D. B. DEVILLIERS

Poetry

Tag: hope

Words For Someone Who Helped Put Words In My Head Once

oh lovely lovely
the pain I could never have presumed to imagine
because of course there do exist
people who hide it a little better than I do
or they deal with it better, feel free to pick one

suppose it’s not an awful bet to just go ahead and
assume anyone you might come across in the street or wherever has
more than likely known suffering beyond reckoning
but we get so goddamned hung up on ourselves
coroner’s summation: asphyxiation by having hanged oneself from oneself
perpetual motion sorts of self-destructive engines we might be
but we’re young enough still
like to think if I’m lucky enough to see ninety I’ll still
think I’m young enough to hope
for the next day
and oh lovely
doesn’t this world just tear you to pieces

speaking of course for myself—largely just guessing in your case
suppose I wouldn’t have minded learning to make more than a mere
guess but I am at this point not but the manner of man who I am
and I know what manner of man that is
so of course I couldn’t begin to blame you

we’ll get to that place
not together, at different points in space and time but I do
honestly believe that is a place and it’s not heaven but it’s
what we all hope and try and strive for
we won’t meet there
but there will be a great open sky and
deep red earth and on occasion the pitiless sun will
run out for a smoke break and we’ll grab a drink of water and cool in
the fleeting shade and it’ll be so breathtakingly

well

the poet makes his effort at five o
clock in the morning
and promises nothing short of honesty
and certainly not specificity

but I believe the pitiless sun will bake the earth to the
grill cover shimmer and the sky will be so awfully blue and
your paradise will not be mine but there will be love in my heart
for this thing I had to hurt so much for
to keep above ground
to keep moving
and I believe in you as well
there will be love in my heart and that must be
what we suffer for
oh lovely
that must be it.

Notes Circa November 2012 Yeah I’m Still Hung Up

I was going to say something
but now I can’t remember
it was almost seven years ago and
I listened to that song
I remember where I was at that intersection turning
left up the state route for a five hundred mile
trip and goddamn did my heart almost just explode when
I thought of you
and I called you when I was there
I remember
there were two payphones I had to wait
til seven thirty at night to call you
do you remember
and so much like you have no idea so much did
I wish there were anything I could do
well I guess there was
I called you and your voice was enough
but you know what I mean by I wish I’d done anything
fifteen minutes at a time but man we ran that didn’t we
I don’t know what you thought of me
I’ve never been good at that sort of thing
and I made promises
I don’t believe I kept a single one
I don’t believe you promised me anything
you were always more honest
it was only a year or so ago that
I went back out to detroit
a little more than a year
and I sat in that room from which I called you
and again I thought my heart might explode
but for different reasons
one of those things
and I wished
I wished and wished
but you can’t travel time can you
where did the hope go
I don’t know
let me know if you find it.

Sorry No Eggs Today (Hope)

and you try so hard or you
don’t try at all and you’d
think you’d learn but you don’t
you find new means by which to
derive hope or you use the old
ones or there are none and you
try really hard or you don’t
try at all and you beat on towards
the zero one hundred and fifty one
thousand and six hundred every
single day and it’s so terribly
hard to escape the preoccupation but
you try so hard and it’s what
you think about when you
scream in your sleep but you
don’t know what it is and you
think you’d learn but
you don’t and it all feels
like it’s getting darker and
darker and you try so hard but
it doesn’t work so you try
a different way and it all you
think you’d learn but
godot doesn’t show
nothing is won
nothing is learned
no one is saved

there’s just not enough time
there’s just no time
if only we had more time

but it didn’t not happen yet
and the poem isn’t over
especially when it is.

what I’m trying to say here is that
I’m very very afraid to die
and despite this fact it’s just so hard
to make meaning out of life
but it’s so important
so staggeringly important
that you try.

If I Liked Me Better I Bet I Wouldn’t Write So Much

I want to be loved so bad
and I am
let it be enough
and I want to be liked so bad
and I am
let it be enough
I just don’t know why anyone would
let me be enough
let me really believe it
I don’t know why anyone would
and maybe I can be something more than confused
and maybe then my father won’t have to take some sunny day to
bury me
maybe we’re all gonna go to college and we’re
all gonna be doctors and lawyers and we’re
all gonna die real slow and by the time we
get to the heaven we dreamed about as kids we’re
all too busted up and broken to recognize it
and anyway I guess it isn’t really there so that’s a
silly line of reasoning
if you get to live long enough do you get to reimagine it
I hope I hope I really really hope I
really really hope so
thanks god that’s all I’ve got.

 

Personal note: things are much improving.

 

An Approximation

All poets are liars—
it’s never as bad or as beautiful
it’s always better and worse than
the verses which
describe it

and this is worth wasting
words on
approximating, failing, worth it
you are worth it
in my bleak brain these
oblique sentiments actually pass for
romance
it’s the best I can do
and I hammer them into words as
water might be nailed to wood
and I hope it’s enough
I hope

because it’s never as bad or as beautiful
but in this case the words
are so much less
beautiful.

What We Can

We all do what
we can.
We all do
what we can
just what we can
just as well as we can.
Even the devil’s
probably
doing no worse
than the very best
he can.

Please Understand

Please understand
that emotions
are like airborne
diseases:
one afflicted
with a virus
will not become well again
by spreading it.

A happy person’s
happiness
doesn’t diminish
when shared;
likewise,
a sad person’s
sadness
is not made
any less
sad
by making more miserable
the misery of
others.


A poem I wrote forever ago, but one I’ve always liked a lot.

 

Greener Grass

Of course, the grass is no greener
in the places I’m not
but hopefully, maybe
if I’m lucky
it’ll be a little bit
less brown.

Despair

I don’t think time can kill it off completely, that emotion, I mean, but the years do dull it. Maybe it’s like a blade: you can grind that edge down flat in time, but the steel—the thing itself, however impotent—still exists, and a lifetime of effort couldn’t send it into oblivion.

Hope

But what’s the problem?

The sun shines

birds sing

the trees are green and

they sway in the breeze

and I’m not quite dead yet.

It’s tough to see it all, of course

through the smudged and

cracked lens of my mind’s eye

but maybe if I get the focus just right

I might catch a glimpse of it

and I might know

and I might understand.

 

I might.

 

Maybe I’ll find the strength

to get out of bed

sometimes.

Maybe I’ll get a job

and maybe this time

I’ll keep that job

for longer than a month or two.

Maybe this time is more

than a tally-mark etched

into a concrete wall.

Maybe this time

is the time when

I break down the concrete wall

and my registry of failure crumbles

along with it

and I run so far away

so, so far away

from here.

Maybe.

 

I have to hope

or I’ll never leave.

 

So, then

I’ll hope.