The Nothing Man
Jim Bronyaur
Published by Jim Bronyaur at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Jim Bronyaur
Any questions or comments should be directed to Jim Bronyaur either via email (JimBronyaur@gmail.com) or via Twitter (www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur)
This book of poetry is dedicated to anyone who has ever felt lost.
Roads may end, but there are always more to travel.
Scene 1
Awake!
The sun stands
over the bridge.
Rubber to road
the soothing sound of speed.
Birds rejoice in their trees
the mallards splash
they jump, dive, enjoy.
The first breath of the morning
troves another day awaits.
Another to travel,
to question,
to be seen
but be invisible.
To a self- a note of peace,
a thought of now
a touch of tomorrow
The cardboard paradise
will shine better
Then the
Diamond wasteland.
Scene 2
Thick boots,
Heavy breathes,
Unfiltered smoke.
All had- all need-
all on the back of the world.
Ants dance around,
flies race the sky,
the screaming breeze cools the warm morn.
A missing pocket,
what hope had once
made its home there?
A missing life,
what fate had once
held on so tight?
Thousands of questions
they bloom like leaves
they flourish like a spring
Changes to a summer stay
they look beautiful
As autumn on a mountain.
They wither, they die
As winter struggles with life.
Scene 3
To walk the earth
is existence.
A silent crusade,
collecting the day’s worth.
Steps that built.
Arches of trees surround
The crunch of sticks and twigs
announcing an arrival.
Cold water
a rocky cove flooded away.
Cold water
stings red cheeks.
The air leaves its mark
on the earth and one’s soul.
Eroded memories dance
like the shadows of the passing traffic.
A satisfying aroma
of coffee,
gasoline,
and summer air grease
Fills the air
Fills the molded heart.
The broken spirit that wanders.
Scene 4
Sidewalks
Pavement
Gravel
Grass
Curves that turn
Turns that curve
The road is endless
until it ends.
Heat from the black.
Ice from the life.
A cooling sensation
Look for the price
Some gold?
Silver?
Or green?
An addiction left behind
tucked
burning away.
Smoldering ashes
Slowly turns to dust
Then the wind carries it away.
Scene 5
Haunted thoughts
cripple tomorrow’s
A way of life to not wish
but hold, have, honor.
A plead tucked away
behind rugged clothes.
The journey to a list kingdom
is in full swing.
A world to stand on
when one way meets two,
shoulder to a chance,
relish in the guilt,
the sorrow becomes
A platform to perform.
Shaded walkways form,
out of the earth.
The trees bend over
arms extended
Welcoming another passing.
Fresh cut grass entices the mood.
Fresh pollen skips and soars.
Fresh thoughts collect
With the pebbles of yesterday.
Scene 6
A last step could become
The first.
If a decision is made.
If a cry is heard
The crowds amass
they’re waiting…
The show must go on.
Red to green flashes
feet placed
message aimed
Begin to seek for a beginning.
Green mixes with yellow
to make red.
A few steps
the limp is in place.
Alas! - a window is down.
The heat from the world
the ending
the decision
the lost
Empty eyes- just so empty.
With a prayer in step
a deal is broken.
Why do they not understand?
Why do they listen to the colors?
New beginnings become old endings.
Scene 7
Every piece has a story
a decade long beard.
To a fisherman’s hat.
They all tell their own travelers
in unison - they work.
Loose jeans fade to empty pockets.
The pockets that once held a dream
of living.
Again the ripped sleeves open with the breeze
The rusted chain follows a broken cross
Some muscles become painful bruises
Four layers rest on one set of shoulders.
Fragile hands stick out
the large jacket can only
hold so much.
Each pocket filled with dead findings.
Trash from the norm
gold in the eyes
of nothing.
With nothing-
something is everything
And everything…
is like a star in the nights sky
seen
but too far to touch.
Scene 8
The ground
the Earth
time that will keep everything standing.
It’s treasures a good day comes.
The passing world
can’t see it
They don’t look
they live.
Tucked gently away.
A quick flash of wrists
it’s gone.
The purpose- the meaning.
Don’t have
purpose and meaning.
The sun climbs
reaches the peak
all is seen.
Noise-light-life
so abrupt the movement.
Scanning the edge of the world.
just something to be shown.
One more to find
A victory of need.
For a failure of want.
Scene 9
The battle stretches across
the minutes
the hours
the seasons.
The layers must be worn
for the warmth of summer
when lost
becomes the winter pain.
The spring begins
a new time
of nourishing.
The cruel reality
of which they call
autumn (or fall)
Reminds that life is
one short season.
Death is one tortured leaf away
One release to the ground…
One crunch, crinkle, crack.
It’s when children find fun
in nature’s death.
Ah- but it supplies
a new blanket
as the world leaves
For another season.
Scene 10
The wait ends
the pain becomes a memory
The day
now a gift.
A luxury lined hand
reaches from a motor heaven
A face on the paper
well, that means nothing.
The number lined in the corners
Anything over zero is good.
And paper gets more of life
then copper and silver.
Although-
the earth has much copper…
retreating to the grounds.
The minute long relationship ends
the colors (once again)
dictate movement- life.
One brake light shines
then stops
Like a wink…
a sign of many more days…
Oh, so many days.
Scene 11
The day moves…
on.
The warm air feels good
against rotten knuckles.
The streets look longer,
the corners all the same.
A black bag-
carrying a wasted life-
reveals a message.
Black letters
brown cardboard.
A message
it was once a sign,
became a plea
now,
it will be a message.
He turns left,
He turns right,
He faces north,
He faces south.
Suddenly,
with a possible early evening coming
The message
somehow
with changing a word
Becomes a plea.
Scene 12
A skeleton with skin
A body with a damaged soul
A memory challenged by a dream.
Avenge the world
collect its pieces
a fake worth.
The sidewalk becomes a track
a cage
a trap.
Heavy thuds of footsteps
past houses, corners,
signs, turns…
A once vacant lot is now built
for those with eyes to see.
Warmth for five minutes
Cold for ten…
Its purpose fulfilled.
Another corner shows.
the last moments
as now the falling sun
is chased by the coming night.
Scene 13
Blinding headlights
charge out of the sunset.
Orange fades black
blue fades dark
Colors mix- ancient flowers wilt
under the weight
The night will take over
it always does.
Blind with sound
the voices move around
branches breaking,
calls from the rich,
screams from the poor
a dark heaven
surrounded by a loud hell.
The tender moment between
the judgment of life and death
Comes burning a question
How did the riches of life
Become the foundation of poor?
Scene 14
A camp fire
with no camp.
A tunnel under a bridge
the kingdom once claimed.
A nomad- a man of the street
the taste of freedom comes and goes.
Some of the full of life
weep in jealousy.
Sorrow reaches over the shoulder
a old visitor daily.
The wind gets colder.
The sun shines on a different part
of the world.
Another world full of treasure and chase
The cold strikes
spots between joints ache.
The fire feels cold
Its yellow flame waves
laughing with the breeze.
Laughing with the world.
Scene 15
Change is a block away
Electric letters confess value
Material is waiting. . .
the past can another day.
Today can hide the past
A haunted memory. . . fixed.
A hundred steps can change tomorrow.
A hundred breaths can change nothing.
Filter the heat – feel its rhythm
time will only be true for so long.
Every second ticks towards the end.
Exhausted anger
a sly cover for guilt.
Alone -
with a million eyes watching.
The longer the hour lasts
the quieter it gets. . .
So quiet.
Oh, so quiet.
Scene 16
The night drags on
as the world falls asleep
The life drags on
as the lives live on.
A chore is made with
each breath taken.
A moment is lost
one step closer to death.
One breath could come
like a cool morning breeze.
and everything can be different.
It’s a cardboard paradise
that is the only thing that holds true.
The diamond wasteland shines
high above the milk crate
that serves as a seat.
Just when lust becomes a love
a faint light comes in the distance.
It’s tomorrow again
for the life of the
Nothing Man.
About Jim:
Jim lives in Pennsylvania and has been published in many anthologies including End of Days (volume 4), Inner Fears, Twisted Tongue, and Diamonds in the Rough. Other stories have been published in Flashes in the Dark, Twisted Dreams, Pow! Fast Flash Fiction, among many others. He doesn’t sleep, drinks lots of coffee, and listens to Guns ’n Roses. Jim’s web site is www.JimBronyaur.com. Follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur.
From Jim:
I just wanted to take a moment and thank everyone for reading this book. There is a man who walks the street I drive to work on every day. And every morning I watch him move along, like a passing breeze. For some reason it tugs at my heart strings and gives me hope. I couldn’t help but pen something about him. He may be an invisible stranger to many around but he is a character that resonates with me each day.