I couldn't sleep, so I decided to go through my files and was looking at my poetry I had written in the past year. It's weird looking through and seeing what I had come up with at different times in my life, and reading these poems are like reading diary entries. Anyway, now that I've put them here maybe I can fall asleep. There aren't any titles, I tend not to title my poems, and they're separated by a ~ squiggle.
During the day
The dust bunnies play
At her feet
As she makes the place neat
For him
For their every whim
For when
He can begin
So slowly
To put her gently
On the bed
When the sky is red
They will awake
To see their true love makes
A morning song
~
Remember the days of our youth?
The days of warm summers,
Of finding beauty,
And speaking truth?
Remember the nights so clear and bright,
The moon gave us blessings,
Walking on curbs
Dancing in the night?
Laying in grass till the bugs owned our hair,
Feeling the earth
So silent and still,
Not knowing how not to care.
Days of speaking true thoughts,
Never hiding our hearts,
Walking in lines and
Making our own minds.
When candy was gold
And gold was treasure
and wealth was measured
by how happy you felt
and how happy you felt
was made true by how much love
your mother gave you
and love was between you and the world
and everything was bright and green and big
Rainbows were magic
faeries did exist
Clap clap clap
To reassure them all.
~
Whoever he is, he has no idea what she
Has in store for him
Sweet melodies she has only sung
In her head
Anxiously waiting to burst into song
On the tip of her tongue
To show him how
To remark at her body
To grasp a hand firmly,
But gently
To teach him how
But let him learn
Himself
Together
He has no idea
The grass she has planted
To grow
So they will have a soft place to lay
When she finds him
Whoever he is
He has no idea
How her heart will stop, then
Beat so much faster
When she realizes that he
Was made for her and she
Crafted for him
He has no idea
And she,
She does not know
The extremity of the dark blue
That the sky will be when
She shows him to the place
She has prepared for him
She knows the stars will shine
But she does not know how the light
Will reflect off her eyes
As she looks into his
And they will whisper
“I had no idea.”
~
My darling, my starling,
My sparrow and my dove.
My sweetheart, my yearning,
My desire and my love.
De mortuis nil misi bonum.
Say nothing but good of the dead.
You’re gone and I miss
Everything.
Because of you, I miss everything
In every day.
I miss my bus,
I miss lunch,
I miss parties
And movies, friends,
And I mess up rhymes.
I’m late,
The minute hand saunters past before I recognize it exists,
you don’t, not anymore. And I miss
You.
~
I would say I am waiting for this day,
this particular day I have created in my head,
but really I should stop waiting and create it.
I should just go out and carpe and diem,
all in one. I don't know what I'm waiting for,
except that is easier said than done.
This day is shared with someone, but I don't
know who just yet, anyway. I do know some
particulars, that I have seen in my daydreams.
It's overcast and threatening to rain,
in a field of wheat, or green green grass,
above the sea or beside mountains, it always changes.
I am with them, that person, and I am happy,
we lay in the grass, we run through the field,
we trace our names in the sand and chase the waves.
We ride in his car down an old dirt road,
explore old houses, creaking and shadowed in the past,
we take pictures and steal kisses, and watch the sun rise.
We stand in the kitchen, on the pale blue tiles,
covered in flour and icing, kissing and not caring
sitting on the porch, counting all the red cars that go by.
We hike up forgotten trails, and spot hawks and catch lizards,
taking stories with us wherever we go,
making the time our own, for us and us alone.
The sky can turn purple, blue, gold, or black,
we stare and stare at it and wonder all the things
about the stars and the sun and how they're all for us.
I'll walk by him, and he will catch my hand, I'll turn
and look. He smiles and I turn my head,
he gives a kiss and we go to heaven and back.
One day, one day, one day. But why not tomorrow?
Until then, I can still dream, and make them real
in my mind, the field and the kiss, and all the rest.
It will come some day. I know it. I can feel it and see
it all there in my mind, so why should it not come true?
I know he is out there, dreaming these things as well.
Until that day, until all those days rolled into one
of just love and happiness, I will make my own adventures
I will have my own happiness, to prepare for him.
this particular day I have created in my head,
but really I should stop waiting and create it.
I should just go out and carpe and diem,
all in one. I don't know what I'm waiting for,
except that is easier said than done.
This day is shared with someone, but I don't
know who just yet, anyway. I do know some
particulars, that I have seen in my daydreams.
It's overcast and threatening to rain,
in a field of wheat, or green green grass,
above the sea or beside mountains, it always changes.
I am with them, that person, and I am happy,
we lay in the grass, we run through the field,
we trace our names in the sand and chase the waves.
We ride in his car down an old dirt road,
explore old houses, creaking and shadowed in the past,
we take pictures and steal kisses, and watch the sun rise.
We stand in the kitchen, on the pale blue tiles,
covered in flour and icing, kissing and not caring
sitting on the porch, counting all the red cars that go by.
We hike up forgotten trails, and spot hawks and catch lizards,
taking stories with us wherever we go,
making the time our own, for us and us alone.
The sky can turn purple, blue, gold, or black,
we stare and stare at it and wonder all the things
about the stars and the sun and how they're all for us.
I'll walk by him, and he will catch my hand, I'll turn
and look. He smiles and I turn my head,
he gives a kiss and we go to heaven and back.
One day, one day, one day. But why not tomorrow?
Until then, I can still dream, and make them real
in my mind, the field and the kiss, and all the rest.
It will come some day. I know it. I can feel it and see
it all there in my mind, so why should it not come true?
I know he is out there, dreaming these things as well.
Until that day, until all those days rolled into one
of just love and happiness, I will make my own adventures
I will have my own happiness, to prepare for him.
~
Your heart
It was so tiny
(I never realized how small hearts are)
And I must have dropped it
it slipped!
And, well, it went under the dresser
bounced into the corner
and while I was groping for it
reaching
I pulled and accidentally,
well,
it snapped.
I broke it.
I'm sorry.
It was so fragile.
I didn't mean to,
it just happened.
Here.
Here are all the pieces I could find.
I think I may have some glue.
Or tape.
Somewhere...
It was so tiny
(I never realized how small hearts are)
And I must have dropped it
it slipped!
And, well, it went under the dresser
bounced into the corner
and while I was groping for it
reaching
I pulled and accidentally,
well,
it snapped.
I broke it.
I'm sorry.
It was so fragile.
I didn't mean to,
it just happened.
Here.
Here are all the pieces I could find.
I think I may have some glue.
Or tape.
Somewhere...
~
I did some laundry today
The dryer was done
I unloaded the machine
and piled it on my bed.
Standing back to admire the mess
I paused,
and then
buried myself!
Piling the warm folds on top of me
I laid there all afternoon,
I slept at some point,
in all the warmth.
I slept until it all turned cold.
It was a pleasant way
to pass the time.The dryer was done
I unloaded the machine
and piled it on my bed.
Standing back to admire the mess
I paused,
and then
buried myself!
Piling the warm folds on top of me
I laid there all afternoon,
I slept at some point,
in all the warmth.
I slept until it all turned cold.
It was a pleasant way
~
You are not my
knight in shining
armor,
Mounted atop a
pure white
steed.
But, like Sleeping
Beauty's pricked
finger,
It's my heart
that you make
bleed.knight in shining
armor,
Mounted atop a
pure white
steed.
But, like Sleeping
Beauty's pricked
finger,
It's my heart
that you make
~
high into the air.
It landed in the trees,
somewhere.
Naturally, he went in after it,
and she, having sent it flying,
chased after him.
A minute passed, and, on a whim,
I went back into the house
to take more time, of course,
to let them find the ball,
(if they were looking for it at all).
It landed in the trees,
somewhere.
Naturally, he went in after it,
and she, having sent it flying,
chased after him.
A minute passed, and, on a whim,
I went back into the house
to take more time, of course,
to let them find the ball,
(if they were looking for it at all).
~
puffing his cigar,
midday all around him
the smoke is snatched by the wind.
Hunched and arms crossed,
legs jittering against each other.
Bringing up his hand to take the cigar
now and then.
His head itches.
Scratch scratch.
Puff puff.
Waiting for the bus.
What kind of man smokes
a cigar
while waiting for the bus?
The kind of man who
gets on my bus.
We're on the same road,
but going on different journeys,
with different destinations.
I wonder who his mother is,
or was,
and if she loved him.
Or did he grow up alone?
Did he have a girl, once,
who hated his habit?
Oh, he's gone.
It was his stop.
Look at that old woman...
midday all around him
the smoke is snatched by the wind.
Hunched and arms crossed,
legs jittering against each other.
Bringing up his hand to take the cigar
now and then.
His head itches.
Scratch scratch.
Puff puff.
Waiting for the bus.
What kind of man smokes
a cigar
while waiting for the bus?
The kind of man who
gets on my bus.
We're on the same road,
but going on different journeys,
with different destinations.
I wonder who his mother is,
or was,
and if she loved him.
Or did he grow up alone?
Did he have a girl, once,
who hated his habit?
Oh, he's gone.
It was his stop.
Look at that old woman...
~
It should be admired,
how long he sat,
sitting on the red wooden chair.
Smoking his cigarettes
about 3 for every hour,
turning the pages of his book,
(whatever he was reading, I couldn't tell),
occasionally sipping his coffee
as black as ink,
(but you could tell he would've preferred wine)
glancing now and then
at passerby
but only when he wished.
As immersed as he was
you could tell there was a melancholy
or a longing in his looks,
for when a person entered the warm shop
up his shoulders would hunch,
tighter would the scarf be pulled
to remind himself
he was out in the cold.
But that is the price one pays
for one's habits
that involve
how long he sat,
sitting on the red wooden chair.
Smoking his cigarettes
about 3 for every hour,
turning the pages of his book,
(whatever he was reading, I couldn't tell),
occasionally sipping his coffee
as black as ink,
(but you could tell he would've preferred wine)
glancing now and then
at passerby
but only when he wished.
As immersed as he was
you could tell there was a melancholy
or a longing in his looks,
for when a person entered the warm shop
up his shoulders would hunch,
tighter would the scarf be pulled
to remind himself
he was out in the cold.
But that is the price one pays
for one's habits
that involve
tobacco.
~
I didn't want this specifically
whatever this is
but I did choose the path
that led to this
whatever this is
and I didn't think it would work
but it's here
whether it works or not
whatever this is
and even though I'm not certain
where this is going
I have no other choice
so I better accept it
whatever this is
I could fight it
or ignore it
I could burn it
or bleed it
I could loose it
or feed it
with my anger
but whatever this is
it's here for me
it's mine
so I might as well accept it
before things get out of hand
whatever that might be
for whatever this is
one thing's for sure
it's here to stay
and there's no two ways
whatever this is
but I did choose the path
that led to this
whatever this is
and I didn't think it would work
but it's here
whether it works or not
whatever this is
and even though I'm not certain
where this is going
I have no other choice
so I better accept it
whatever this is
I could fight it
or ignore it
I could burn it
or bleed it
I could loose it
or feed it
with my anger
but whatever this is
it's here for me
it's mine
so I might as well accept it
before things get out of hand
whatever that might be
for whatever this is
one thing's for sure
it's here to stay
and there's no two ways
about it.
~
Why am I getting so jealous?
A feeling I ne'er felt.
Is this that wayward journey,
you travel once upon?
Is this the life adventure that changes all the rest?
I'm not on the road less traveled,
many before
have come...
and gone...
and left...
Along the road
memories they really treasured,
but now there's dust,
where once were,
items of beauty and fairy mystical magic,
with life an uncertain tale with twists and turns
and loves,
and losses,
fear and fog.
With love the happy ending,
the palace at the end.
But what if I don't want the end just yet?
I want to turn,
I want to see,
to remember what was before.
Before this journey became.
Please oh trees,
stop blowing so harsh,
your branches are pushing,
the grass blades are biting,
I'm wanting to be in the comfort I once knew,
as child tears can fall,
as someone can clean your face,
someone who,
cannot embark on the journey as well,
why oh why I don't know.
But this path I hate,
please don't make me go.
please don't make me go.
please, let me turn around.
I know I must venture on to see what happens,
maybe I will go, but I don't want to just yet.
Let me return to the poor peasant house,
to the poor peasant life I lived.
Maybe all rag girls don't want a magic pumpkin
or slippers made fast of glass.
Maybe I'm content,
yes I'm sure I'm content with buckets of water
and broomsticks and plain.
Plainness I see in the mirror,
plainness in the water
I carried so far.
I'm desperate to be content.
Who cares if life could change?
Maybe it's meant to be the same.
I'd like it at least to stay the same just
A feeling I ne'er felt.
Is this that wayward journey,
you travel once upon?
Is this the life adventure that changes all the rest?
I'm not on the road less traveled,
many before
have come...
and gone...
and left...
Along the road
memories they really treasured,
but now there's dust,
where once were,
items of beauty and fairy mystical magic,
with life an uncertain tale with twists and turns
and loves,
and losses,
fear and fog.
With love the happy ending,
the palace at the end.
But what if I don't want the end just yet?
I want to turn,
I want to see,
to remember what was before.
Before this journey became.
Please oh trees,
stop blowing so harsh,
your branches are pushing,
the grass blades are biting,
I'm wanting to be in the comfort I once knew,
as child tears can fall,
as someone can clean your face,
someone who,
cannot embark on the journey as well,
why oh why I don't know.
But this path I hate,
please don't make me go.
please don't make me go.
please, let me turn around.
I know I must venture on to see what happens,
maybe I will go, but I don't want to just yet.
Let me return to the poor peasant house,
to the poor peasant life I lived.
Maybe all rag girls don't want a magic pumpkin
or slippers made fast of glass.
Maybe I'm content,
yes I'm sure I'm content with buckets of water
and broomsticks and plain.
Plainness I see in the mirror,
plainness in the water
I carried so far.
I'm desperate to be content.
Who cares if life could change?
Maybe it's meant to be the same.
I'd like it at least to stay the same just
a little while more.
~
I am not a pencil
Whatever I do, I do
and I cannot undo it
I can forget it,
cross it out,
move on,
cast it aside.
But it remains
somewhere under the layers of my mind
the ink of my brain
I do not do, then erase,
and do again
I have no second chances
I do full throttle
I go for it
I write in the crossword
and cannot undo my words
Wherever I go, wherever I write
my actions are smeared
they dry in the sun
or under your breath,
but they remain
the good and the bad
they will remain
for I am a pen
and my ink flows from my hand,
and my heart
and you cannot erase me
for I am a pen.
Whatever I do, I do
and I cannot undo it
I can forget it,
cross it out,
move on,
cast it aside.
But it remains
somewhere under the layers of my mind
the ink of my brain
I do not do, then erase,
and do again
I have no second chances
I do full throttle
I go for it
I write in the crossword
and cannot undo my words
Wherever I go, wherever I write
my actions are smeared
they dry in the sun
or under your breath,
but they remain
the good and the bad
they will remain
for I am a pen
and my ink flows from my hand,
and my heart
and you cannot erase me
for I am a pen.
~
weaving across the asphalt
onto the curb
their street shoes grip the board
as they float above the ground
flying down the slope
it is gray outside
and there is still rain
hanging on leaves
and soaking into the sidewalk
as they coast by their empire
for they are the kings
of the cul-de-sac.
onto the curb
their street shoes grip the board
as they float above the ground
flying down the slope
it is gray outside
and there is still rain
hanging on leaves
and soaking into the sidewalk
as they coast by their empire
for they are the kings
of the cul-de-sac.
~
forgive me for not answering
your calls
but I am a coward
I realize I left you
on a thread
that I am pulling apart
gently, quietly
trying not to let you notice
I am firm in my belief
that you are not right for me
But you just treat me with
such lovely words
I know you've fallen hard for me
But that fall won't hurt nearly
as much
as when
I push you out of my life
down the front steps
onto the cold, hard
pavement
I see you lying there
palms on the ground
rocks on your skin
and dust in your eyes
forgive me, kind sir
you're just not the one for me.
your calls
but I am a coward
I realize I left you
on a thread
that I am pulling apart
gently, quietly
trying not to let you notice
I am firm in my belief
that you are not right for me
But you just treat me with
such lovely words
I know you've fallen hard for me
But that fall won't hurt nearly
as much
as when
I push you out of my life
down the front steps
onto the cold, hard
pavement
I see you lying there
palms on the ground
rocks on your skin
and dust in your eyes
forgive me, kind sir
you're just not the one for me.
~
Everyone has at least a million challenges in their life,
Why oh why did my million and one have to affect my Dad's wife?
I understand that there are people out there,
With one billion challenges and hardships to bear.
But why oh why did we have to become,
One of those families with that disease that now affects 1.5 million and one?
I'm so gosh darn tired of frozen casserole
From families whose lives will never play this role,
of smiling and saying, "She's doing fine"
and all the while going through that tiring mime.
The movements are few, the words are short,
A smile, a nod, no mention of life, how long or how short.
NO frowning, NO tears,
Be thankful for every crumb, for the rest of your years.
Who cares that you already have 2 dozen beef pot pies,
Lying in the freezer, alongside 4 dozen more approaching demise?
Who can say no to all this kind charity?
Not one turned away, not even your neighbor's aunt's sister-in-law Felicity,
(who is only just doing this out of the kindness of her heart,
not just to tell you all about how who and who are now living apart,
Oh and that stew she brought won’t be very good,
It looks like it’s made from tin and old pieces of wood.)
The calls are just as many and as tiring as well,
When you get a break from the phone there’s the doorbell.
But the calls are mostly endless,
No time to take a shower or get neatly dressed,
Answer the door! Answer the phone!
No one in this world has time to respond to a moan,
Even those with time so little,
Those who are shrinking, and their tongues feeling brittle,
Those who wear wigs and never sleep through the night,
Those who aren’t comforted when you say it will be all right.
I pray every day, as hope falls from my eyes,
Someone will tell me it’s just a pack of lies,
There is no cancer, no chemo, no frozen food,
There is no sick mother, no insensitive people, not caring and rude.
There never was any tumor, no surgery, no blood clot, no lost time,
There is only a healthy life, a life smiling and fine.
A life that now breathes as though it isn’t the last,
A life that now gains weight, and doesn’t look right out of a fast.
A lovely wife, mother, sister, woman exuding life.
There is no more pain, depression, misery or strife,
No more visits, no more hospital gowns,
Lots more smiles, a lot less frowns.
Oh but I don’t really care about all that,
The dinners, the grief, the wool knit hats.
My only real worry, my only real concern,
Is that through all this experience my momma has yet to learn,
That she is still, even during the chemo, even during the sick,
The MOST BEAUTIFUL of all mommas,
Even if…even if I’m afraid this cancer she won’t lick.
I understand that there are people out there,
With one billion challenges and hardships to bear.
But why oh why did we have to become,
One of those families with that disease that now affects 1.5 million and one?
I'm so gosh darn tired of frozen casserole
From families whose lives will never play this role,
of smiling and saying, "She's doing fine"
and all the while going through that tiring mime.
The movements are few, the words are short,
A smile, a nod, no mention of life, how long or how short.
NO frowning, NO tears,
Be thankful for every crumb, for the rest of your years.
Who cares that you already have 2 dozen beef pot pies,
Lying in the freezer, alongside 4 dozen more approaching demise?
Who can say no to all this kind charity?
Not one turned away, not even your neighbor's aunt's sister-in-law Felicity,
(who is only just doing this out of the kindness of her heart,
not just to tell you all about how who and who are now living apart,
Oh and that stew she brought won’t be very good,
It looks like it’s made from tin and old pieces of wood.)
The calls are just as many and as tiring as well,
When you get a break from the phone there’s the doorbell.
But the calls are mostly endless,
No time to take a shower or get neatly dressed,
Answer the door! Answer the phone!
No one in this world has time to respond to a moan,
Even those with time so little,
Those who are shrinking, and their tongues feeling brittle,
Those who wear wigs and never sleep through the night,
Those who aren’t comforted when you say it will be all right.
I pray every day, as hope falls from my eyes,
Someone will tell me it’s just a pack of lies,
There is no cancer, no chemo, no frozen food,
There is no sick mother, no insensitive people, not caring and rude.
There never was any tumor, no surgery, no blood clot, no lost time,
There is only a healthy life, a life smiling and fine.
A life that now breathes as though it isn’t the last,
A life that now gains weight, and doesn’t look right out of a fast.
A lovely wife, mother, sister, woman exuding life.
There is no more pain, depression, misery or strife,
No more visits, no more hospital gowns,
Lots more smiles, a lot less frowns.
Oh but I don’t really care about all that,
The dinners, the grief, the wool knit hats.
My only real worry, my only real concern,
Is that through all this experience my momma has yet to learn,
That she is still, even during the chemo, even during the sick,
The MOST BEAUTIFUL of all mommas,
Even if…even if I’m afraid this cancer she won’t lick.
~
I was in the house
looking out the glass
I saw you
there in the meadow
I stopped the washing,
I watched you pass
you held your hand
out to the grass
it's blades scraped
against your palm
I wondered did it wear
you down,
that weight you bear
or does it simply
make people stare
at how you carry
all the weight,
your soul
is it weary
could you rest it once
for me
lay your head in my hand
your brown brown hair
I'll smooth with my hand
the strands will brush
against my palm
I won't wear you down
stranger in the meadow
whom I watched through the glass
now you're gone
you've walked on
looking out the glass
I saw you
there in the meadow
I stopped the washing,
I watched you pass
you held your hand
out to the grass
it's blades scraped
against your palm
I wondered did it wear
you down,
that weight you bear
or does it simply
make people stare
at how you carry
all the weight,
your soul
is it weary
could you rest it once
for me
lay your head in my hand
your brown brown hair
I'll smooth with my hand
the strands will brush
against my palm
I won't wear you down
stranger in the meadow
whom I watched through the glass
now you're gone
you've walked on
and time will still pass.
~
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
For my soul is at rest, in heaven's bed
Though my love for you will beat on so,
My death has melted away Cupid's arrow
Be sad I'm gone, but end your grief,
Even though I was taken from you, our time was so brief,
Treasure the memories, to be sure, and use them to your gain.
To measure up a love as sweet and fall into love's arms again.
For my true heart's wish, for your life,
Is to find yourself a wonderful, loving wife.
Do not regret or feel the pangs of guilt,
For by my side is heaven's love and this flower shall not wilt.
Do not worry so, about my jealous rage
My life is over, the act is done on earth's wide stage,
What good can come from a life half-lived?
When I am gone and have nothing for you to give?
I am gone, I am gone, that you must perceive
Make your heart open to another, her love you must receive.
While I'm glad you loved me, but I no longer care for
the earthly life I had, now I've climbed Jacob's stair.
What use am I to you, when all that remains of me
is a wish and dust, but nothing comes of these.
I am gone, I am gone, away in the night,
And you my love, must put out your love's light.
Go on, do not quite forget,
Dry your tears, I shall not see them wet,
And live, and love and never stay in the dark
For my soul is at rest, in heaven's bed
Though my love for you will beat on so,
My death has melted away Cupid's arrow
Be sad I'm gone, but end your grief,
Even though I was taken from you, our time was so brief,
Treasure the memories, to be sure, and use them to your gain.
To measure up a love as sweet and fall into love's arms again.
For my true heart's wish, for your life,
Is to find yourself a wonderful, loving wife.
Do not regret or feel the pangs of guilt,
For by my side is heaven's love and this flower shall not wilt.
Do not worry so, about my jealous rage
My life is over, the act is done on earth's wide stage,
What good can come from a life half-lived?
When I am gone and have nothing for you to give?
I am gone, I am gone, that you must perceive
Make your heart open to another, her love you must receive.
While I'm glad you loved me, but I no longer care for
the earthly life I had, now I've climbed Jacob's stair.
What use am I to you, when all that remains of me
is a wish and dust, but nothing comes of these.
I am gone, I am gone, away in the night,
And you my love, must put out your love's light.
Go on, do not quite forget,
Dry your tears, I shall not see them wet,
And live, and love and never stay in the dark
too long, and be married well, by Cupid's fateful mark.
~
Narcissos, I think, had reason to be vain,
as his reflection has produced a flower that
gives delight
to all who view it, considering,
it's golden trumpets are
as his reflection has produced a flower that
gives delight
to all who view it, considering,
it's golden trumpets are
the heralds of spring.
~
Rain, rain,
stay awhile
for I grow weary
of the sun's incessant
smile.
for I grow weary
of the sun's incessant
smile.
~
Above there is a beauty, oh so high,
Gently holding a gift from the above,
A curtain hanging: the stiff colored sky.
How could the angels part with this vast love?
Could there be an explanation for this?
That humans would receive this noble gift?
What deed was done to receive father’s kiss?
When came the fortunate paradigm shift?
How lucky we are, blessed, my brothers!
It must be costly, such a piece of work.
Gold, red, blue, black, every new day occurs
In this tinted sky no smudge or crack lurk.
But I wonder, behind the sky, what thing,
So costly must be hid by drape and string?
~
