Three Poems by Jim Trainer

Jim Trainer


didn’t want it to pass me by
the cracked hull of April
its calm winds
its pleasant blossoms
although I did my time
stowed away in all the places
there was no more hiding
it had finally unravelled
and it was revealed
your night wasn’t cruel
the way you rebounded with laughter
through the wasted canyons
of your new frontier
there was lots to take
&you took it all
the mercury cut the lead
and the lead left
a heavy blue alloy in the veins.
was punctured
&sunken in-
your undergarments
in ghostly-love
the perverted loneliness
of the ventriloquist
and the mutiny of Spring
new seasons of
long, hot, pale days
stretching out to the tender reaches
of new year markers,
weather this
and the next Fall
won’t be your Fall
or our Fall
and next Winter
with the house fully
batted down
and shutters finally drawn
in thick old wood
an impassive membrane
between me and the dead.

The Bane of It, Still

even after that frozen train ride
into North Wales with a skinny woman
was the bane of it, still
we got off
in rafts of steam
and trawled wet
suburban streets
with American promise
walking beneath lonely Christmas lights
with her tiny hand in mine
was the bane of it, still

and a couple thousand miles away
laid over in Houston
on Christmas Day
with a buxom woman I met
in Baggage Claim
high up in the Hyatt North
sexually annihilated but
glaring down the ashy reaches
of Aldine
was the bane of it, still

I went down through the lobby
past the cowboy oilmen
stranded, like me
and hem&hawing on their cell phones to their
trashy blonde wives
and I went out onto Imperial Plaza
with the crow in the oak
yelling at nothing
and for nothing
I put my hands in my pockets
and it sunk a little lower in me
the bane of it, still
grief in the marrow
my heart the biggest traitor

I’d been across half the country
in 7 days
but I was still locked in the arms
of foolish loss.




My Pain Has Tossed Out the Alabaster Rooms

after the cold yellow fist of November
had finally let go of summer
and the blue mouth of December
had snapped up any
dead petals left
my radio silence
had cleared the airwaves
and I got a loose fix on the
one channel
was it grace
some higher power?
was it strength
that helped me trawl the
seas of red linen
on our once-lovers’ bed?
it was nothing but separation
sixty plus days of a hateful
raging out and calling down
from the high altars of false knowledge
it was this once young blood
paling white
and this
prickly cleaving that
shut me out from the good road
and battered the will with
unanswerable questions
and hung the hands heavy
as useless anchors

guru what good was dogma
and the dead language
that they used?
what for this mourning
and all the good
being faithless had accrued?

a yellow lark lit down today
a curious, out-of-nowhere
he leaped up to the high bough
and I resigned
I began to let go.



Farewell to Armor, Jim Trainer’s debut full-length collection of poetry, is out now through WragsInk Press. Trainer is the founder of Yellow Lark Press. He currently lives in Austin, Texas where he serves as contributor, curator and editor of Going For The Throat, a semi-daily publication of cynicism, outrage, correspondence and romance.

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6 responses to “Three Poems by Jim Trainer

  1. Pingback: Issue 2 Summer/Fall 2014 | The Waggle Magazine

  2. Sarah Marshall

    Wow, heartache has no limit to any one season. These three poems are a mighty light on the path across the bridge.

  3. Pingback: Issue 2 Summer/Fall 2014 | The Waggle Magazine

  4. Pingback: Three Poems by Jim Trainer | Going for the Throat

  5. Pingback: The Perils of Sobriety | Going for the Throat

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