A poem about heartbreak by David Tombale: My Radio

This poem was inspired by one of my favorite songs of all time, Ne-yo's So Sick from his first album. I think the message in it was one which a lot of us saw something of ourselves in and it finally motivated me to try my hand at writing it's poetic equivalent.
My Radio

Too many times and too many words

reveal the answers in my lies,

I swore I'd never hurt again until I

let you see how much I cared,

just another time when I failed to see

the actions in my thoughts-

the indifference that shattered

like a shell I hadn't known before,

that I hadn't known I wore,

 yet listen here, listen if you

think it's you I'm mourning for

you haven't known me long.

 There is another who scarred me long before,

new scars on old wounds only numb

what wasn't raw,

You can't hurt me child

Too many times and too many love songs

they don't sound like they did before,

my soul aching now I know I wasn't wrong

This flesh crawls, this mind bends

around the river bends and I don't

know what empty fields it's looking for,

some aloneness I know we crave.

 Listen here child there is nothing

you are breaking that isn't broken but

with you I thought I could forget

You said I love you,

said it sweetly but made me wonder

 far too often

Too much anger,

too much anger,

I love you,

Don't you mean I want you different?

Change for me?

Too many love songs,

I think I've heard it all so I stood up and

reached out to switch my radio off.

A poem about loss by David Tombale: Pitter Patter

This poem is a contemplative piece that explores parenthood and loss. It's inspired by experiences with those who have children and those who have lost them, some intentionally and some not.

Pitter patter

Pitter patter,

small feet on cold floors,
pitter patter,

I hear those feet in my house,
Pitter patter,

those small footfalls echo through my house,

pitter patter,

 a solid sound,
a reality to my tortured mind

but no it's only ghostly,

a fragment I remember,

a sound of laughter follows after pitter patter,

a wild and joyful laugh,

a childish laugh,

I hear it clearly,

as clear as pitter patter but it is not there,

it cannot be.

There are sheets over furniture

and dust on sheets

and still that pitter patter

and that childish laugh echo through this house.

I should not be hearing that pitter patter,

that carefree laugh cuz it has no source,

maybe once it could have been,

it should have been

but Death and God and relentless Fate took that pitter patter

and denied me that childish laugh;

In a house on the lake the doors are locked,

there are sheets on the leather chairs and plush soft sofas

and there is dust on those sheets,

ten year long dust

and in that house there is a nursery

and in that nursery there is a crib,
a plain square crib with angels drawn on its soft white sheets,

where the walls depict scenes of laughing kids,

in that house I sit alone and  listen to the sound of pitter patter

and joyful laughter,

sounds I should have known in reality
But Fate and God and Death took that all  from me.

A poem about friendship by David Tombale: Promises

Promises is a piece I wrote that reviews my relationship with the friends I've made over the years. In the end it might across as regret for the way time has shaped how some of these relationships evolved.

Promises

I have loved these things in moderation

from early days to withered age as if the

seasons had told me all, of the passing glory

of those summer days, of baking heat and

violent joy, of yellows, greens and purples

that inset themselves behind these eyes

like the curves around a fallen oak

There are screaming trucks that scare the birds and

whooping cries from pre pubescent lungs coated

gray and black by the cherry red of these after

meal cigarettes

It all looks so new to me flipping through

pictures of us in these Instagrams,

too much pollen and beer cans crushed by us and

in the wake of it, in the midst, sitting somewhere

behind us she waves, a vivid figure there to remind us

that some promises do fade.