Slip-N-Slide

Residue in my mind
Speaks of yesterday, another time
I sit on wooden panels
Fidgeting the whole damn time

Speaking of yesterday, another time
I repeat my role in the plot
Fidgeting the whole damn time
Pointing my finger at the guilty

I repeat my role in the plot
Signing my death warrant at the same time
Pointing my finger at the guilty
Licking my lips, begging for time

Signing my death warrant at the same time
The single black hole of a gun barrel in my face
Licking my lips, begging for time
The gun goes off!…

Residue in my mind.

By Jacob Gehman

I wrote this about 3 years ago. I really liked it at the time, and still rather like it, although some of the sentences feel a bit awkward in hindsight. Might polish this up later, but for now… this will suffice.

Yikes, sorry about the long delay. Sometimes I just go through…moods. You know?

View 27: Silver

Silver and gold have I none,
To quote the Bible quoting Jesus,
(Or something like that)
But I do have several pennies
Which are made out of America’s
Finest copper, and whatever other metals
The government felt like throwing in.

But since these pennies aren’t in my pocket,
It’s kinda as if my floor is richer than me.

View 28: Blinds

Curve in or curve out?
Interior aesthetics demand the
Curve be on the inside.
Exterior aesthetics reflect the opposite.

But what if blinds are less about aesthetic
And more about blocking the light?

Consider—Sun shines down upon Earth 
And when the curve is inside—
elegant though that looks— 
More light can come in between the blind’s cracks.

So I set mine to outside.
A middle-finger to fine taste everywhere.

By Jacob Gehman 

View 26: The Ancient Quilt

I should probably get it hanged—
The quilt is old and probably an antique.
It lies—crumpled—on my floor in a corner.

My grandma had quilts, and lots of them.
Some she made, some older than that,
And some from unknown sources.

And so, last Thanksgiving, she had us all
Pick out one for keeps. RIght away I spotted
The one I wanted. It was just a great combination
Of brown colors and it was just the perfect size—BIG.

My normal mindset is to shrink back
And let everyone else take their pick—
So I’m not taking something someone else wants— 
Before making my selection of the remainder.

But in this case everyone else had the same philosophy.
So after watching 20 minutes of pointless discussion
Of who should get what without any progress
I simply marched up and said,
“This one is mine.”

By Jacob Gehman 

View 24: The Window

The curve in my wall creates the need for
A deep gash in my wall so that
There can be a window in my wall.

It’s like the cutout in a mountain so a
Bypass can stretch across the land.

View 25: The Butterfly

How old these walls are I do not know.
I’ve only been housed within them for five meager months.
These walls have seen more than I care to know
And they’ve been repaired, repainted and hushed.

But even with the white(ish) paint containing their secrets,
These walls cry out bits of the past.
Holes acknowledge paintings once hung.
Cracks imply bumps and bangs.

And the paint wasn’t applied thick enough to hide
The colorful butterfly sticker someone had stuck.

I like to imagine this was a kid’s happy home,
Where they formed some of their earliest memories,
And they look back on this room and reminisce
The way I look back upon searching for UFOs
From the window ledge I miss so much.

By Jacob Gehman 

I wrote this a week ago when my roommate threw a Christmas get-together. I haven’t posted anything for a few days, so figure at least I can throw something timely on the ol’ tumblr.

Oh how lovely,
It’s the required yearly Christmas party.
The tree decked in proper
Shimmer and shine and
Candy-cane intertwines.

Hot cider is on the stove,
And Hershey Kisses in a glass bowl,
The music has the proper seasonal air—
Though limited to the few albums
I’ve acquired over the years.

And yet no one is talking,
The stillness is louder than that—
No one has actually bothered to come.

By Jacob Gehman

A quick note before the poem—those who have been following me (bless you all) may have noticed a titling discrepancy between these Views Of… poems. That has simply been laziness on my part. The official title of the series is “36 Views of My Room”, regardless of what the header title actually ends up being. That said…

View 23: Rotating Blades

It started, I suppose, with the radio.
I’d lay in bed with the lights out
Playing with my stuffed animals
While the songs of Michael W. Smith
Or Carmen would begin to lure me asleep.

I got to a place where I found music too
Interesting (terrible though my taste in music
Was when I was in middle school).
I’d lay in bed listening to music and not sleep.

But the silence wasn’t silent—
Too much environmental noise.
I’d toss and turn.

And hear.

The white noise of a fan was—and is—my salvation.
Just a simple box fan. They’re but $15 at WalMart.
And it buys me sleep where passing cars or hollering
Neighbors or barking dogs cannot interrupt me.

And perhaps most importantly: it saves me from myself.

By Jacob Gehman 

View 22: Dusty Love

A guitar (12-string acoustic), guitar (6-string acoustic), banjo (5-string variety), and an old-school mountain dulcimer stand along the far wall—all beloved instruments I have an affinity for.

All standing wholly neglected because, well,
It is hard to play an instrument when there are
So many movies to watch and
So many Facebook statuses to like,
And still somehow maintain a social life.

I didn’t even have time to mention school or work or doctor appointments…

Although the last reason is a lie—I haven’t been to the doctor since I last played guitar. But I think about going to the doctor, and those thoughts take a lot of time!

At least I know my instruments are loyal
And they’ll be waiting for me whenever I feel I need
The feeling of grooved steel beneath my fingers once again.

By Jacob Gehman 

View 21: The Mistake

Nose-deep in my dirty laundry, Spot was not under my bed.
How he got there is a mystery not worth the ink.

How sad.

View 22: The Radiators

I used to watch UFOs from my bedroom’s window ledge,
Which was just large enough for my 8-year-old body to rest
Comfortably and just gaze at the night sky.

Right in front of the window was one of those old
Standing radiators with mysterious knobs and
It would keep me warm during the winter months.

When we moved out of that house, the new ones were
Metal slots in the floor instead—they also kept me warm
Even though a part of me missed the old style.

Now I have the old style again and I miss my old window seat
Even though I’d never fit in it now.
But my landlord pays for my heat, so he never turns the
Dumb things on so he can keep more money.

So I use my radiators like shelves and set things on them.
Which to me seems like pretty much a fair trade.

by Jacob Gehman