A poem about love and loss by David Tombale: For your arms

For your arms is written to express feelings of loneliness and abandonment that follow most of us, at one point or another in our lives.
Photo Credit: Olga Ferrer Saladié via Compfight cc

For your arms      

Darker are my days without you,

 eating noodles by my window

 watching traffic lights for sport-

 I swear I’m thankful,

 the blissful shriek of horns

 fill up the hours to make them

 whole.

 Writing diaries about November 4th.;

 it was a Tuesday and there was

 this shade of yellow spread out

 across the sky, egg yolks mixing

 in with white, now I breathe

 easily and let the carbon fumes

 exhale into the dark, the silence,

 the walls are shrinking in,

 the closets growing taller where

 they stand, filled with your old

 clothing and a yearning for your

 arms.

 

A poem about nostalgia and love by David Tombale: Missing home

There are many reasons to love someone, each personal and unique but they are all the only reason some of us ever need. Missing home is just a reminder of that.

Missing home 

There were more Closed signs than

Open, more reminders than smiling

storekeepers to ease my heart.

My neighborhood fell brick by brick

but I never cried.

The names of my friends poured like

paint in rain, clogging gutters with

dreams of large households that would

never be-

it is these thoughts that kept me

prisoner, rubbed the granules of dirt

around my eyeballs but your cool

lips have met my skin, your long fingers

have gripped my weakness,

they have molded clay,

creating spires out of lumps,

building houses from the earth,

and I have not missed here

ever since.

A poem about nostalgia and life by David Tombale: Sometimes

Life can sometimes change so drastically and so quickly that it leaves us dazed and longing for the familiar past. SOMETIMES is all about those feelings.

Sometimes

I find sometimes that I think
about the taste of ice cream
and watermelons

the drenching wet and rapid fire
of sprinklers as we sprinted through
them hand in hand.

Sometimes I think of Saturdays
spent rolling round, the tv’s on
and I’d play Hogan and tear my
shirt to bits, (at least I’d try).

Sometimes I think of Star Wars
and Indiana Jones, the days you’d be
Macgyver and I’d play the villain

sometimes I think of life before the
evening news and they’d frightened us
with bulletins and bullets,
car bombs and anthrax,
Ebola and the latest flu epidemic.

Sometimes I think things were easier
when the bad guys dressed in black
and the worst things we ever saw
were those damn commercials before
the good guys won and the credits rolled.