape.

Eventually no longer,

sates.

Bake thoughts,
share the plate.

Fate.

Not one to believe in it.
Though writing is what it is instead.

Gate.

 

I do now have some sort of sense of accomplishment, and a release from the day in some way.  We will see if I manage to write a lot of words tomorrow, or if I will climb into my familiar fortress and end the night with poetry again.

Thank you for reading.

©2017 Trevor Elms
Featured photo by Trevor Elms ©2017
Posted on by Trevor Elms

Cigarette for Dave.

Feeling like the story about this poem is much more interesting than the poem itself. My friend Dave that I met in Hawai’i while we speak infrequently now, is like a brother to me. He ended up having to go back to Maine before our first semester completed.

A few nights before he left town us and the rest of the Ohana went out for a night of fun. Dave and I decided that we were going to hold on to one cigarette in each of our ears for the whole night. To see if we could make it last.

Both of our cigarettes made it — discolored from sweat, though his broke in half. I remember sitting on a log after nights’ end watching the sunrise. I believe we were all together at that time. Myself, Jack, Kainoa, Kisa, & Dave. Gavin & Neal were not a part of the festivities yet, unfortunately. While sitting on the log I pulled out my pen and wrote this poem on the cigarette that had made it through the night with us.

I read it then and there to Dave, and smoked it by myself fairly saddened — after he left the island.

Cigarette for Dave.

Here’s a cig from me to you,
It wasn’t the last, nor one of the few.
Just remember when it’s over, it’s not through.
Yo guy, hit me up when you need a true crew.

— To my Maine-iac in brotherly arms.

Dave and I chatted just recently about getting back together again one of these days, or in Valhalla. Whichever comes first. I can’t wait the give the asshole a giant hug.

Love you dude.

Thank you for reading.

©2008 Trevor Elms
Featured photo by Trevor Elms ©2016
Posted on by Trevor Elms · 4 Comments

Not Enough.

Try as I might, there just wasn’t enough time for me to do everything I wanted this weekend. Including writing a full story like I have been lately. Been wanting to write about time and what it means to me, but haven’t been able to find the words yet.

Since there were strong feelings in me about a lack of time, I wrote another new poem to take care of my inability to write one thousand plus words.

It’s about doing what we can with the time we have.

Not Enough.

Time flies by.

It’s wont to do,
whether we want it to —

or not.

Oftentimes this is the hardest thing for me.

Bought.

Time can’t be.
Fleetingly, flippantly —

frighteningly,

finite.

For what is it?

Fraught but with —
fingerprint.

‘Swhat we leave.

If not,
’tis but breeze in kind.

We know the begin —

but cannot the end.

Sometimes to come,
an effervescent rend.

When time sequentially serenades
a solliloquy somberly —

stop.

Smell sunflower, something —
or other.

Remember your bedrock.

Take support, gain cover.

Time runs out.
Not a wonder.

Enjoying what we have,
while striving for more.

Brings happiness.

Can’t guarantee without a blunder,
but happiness —

happiness that can’t be given a number.

 

Thank you for reading.

©2017 Trevor Elms.
Featured photo by Trevor Elms ©2017
Posted on by Trevor Elms

Human Just Like You.

Remembering the prompt for this one is tough. Thinking it was that I had to write a story of someone oppressed with a classmate, senior year in high school. We ended up writing a simple rhyme with a message that I enjoyed, but I just don’t like simple rhymes. They don’t do much for me. Not to say this isn’t simple, just less so.

I wrote this because I got tired of hearing the word “gay” used as a way to describe things people don’t like. I have a number of gay family members who are some of the best people I know on this planet. Not to mention my other friends from all different walks of life. Love and let live.

So this was meant to have an impact and be pretty visceral.

All you have to do is spend a little time on the internet to see how frequent stories like these used to be, and still are. Marginalizing and mistreating people just because they are different from you is not okay. If it is something they have no control over, that isn’t directly negatively affecting anyone else — they deserve to be treated like humans with respect.

I was also just a fairly angry person at this point in my life. Going back and reading a lot of the things I was writing, I can see why my Mother was concerned about me. I have edited this significantly — the original work needed some help.

Human Just Like You.

There was a boy named Beau,
had a habit of wearin’ his mother’s clothes.

High-heels, lipstick, even pantyhose.

In his mind conflict would grow.
Sexual preference society would sew.

Beau’s first love — found in teenage years.

His name — Louis Stears,
Valedictorian senior year.

When Beau looked in those eyes he saw them gleam.
All he wanted to be — Louis’ prom queen.

Beau had a “problem”, one clinically and clergically prescribed,
in his world he was attracted to men’s thighs.

When Beau asked it took Louis by surprise.
He answered simply “No you faggot! You fuckin’ like guys?”

Beau turned around, went home and cried.

Louis rolled in with a forty-five and a shovel,
along with some friends to help move the rubble.

Louis broke in while Beau was in bed,
immediately the forty-five cocked to his head.

Louis stated “Any last words before I make you dead!?”
These are Beau’s last words this is what he said,

“I may be gay and a faggot to you,
but by pulling that trigger you’re killing a human,
just like you.”

Louis pulled the trigger and ended Beau’s life,
a brave boy who only faced strife.

 

 

Thank you for reading.

©2008 Trevor Elms.
Re-worked ©2017, Trevor Elms.
Featured photo by Trevor Elms ©2015, Sculpture by unknown.
Posted on by Trevor Elms · 4 Comments

Send Love.

No long article today, didn’t have the time as there was real work that pays the bills to be done. New poetry, though!

Had a conversation with a friend yesterday. I was being supportive but truthful. He wasn’t exactly happy with me but I wanted to tell him I care in the only way I can, honesty.

I told him I love him and care about him multiple times, regardless how angry he may feel at my words. He didn’t walk away from the conversation and we ended it on, I feel, really good terms.

I got to thinking about how often I use the word love, which is quite often. I love to use the word, and I mean it when used. This is about being more free with the use of the word love. The kind of difference I think that can make.

Send Love.

A word held so close to the chest,
it’s as if it was directly in tune,
with your heart’s,
best —

beat.

What if we didn’t hold it so close?
Sure, a higher chance of being morose, romantically —

what if we toss that stance,
romance.

Love of family and friend,
let it be free,
allow it to support,

give it a lend.

There’s a lot more can be done with a kind hand,
eye,
or voice.

You just might find in due time,
if you give love a send,

darkness you may mend.

 

Thank you for reading.

©2017 Trevor Elms
Featured photo by Megan Elms, artist unknown, ©2016
Posted on by Trevor Elms · 1 Comment

Pathways.

November 5th, 2008. One of the more depressing things I have found that I wrote. There’s really no optimism in this whatsoever. At least that I am gleaning from it. I feel like this was when I was really beginning my downward turn. My brother Alan would tell you the same. As later that month when I visited home for Thanksgiving he became very worried about me.

Pathways

Where does this path of mine lead?

It winds,

It twists,

It involves the leaves and the trees.

 

Stumbled have I, at the start.

Too easy is it,

to play when the pathway gets dark.

 

Nightmares of failure and disappointment,

haunt equilibrium and comfort.

 

Hoping the stride here isn’t futile,

Another broken heart.

 

I’m very happy to be taking medication for my bi-polar these days.

Thank you for reading.

©2008 Trevor Elms
Featured photo by Trevor Elms ©2016
Posted on by Trevor Elms · 7 Comments

Better Than Sex.

Two new things today, rather than one old. I got inspired last night to write my first poem in years. A poem about one of my best friends, Tony. I don’t have a picture of him to use, and he wouldn’t want it shown anyways.

I don’t know his last name, because I never cared to ask and he never cared to tell me.

Tony was homeless but boy was our home together in our hearts. Tony gave his life for me and I will never forget him for it.

Better Than Sex.

Remember that time you told me shooting up was better than sex?

How the needle would make you feel inside, when you would flex.

This may be the most important thing anyone ever told me,

Meth, Coke, H, etcetera, or Ex. I tried it all, except for the next,

 

Level,

Shooting it into a vein,

I felt like after Tony told me if I did it,

I’d never be the same.

 

I wish Tony had a chance and became,

something,

more than a man who gave his life for me, and proved to me, a virgin my vein,

would take no blame.

 

Tony passed in an embarrassing way,

He was in the dorm bath-room,

needle in his arm.

Head cocked back with saliva to drip — on the floor soon.

 

I wish there was something I could say,

or do,

to bring you,

back.

 

You had a way,

of kindness and beauty,

that people with, and you without,

wished they could find out.

 

Tony thank you for telling me,

That I should never shoot into my veins,

Because without you selling that to me,

I’m not sure I’d be here,

Just the same.

 

If it’s better than sex,

I don’t want to know its name.

 

R.I.P. Tony, I miss you. 

 

Thank you for reading.

©2017 Trevor Elms
Photo taken by Trevor Elms ©2008
Recording features Classical Loop by 4barrelcarb (c) copyright 2016 Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution (3.0) license. http://dig.ccmixter.org/files/4barrelcarb/54992 Ft: N/A
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Former Self.

Something I wrote March 2nd, 2010. I think at the time I was feeling pretty abandoned by a lot of my friends because we didn’t have much in common anymore. I had to be sober due to legal and mental problems, and they did not want to subject me to any substances that could hurt my recovery.

I know now that they were just trying to support me in the best way they could, but that doesn’t mean that in that time it didn’t hurt. I do not hold on to these feelings any longer, but I feel like reflecting on this piece and by extension our lives — can teach us something.

Former Self.

I find it funny,
That my family and my girl are the only ones who see me for me.

Not who I was while smokin’ trees,

I kinda like feelin’ the breeze,

to fall and heal a scrape on my knees.

What is it with people and the falseness they precede to breathe?

A fakeness that presides to feed into selfishness and greed of this once arrogant steed.

He used to need,

now the mind’s open and free, 

the crises left to a solid creed.


Leaving behind those breaching the void,

with a broken future to avoid.

Annul this boy of his past’s ploys for he paints a bright picture he now deploys.

 

Unsure of the moist sponge in his hands, the picture has now plunged into a plan, facets collide and make a stand.

 

See me for me.

And not the former self canned.

 

It seems my plan worked. I no longer recognize the person featured in the photo as myself. Photographer unknown, but I believe it was one of my friends whom we consider ourselves Ohana — they know who they are.

Thank you for reading.

©2010 Trevor Elms