'Me' between the lines

At the age of Eight I wrote my first real poem,
I mean something I am actually still proud of.

Not too long ago I found that yellowed,
crinkled piece of paper hiding in my closet.
Doodles of birds in the margins, erasure lines
noted at each misspelling or incorrect usage of a word.
I think back to what a simple time that was for me,
words just flowing on to paper without worry or care
who might read them or critique it.
I remember that it all started with the doodles in the margins,
how one small stroke of a pencil guided me to write about
the flying sea gulls I saw at the beach that summer.
Beautiful Simplicity.

At the age of Sixteen I shrugged off my writers block.
You know the kind of writers block that sports and being a kid causes.

I churned out piece after piece of darkness
to fill the pages of my marbled note book.
Scribbles, scratches, and scripted speculation
of the worlds problems...and mine.
I thought I knew it all back then.
In reality, I did.
I saw without blinders, or distractions of
the everyday monotony of life after education.
Beautiful Anonymity.

At the age of Eighteen I began to further my education.
That wonderful monkey-on-the-back most high school seniors call 'College'.

I delved into books I had never begun to imagine.
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, Roughing It by Mark Twain...
They filled my mind with wonderful and scary images.
Then I found my aged copies of The Lord of The Rings trilogy
and my mind ran ablaze with Orcs, Elves, and Hobbits.
I found my love of fantasy in those volumes of language
that Mr. Tolkien created as a bed time story for his son.
That year of my life is a bit of a blur, or a bit hidden
in the recesses of my mind anymore.  I'm telling you
of the good parts because they make the story interesting.
There were "incidents" that to this day stain my memory.
My first time being truly intoxicated, My first interesting
relationship with a woman (the puppy love years behind me),
Dealing with emotional and physical trauma.
'They' are truly right, "that which does not kill you,
only makes your stronger."
Beautiful Agony

At the age of twenty three I set out on an adventure.
Texas was the destination, and my life would never be the same.

I spent hours in a car just driving and listening to music.
Do you know how wonderfully free that is?
Made a pit stop in Pensacola Florida, relaxed for a week
just being a big kid again. After that I stopped in New Orleans,
pre-katrina, what a beautiful city of insanity.
It is an absolute melting pot, or was before the devastation
and rape of that area of the United states.
Finally ended up in Houston Texas.  Met up with a friend,
tried to find a job, goofed off for six months when there
was no work to be found, and got the heck out of dodge.
Beautiful Recovery

At the age of Twenty Seven(this year anyway) I am happily engaged.
The rest of my life ahead of me, loving and hating every minute.

The love part is easy to explain.  Every day I wake up next to
the woman I love, in a house that we own, and I have to smile.
The hate part, well that is not so simple.
I hate that sometimes I struggle providing for us, but that is
more of a personal thing for me because I am hard headed.
I hate when something so easy to do evades explanation to most,
and I have to pick up their broken pieces to finish the job.
Life was so much simpler a few years ago, writing about sea gulls
and the darkness that surrounded my teenage angst.
Now that the reality is harder to absorb than the fantasy I
create in my everyday life, I look to the future.
Will my children be so blessed to have the opportunities
I was afforded by my family, or is it all just a dream?
Beautiful life.

It is always just 'Me' between the double lines.
Stuck at a question, just wondering about the answer.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

That Look

I can't help
but think about
what that look means,
I noticed your hair you know.

It's now
that rather ravishing
red flowing past your
piercing blue-gray eyes,
I know they
change color
but when you look
at me that way...

I see you spent
some time waiting for me.
I'm sorry how can
I make it up to you?

I told you before
what happens when
you look at me that way.
I can never tell if you
want to kiss me or
kill me, but my God
it gets me riled up.

I couldn't help but notice
you are wearing the locket
I gave you last Valentines day,
you know it sits perfectly between
your delicately soft breasts,
and I'm actually kind of jealous.
Yes that's right, jealous of a necklace.

You know when you caress my face
I can't help but carry you to bed.
Forget the world around us,
Leave the pink framed
lives in the background,
and take you to swim
with the dolphins.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved 

Vacation Moment

Wisps of a smile on fractured skies
of light gold, purple, and red.

Mouth music playing over the vitreous
deep blue surface of our oblivion.

An embrace
so soothing and melodic,
entrancing and erotic,
leaving me without air,
she crept into my mind
to see the darkest depths,
wildest fantasies,
and lofty dreams.

In that single moment
my world stopped,
and it seemed that gravity
lost it's hold on me
and rain drops fell,
or so I thought.

Emotions surged from my body,
words screamed from between my lips,
she delved deeper into my soul,
became one with my being,
and the darkness rusted
giving way to the birth
of an aurora from beyond
the horizon.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Reflections

You gave it to me dear friend,
The ammunition to feed my soul,
The thirty eight slug that left me broken,
Lying silent on the pavement.

I only wanted you to think
of the repercussions your actions
May bring you,
And the life that would end.

But it wasn’t enough
You wanted more,
Money,
Fame,
Power.

Hold out your hand dear friend,
Hold me in your hands,
Don’t mind the stain I leave
On your palms for it will wash away.

Just like the memory you held,
Of our friendship,
Please, you know this isn’t a dream
Stop trying to wake yourself up!

“The grass seems a little more brown
On this side of the fence…”
Isn’t that what you said at first
When you moved to greener pastures.
Or was that my imagination?

Was it so cold out here
that you couldn’t stand
In the rain
And just listen?

Shhh, do you hear it?
The soft cry of the wind
Lamenting a soul
Lost forever to the fire,
Scorched and twisted.
Open your hands and let me go,
Like you did to your respect,
Your honor,
Your family.

Our ashes will all just blow away in the wind anyway.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Gluttony [fear of success]

The eyes that lie 
from inside 
the constraints of time,
exercise the right to fly 
away with souls and keep rhyme
and rhythm to themselves. They describe 
why we cry
and break ties 
that bind the blue sky 
and clouds high.

The lips that purse for one kiss, 
hard to resist 
the urge to break fists 
and hug with these twists 
in this love and we bitch 
that it's rough, 
and it's tough
To keep shit in check with no grub

The tongue that moves in a slow burn, 
seems hard to return
The quips in some form of concern 
with nothing left to yearn
For in the end we all burn,
but some are reborn 
and have left tattered and torn 
with no retort, 
and one last resort.

The body is unchained, 
and it seems we've remained
the cavemen we hate, 
we've been told to restate 
our purpose and relate 
our actions, here's a rebate 
on humanity
don't try to dictate my sanity.

With evil laced in my breath 
I think that these steps
Get closer to each check 
and balance, I'm on the crest
of a wave that I can't catch,
and I fall into the rift of Gluttony, 
so fucking sue me.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved