This is the same room, yet

This is the same room, yet
every thing looks different
when it’s view’d through weary
eyes; It’s familiar and
peculiar to me now.

This unreality,
known to me only be
cause this instance is sim
ply one of many. Tasks
tessellate across my
desk, underneath my fogs.

Caffeine affords no rest
ing place, coughs in my chest
and a flem in my throat
will not let me forget this.
I had all the sleep, but
none of the dreams were mine.


More Old Poetry

“Let’s fly a kite.
I’ve always wanted to,
But I’ve always been afraid
That the cold might bite.”

“Let’s snuggle up,” you say,
“Inside our coats,
Cozy warm so we
Can fly a kite today.”

Hand in hand
We leave our place
Traveling to the nearest
Wide open land

We finally find a place
And throw the kite in the air
The wind catches it quickly
And after it, we chase

Around the park, we try
To stop the wind
That thief, from
Carrying it away into the sky

Finally, you nab it
And winded from
All the running
We stop for a bit

I wrap my arms
Around your waist
And gently kiss
The side of your face

You let out a girlish giggle
And the kite is high
The wind pulls the kite
Even closer to the sky

I look you in the eye
They sparkle when you smile
And they captivate me
Even as our kite flies

You turn to
Face me,
Noses touching

And I whisper so quietly
That the wind, that thief
Almost steals the
Sound from me

“I love you”

You giggle again
In your girlish way,
“I love you too”
You say

“Let it go,” I say
And the wind,
The thief,
Steals our kite away

You turn your body,
Wrap your arms
Around my neck
And face me

I take my hand
And with it place
It gently, resting
On your face

Our eyes closed
I pull you into it
And you lean in
And we kiss

And you slip your hand
Slyly into mine
And we walk back home
Missing one kite.

An old Facebook Status

Remember when Facebook used to make you update your status like this: “Jonathan is . . .” And you had to fill in the blank? It was pretty frustrating if you wanted to share anything in any tense other than the present. I tried to find creative ways around it, such as this gem I just came across.

Jonathan V. Rarick

is looking in a critical way

at Hitler’s rhetoric.

How else shall I spend a Saturday?


Yet somewhere in the distance,

I hear memories of warmer days passed

Full of disc golf, for instance,

The sound of Joy as my friends laughed.


These are memories of a time so innocent,

A time when I was still young,

But the moment’s passed, I see this instant

And the man that I have become.


I long for my childhood,

A time lost in the ebb and flow.

I was rushed into adulthood,

“Oh where did the time go?”


It’s only been a few months

If you’re looking at the calendar,

But if you’re looking at me,

It’s been years

And you won’t recognize me anymore

Just like you never knew me before.

A poem for myself, and maybe for you too

Do you remember when
You were Creative?

Were you younger then,
Smarter then, or
Better than
You are now?
Do you remember?

Was it when your pen

Liberated your thoughts from their cage?

Or were words yet woefully imprisoned
By the wide ruling on the page
Now stained forever?

Do you remember late nights,
Red recorder lights
Keys of blacks and whites
Cups of coffee?

Was your confidence simply sapped?
Or in the age of responsibility
With the 9 to 5 track you lapped,
Did you forget your Creativity?

You were an artist then!
You were much better than
The rest of them,
So said your friends.

…so what happened then…?

You seem somehow so shocked and
As if afraid you’d never get back to
That level

Of what you were
When you were

Do you remember then?

Do you remember when
You were Creative?

I think, perhaps

I think, perhaps,
That I have known thee
In dreams. Or memories.
Or perhaps I am simply
imagining these.

What yet remains
Is I have yet to ascertain
A reality
Without thee

As the deepest longings
Of my heart are strung bare
I find that I am yet for thee.

And yet I have not known thee,

Or Have I?
Have I known thee
And yet did memory fly?
Or did I dream of thee
Continuing by and by?

Have I imagined you so
And found no respite?
Have I yet answered your beck and call
As a horse to the bit?
Not having the wherewithal
To resist for a moment?

So truly, perhaps I should confess,
That I have been yours yet
Before I knew you
Before I saw you,
Or you, me

Yes, I knew thee
I knew thee
and I know thee
and I shall know thee
and you, me.

– J