Monday, April 11, 2016

Ryan Hardgrove- Three Poems

Love isn’t sure

looking at her
from across a couple thousand different rooms
I’ve changed my mind
a couple thousand different times

do we belong together
do any two specific people
belong together
to think or answer yes
is to assume omniscience

but we always end up together
after it bounces around upstairs
with all those clanking closet skeletons
maybe together is no better than separate
maybe I stop debating
while I’m coddling the idea of together
the illusion of control
we always let it ride

love isn’t being sure
love isn’t confident
it’s not solid
LOVE is porous
and complex
and unique
to each beholder

love isn’t being sure
it’s having doubts
it is FEAR
of losing

it is hurting someone
while trying
to save them

Real problems don’t get solved

holed up in the basement again
hunched over the blue glow
punching at the typer
dumping the old soul
without getting too wrapped up
its only words on a page
after all

a tiny firebomb of hysteria
is released each time
I follow the rhythm of
the thought
letting the thought
grow without thinking
stepping aside
so the words can take
on their own

I can’t help but get holy
strapped down
in my cinder block temple
the furnace blazing
like a god damn 747
shaking my bones
in their skin

If it didn’t come out
then I wouldn’t put it down
I wouldn’t make up shit
fantasy worlds
built with fantasy characters
and their single pronged
black and white fantasy flaws
universal and relatable problems
with obvious and designed solutions
fantasy feelings
for fantasy believers

these words are mine
and these problems
are mine
void of motive

this is no manifesto
not even a poem

just  scattered thoughts
from another day
secretly spent
too close to the edge

Too holy, these rants

that feeling
you can wrap your brain around
when the fog lifts
and it can be seen
naked and true
unencumbered by less savory notions

it is a pureness
some get it when they play the piano
some find it out in the wild wilderness
growing out there still
despite everything
some feel it through others
and some articulate the pureness
through some medium
I am able to find it
while writing
it is my prayer
my canvas
hammering emotion and observation
into words
and it can never be
for anyone but me
or it will curl up and die
a dried up fruit rind
left for the worms

fighting the good fight
is easy though
it’s the in between
when there is no fight
the standing or sitting or sleeping
or trying to sleep
the pain lives there
and the pureness
bleeds out
into the stillness

that real emotion
when the soul
is tangible
if only for a moment
before becoming enshrouded again
by the inevitabilities
and complexities of the
human consciousness


  1. Energetic yet an epiphany in a testimony to a poetry of
    deep feeling of human solidarity.

  2. thank you, it is nice to hear kind words from a talented writer