Pages

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Fall Break and Finals





Ah, this time of year,
is crystal clear,
when textbooks flail and thud.

Between the jingle in the air,
and sleeping in chairs,
all we've learned is mud.

Still full from thanksgiving
we think we are living
but with brains so full who can tell?

One week 'til emancipation
but the dread realization
is 400 more pages and I can't spell.

With only 8 more tests,
and no times for rests,
this "fall break" breaks me in two.

They call it vacation
but it's exasperation
when all at once everything is due!

All I drink is coffee,
all I think is toffee,
yet I drool on my desk wide awake.

It's no big deal,
just a giant banana peel
when my whole life is at stake.

With one final breathe
before the plunge of death
I take a small economic nap.

but even after waking,
an extra four hours taking,
all my energy is still sapped.

Can there be,
no hope for me,
with all this information to pretend?

Tests and papers may be vital,
but isn't also survival?
Fall break and Finals will be my end. 

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Fickle Beast of Turning


Such bouts of indecision wrack you.
I see thine desolate regime burn indignant against other's of your vein.
Their stability mocks thee.
Though I see thine whimsical wrath protrude yet. 
How in one swift account can thou press infernos and ice upon mankind?
At once thou art a cool draught and a searing rage. 
I once tried to predict thine mania and was scorned
in bitter respite to a tragedy of frost not flame.
Warmly you soothed mine soul and danced playfully through the morn,
but thine black face gritted teeth against all mine expectation 
and left me frozen in a snow forged expanse.
What wrath have I ever brought to thee? 
My indignance is not only mine own
but also of all who live in thy glorious chamber. 
Perhaps I alone could not 'suade thee to stability
but surly the cry of millions should find a cushion in thine heart!
A sultry fiddle string am I but among a chorus of gloried angels
how canst thou still resist such a plea?
O Fickle Beast of Turning, shallt thou always boast of thine indifference?
Mine apparel shall always be dictated by the hope of thee
by the soft subtlety of thine voice,
but please thee to once hear the request of thine citizens, 
and frickin' make up your mind Georgia Weather. 

Monday, November 28, 2011

Dancing the Storm


She danced alone in a parking lot.
Her dark blood dress washing in the storm;
She pressed out her limbs,
pulled in her chin,
convulsed wind,
and her tears fell with the rain.
She jumped and fell.
She rolled and stood.
She washed her soul with the clouds,
purged her mind with the movement,
cringed her mouth in bitter weeping.

She didn't know anymore,
but her limbs did.
They lashed,
sighed,
burned,
fell,
bit at the asphalt,
screamed in bone-fed rage.
They longed for rainbows and silver lining,
found thunder and floods,
fought rapids and placid lakes.
She was everything and nothing. 

Her voiced had broken from weeping,
Her soul had wearied of breaking,
Her eyes had wretched of seeing,
The clouds had cried with her,
The thunder had screamed for her,
The lightning had revealed everything,
And when everything became nothing,

she danced.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

The Writer and The Written

Angeli floats gently above a grassy knoll with a backdrop of stars. Several small daises in a clump accompany her. Eyes closed, her face looks longingly upwards.

Bryant sits writing with a pocket sized pad and pen in a desert under the same stars. He is joined by a tumble weed, a cactus, and a small fire.

BRYANT. (Reading what he's written) A map of the stars and planets was foreign to her.

ANGELI. (Descending and opening her eyes, looking at the ground) I Stepped out into daylight, foot falling onto soft grass. (To Stars) Good night, good night, my pale friends. Let us make this one last end.

Beat. She spreads her arms out and begins humming. The melody is soft and sweet. She sways. After a 30 seconds her eyes dart open. Her eyes are locked straight. She does not blink or look away.

ANGELI.(Ferociously) He had no idea where he had come from or where he was going, but he was determined to get there.

BRYANT Quickly slaps then rubs the back of his head as if he had been stung. Beat.

BRYANT. (Writing) And that was surely about to change.

ANGELI. Your options are limited. My song is singing in its own right.

BRYANT. (Writing) The meadow was in full bloom this year. And some things are worth fighting for.

ANGELI. It is hidden now.

ANGELI AND BRYANT. I can feel my pulse.

(BRYANT checks his pulse on his neck. Baffled, he returns to his notepad.)

ANGELI. (Smirking to herself) It will be like a game. (Making a grand gesture) But even he couldn’t help but laugh.

BRYANT laughs suddenly, surprising himself.
ANGELI rubs her arms as if to warm herself.


BRAYANT. Why did it have to be this hot?

ANGELI. He just needed to find something worth asking for.

Frustrated BRYANT stands and looks at the notepad in his hand. He sighs. He impulsively writes something else, looks at it, and scratches it out. ANGELI giggles mockingly. BRYANT cringes and rips out the top pages of the notepad and throws them into the fire. ANGELI disappears in a waft of smoke. Beat.


BRYANT. The knowledge of its demise is enough. 

Saturday, November 26, 2011

A Star Born


I float, dark in the expanse. 
Listless, 
waiting. 
Shimmered gas,
twisting around myself
in anticipation.
I am murk,
sipping myself in cool specks,
wandering among speckled lights
far off in the void. 

I heard a low hum;
a smile that sighed in love. 
A chuckle forged through my vapor
and a dim song began.
Two twilight forms came from among the horizons.
Closer they swept and danced with hands clasped around each other.
Their wings turning in waltzes
mixing me with their forlorned gazes,
pushing soft, subtle whispers through me 
and carving a form for me.

I had no shape
yet they moved me.
They sang a song 
that forged me from ashes.

A light sparked in my aura,
my dark gases shifted,
circling quickly in the wing's paths,
catching the echo of the song.
I was thrumming,
the speck of light grew,
beating, pulsing harder and harder.
Soon they fluttered to vanquished the horizon. 

Then came the Voice
it surged through me 
vibrating my soul
entrancing my gaze
and my limbs.
I could not see Him,
but I felt His hands gently embrace me
He led me from one corner of the universe to the other,
spun me round in our dance.
The light in my center surged bigger and brighter
His laugh force my smile.

at last He twirled me quickly,
my light exploded in brilliance,
my body amassing into a sphere.
I burned bright and shone; 
a beacon to the galaxies.
I sang as I still sing,
bright, bold, joyous in my refrain. 
Now I am a purge of darkness,
a light to guide the lost,
a proclamation of hope,
all because He once touched me.





Thanks to Jim Crigler for the suggestion: The Carina Nebula. Click the link to see the picture that helped inspire this poem!

Friday, November 25, 2011

A Man of Extremes


I have a broken mezzanine. 
I know nothing of in between.
I have the left and right wings,
but I can't fly without connecting.
I know only of extremes;
always yes or no never maybe.
Unless it's 'very maybe';
A maybe without boundaries;
a maybe with out end.
Then I can be maybe
 but only if it may be all the way.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Thanksgiving Haikus


Food and food and food
Family pictures and parade
Thankful Thanksgiving

Coffee steaming hot
Homemade cinnamon rolls
Small conversations

Some games together
Musical TV numbers
Slow and relaxing

Dogs in laps sleeping
Softly wait for the grand meal
Naps and snacks all day

No lack or needing
All family together
Preview of Heaven

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Cold Heart Renovations


Hello, 
um, 
well,
welcome to my heart. 
Sorry it's so cold,
the last tenant left the AC on and
I don't really come here very often;
you know, when there's no one here to visit. 
That sure explains the bill though.

So, yeah, 
um, 
welcome. 
It's good to be here, 
uh, 
with you. 
I mean,
I like you being here. 
Like when I'm here. 
At the same time. 

I know it's kind of dusty, and all. 
Sorry.
I didn't really know you were coming,
and um, 
this is awkward but 
uh,
can you help me clean up?
I mean, 
I've never really liked the way it's arranged,
so, 
like,
feel free to change stuff around, and all that. 
I want it to be nice for you is all. 
Like you like it 'cause,
'cause I like you and stuff. 

I mean, I never really remember what it's like so I probably wouldn't know the difference if you moved the couch or the blender or whatever.
It can be,
like,
custom fit and stuff. 

So, 
um, 
yeah, 

uh,

Thanks. 
for, 
like, 
coming. 

Feel free to stay as long as you like. 
I don't have, 
like, 
anyone else that's gonna show up,
so I guess it's, 
um, 
a party for two,
or something. 

So yeah,
um, 
cleaning.

Where would you like to start?

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Haikus of Wrath and Love


God's thoughts are for you
His longing is for your love
But His wrath is just

We are no blank slate
All corruption is the proof
And He loves us still

Darkness fills our souls
Flame is our just earnings 
His light is our hope

He will conquer but
Evil continues for grace
There's still time for us

All who desire 
He will give Himself if asked
His blood will cleanse them

Ever-wrath is fair
Joy promised to all who ask
True justice for all

Monday, November 21, 2011

A Foggy Morning


Morning clouds came down to visit today.
They were a mix of white and gray.
And with all their quiet teaching,
and their soft, wet beseeching, 
they waded deep in the streets to stay. 

Resting their feet up under the ground
they sat so simply and looked around.
From everything they thought the saw,
from chasm yawns and stretching maws,
they laughed but never made a sound.

Far more dense than the thickest woods,
they hugged us deeply as best they could.
At once they enjoyed this happy refrain
and silent they had mouthed His name
they wanted to stay and they rather should.

Alas! The sun rose high and far above
and shone and baked the clouds with love.
Once had heard their lovers call
they waved to friends one and all
and flew softly away as doves. 

And now they hang up in the sky
grinning, I'm sure, waving goodbye.
All because on this cool morn,
we played until the sun was born.
Now we both shall smile and sigh.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Patient Hunger


Why are you still teething?
You've chewed all your teeth away
and you won't let them grow back.
Every time you start strong as bone 
but you rip out the marrow and it falls
and they fall
and they fall.
You crave all the sugar sweet.
You never get full
and you always get hungrier
and you always get hungrier. 
You pick up anything you can find 
and never once 
and never once 
is it food.

Why are you still teething?
The food will come.
The promised is coming 
and the promise is coming
and the promise always comes 
because Daddy is not a liar.
So stop chewing,
stop chewing away 
at each empty calorie 
in this junk pile.
Wait.
Wait.
0 wait,
for the meal to come.

Prepare:
Set up the tables and chairs 
and the table cloth,
scrub the dishes,
shine the silverware,
lay the napkins,
light the candles,
because before those candles are out 
the meal will come.
The meal will come. 

But you must stop teething, 
you must start preparing, 
you must let go of all these empty things.
They're not food.
They are not good.
They will always make you hungrier.
Why are you still teething 
when Daddy has promised so much?

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Sense


They say they seek truth
but when they look
if they don't like what they find
then it must be something else.
The eyes closed.

Rather not deal with reality.
Over intellectuals explained
against evidences most reasonable
to sing songs to themselves. 
The ears deafened.

Only touch and sight were allowed.
If they could only feel it
then they didn't believe it. 
Emotions don't exist. 
The closed fist tightens.

The minds grew to big,
bigger than they were. 
An inward focus intended
not to see past their tongues.
The taste buds sleep. 

Any etherial must be dreams.
saying, "Hallucinations and delusions"
sweeps all opinions beneath them
of anything they can't comprehend.
The scents die away.




Thanks to Jennie for the suggestion asking why some people don't believe in God. 

Friday, November 18, 2011

A Stone and Two Birds


I was holding my dreams when a man walked up to me. He was of a similar build to myself and was covered in a black coat. 
"Are you gonna use that?" he asked. 
"I'm not sure." I thought it an odd thing to ask. 
"Can I use it?" 
"No, of course not." I replied. "They're mine and I'll keep them to myself, thank you." 
I did not want to be short with him, but I felt I had no choice. He was rude. 
"Well if you're not going to use them, you might as well let me have them."
"I am going to use them. . . Maybe."
"Then let me make use of them until you decide." 
"No. No I will not. I have slaved hard over these dreams. I have sweat tears, bled from my ears, danced my heart around them. Breathed them into gladness, shriveled from them in fear. . ."
"And you don't know if. . ."
"Given them my silence, inflated them with sunlight, let them eat me with laughter, embalmed them with my soul. No, I will not let you use them."
"All this and you are still indecisive?"
"No! Well.. yes. What if they break? They seem so fragile."
"And what if they're never used? They are as good as broken as long as you hold them. Let me have them."
"Why? You'll drop them and they'll shatter. You don't know them like I do."
"And I never will, but better break them through me then for them to fade on your shelf because you're to meager a man to use what you've made."
Now he had said to much. "What do you know of my worth? Insults are for the dull-witted numbskulls who care not for the dreams of others."
"As you just proved yourself to be one." He chuckled at me. Infuriating me all the more. 
"Well what of it?! You have no dreams!"
"Don't I?"
"No, of course not! Your hands are. . ," I stared blankly at his hands. He was holding my dreams. "Give them back!" I rushed at him and he skirted out of the way. He's a quick one. "Those are mine! I walked them through the. . ."
"Yes, yes. I know what you've done for these poor dreams." He tossed them lightly in his hands. "But what you don't see is right in front of you."
Steaming I looked down in haste. My dreams were still in my hands. 
"But. . . how?"
"My it's warm. Mind if I take off my coat?"
He was careful to keep my. . . his. . . whomever's dreams in his hands. 
"Understand now?" he asked as his coat dropped to the floor. 
I gaped at him. His clothes were mine. His eyes were mine. His dreams were mine. 
"No." I replied.
"Well then." He kicked his coat to the wall. 
A pause lingered. "Aren't you going to say something?" I asked. 
"No."
"oh. . ."
More silence. 
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Am I supposed to tell you?"
"I had hoped. . .  Why do our dreams look the same?"
"Because they are. Why do we look the same?"
"Because we are." I don't know how I knew this, but I did. 
"Then what good are dreams you never let fly?"
"Dead like a stone and two birds."
He smiled. "Like a life and a dream fall not from lack of wings, but from lack of trying."
We moved towards each other and our dream melded in between us. 
"Will we use our dream?" He smirked. 
"Yes." 
Then our feet left the ground and never returned.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Trouble with Dreaming


What a wonder is fantasy;
To find a world of dragons,
treacherous trolls,
and villages to save.

Adventure sated 
in full stomachs of mutton,
Brawling bar fights,
and blood covered swords,

A cause to fight; to defend, 
enemies and war brothers
bound thicker than blood,
A tyrant to dethrone.

Heads flying in the clouds
to find the mysticism
and a fairy tale escape,
but all dreams end on waking. 

Gravity always takes its toll.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Deep End





I'm standing at Deep End.
I didn't see it coming, but now that I'm here I have but two choices;
go back or go over.

The dread I arrived with has yet to flee
and I find my pansy feet too frightened to move.
My heart is baited on a chain
the metal enters through my back
and holds my chest in its cold fingers.

I know that if I make this step then my heart will not go with me;
it will dangle over the side hoping for me,
wanting nothing more than to see me climb up again.
But still I go over.

Is it jumping or falling?
well, I supposed that's all in the landing.

Goodbye, my Breath.
If I feel you again it shall be at the bottom.
If not then because of the bottom.

I unroot my feet,
spread my arms,
and welcome the panic wind.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Hold on Tight


It feels like winter night with a cloudless sky
stars stabbing knives right through my eyes 
longing and twitching for quiet regimes
nothing is harder than forsaken dreams

hold me tight
so I can let go
help me fight
so I can glow

wait for it wait for it
it all comes back
relentless upheaval
in sleeping attack
hold on hold on
for blissening sweeps
that inhale the lungs
until ends of sleep

hold me tight
so I can let go
help me fight
so I can glow 

see it see it
put it behind eyes
tears bring it back again
like longed for knives
grab it stab it
find new ways
for it's only moments
'til the end of days

hold me tight
so I can let go
help me fight
so I can glow

Winter nights will be blinded by the Son's rise
star's knives will wither away
remember for every cruel night
the Son will steal moon's bitter gaze

Monday, November 14, 2011

Haiku of the Promises


Anxiety stings
Emanuel still loves me 
The promise is true

The valley of death
loses its bite and its sting
death died long ago

Though all is peaceful
I worry about today
yet He cares for me

When I fear and doubt
His song still rings in my soul
nothing else matters

I try to control
Success never satisfies
only He brings peace

Make my own story
I scream when it all goes wrong
His plans are greater

I am a paint stroke
I can't see all my siblings
yet we are beauty

Sunday, November 13, 2011

How the World is Saved


The sky is falling and I am standing.
I sit down and look up from my chair. 
My lemonade becomes less demanding.
The stars burn black through the air. 

The sky falls in flaming shards.
Mirrors melting and reflecting the earth. 
I sip and stand and sit and sip. 
Smiling, anxious, waiting the new birth. 

The sky slices melting through the ground.
The ground falls gently from under my seat.
No need for panic at hearing the sound. 
I float, mid-air, sitting, lava warming my feet.

The world is over and it sings a song.
Cries from molten cracks in praise.
Through fire, fumes, and beating gongs,
this is how the world is saved.

My ice melted, lemonade evaporated.
I smile into the glowing sky.
Daddy smiles back, appropriated.
This is what it is to live and never die. 

I dropped my empty glass to fire below.
Daddy pulled me in, face to face, 
wiped away my joyful tears and said, "hello."
He purged my body and soul of disgrace.

He gave a cry as rivers and trumpets ringing 
and from all depths and sides and colors of earth
came a choral breath and joyous singing:
The world and His children in second birth.

Caught in crowds beyond a number or count
each soul was brazen; bright in His glory. 
Now as the holy family, finally found,
we can fulfill Eternity's plan and story.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Flying and Mr. Sky


I sat in my yard and gazed up and up. 
I saw a fly fly by and wondered why,
can't I fly?
So I asked Mr. Sky how I could reach so high.
he asked "why?" back.

My plan of attack was to back with reasons
and songs and seasons why the Sky Guy should let me fly. 
My outlying outline is sublime and so taking his time
to chime my alpine sized prized as I realized it ties 
to planetary peace and said, "please," 
until he listened to my glistening
gossip before I lost it.

"Here's my plan," I said even quicker. 
If my zipper was undone, 
well that's no fun,
so I'll fix it 
and mix its meaning
and zip up flying.
The loud clouds will clap
and gleam their teeth white across the sky.
"A new fly," they'll think and so'll Think I!
I wouldn't be the only one it seems,
that'll think flying would be keen
and soon lots of fly guys
and girls would be hurled
over the world and we'll twirl
in great formations 
and sanction relations against retaliations
and solve the world pieces 
with peace treaties
and chocolate treats
(some sugar free in case they are diabetically)
and diabolically save the planet!
Grant it the granite was stubborn
but earth clods moved their bods
to help prod granite to grant its cooperation.
Then those still born are happier 
under the peace brought about fly guys
and girls who bring pearls 
of perception to flies flying flung 
and sing songs sung to happy
zippers who zipped up the world
and curled their lips into while lasting smiles
and, considering all the lasting biles 
fighting the whiles of people's will, 
that will be a great skill.
But with flight in sight
all wrongs would right
and we would fight blight
until there were no more nights.

And that Mr. Sky,
unless you need more reasons why,
is why you 
should let me 
fly.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Fundevogel by the Brothers Grimm (featuring my vocal interpretation)

*Fundevogel means fledgling in English



There was once a forester who went into the forest to hunt, and as 
he entered it he heard a sound of screaming as if a little child were 
there. He followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree, and at 
the top of this a little child was sitting, for the mother had fallen 
asleep under the tree with the child, and a bird of prey had seen it in 
her arms, had flown down, snatched it away, and set it on the high tree. 
The forester climbed up, brought the child down, and thought to himself: 
'You will take him home with you, and bring him up with your Lina.' He 
took it home, therefore, and the two children grew up together. And the 
one, which he had found on a tree was called Fundevogel, because a bird 
had carried it away. Fundevogel and Lina loved each other so dearly that 
when they did not see each other they were sad. 
Now the forester had an old cook, who one evening took two pails and 
began to fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out 
to the spring. Lina saw this and said, 'Listen, old Sanna, why are you 
fetching so much water?' 'If you will never repeat it to anyone, I will 
tell you why.' So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to anyone, 
and then the cook said: 'Early tomorrow morning, when the forester 
is out hunting, I will heat the water, and when it is boiling in the 
kettle, I will throw in Fundevogel, and will boil him in it.' 
Early next morning the forester got up and went out hunting, and when he 
was gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to Fundevogel: 
'If you will never leave me, I too will never leave you.' Fundevogel 
said: 'Neither now, nor ever will I leave you.' Then said Lina: 'Then 
will I tell you. Last night, old Sanna carried so many buckets of water 
into the house that I asked her why she was doing that, and she said 
that if I would promise not to tell anyone, and she said that early 
tomorrow morning when father was out hunting, she would set the kettle 
full of water, throw you into it and boil you; but we will get up 
quickly, dress ourselves, and go away together.' 
The two children therefore got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went 
away. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook went into the 
bedroom to fetch Fundevogel and throw him into it. But when she came in, 
and went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was terribly
alarmed, and she said to herself: 'What shall I say now when the 
forester comes home and sees that the children are gone? They must be 
followed instantly to get them back again.' 
Then the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and 
overtake the children. The children, however, were sitting outside the 
forest, and when they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina 
said to Fundevogel: 'Never leave me, and I will never leave you.' 
Fundevogel said: 'Neither now, nor ever.' Then said Lina: 'Do you become 
a rose-tree, and I the rose upon it.' When the three servants came to 
the forest, nothing was there but a rose-tree and one rose on it, but 
the children were nowhere. Then said they: 'There is nothing to be done 
here,' and they went home and told the cook that they had seen nothing 
in the forest but a little rose-bush with one rose on it. Then the 
old cook scolded and said: 'You simpletons, you should have cut the 
rose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and brought it home with 
you; go, and do it at once.' They had therefore to go out and look for 
the second time. The children, however, saw them coming from a distance. 
Then Lina said: 'Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never leave 
you.' Fundevogel said: 'Neither now; nor ever.' Said Lina: 'Then do you 
become a church, and I'll be the chandelier in it.' So when the three 
servants came, nothing was there but a church, with a chandelier in 
it. They said therefore to each other: 'What can we do here, let us go 
home.' When they got home, the cook asked if they had not found them; 
so they said no, they had found nothing but a church, and there was a 
chandelier in it. And the cook scolded them and said: 'You fools! why 
did you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the chandelier home 
with you?' And now the old cook herself got on her legs, and went with 
the three servants in pursuit of the children. The children, however, 
saw from afar that the three servants were coming, and the cook waddling 
after them. Then said Lina: 'Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will 
never leave you.' Then said Fundevogel: 'Neither now, nor ever.' 
Said Lina: 'Be a fishpond, and I will be the duck upon it.' The cook, 
however, came up to them, and when she saw the pond she lay down by it, 
and was about to drink it up. But the duck swam quickly to her, seized 
her head in its beak and drew her into the water, and there the old 
witch had to drown. Then the children went home together, and were 
heartily delighted, and if they have not died, they are living still.


Thursday, November 10, 2011

The Ripples of Falling


There once was a man wanted to fall.
He wanted to fall down like the ground was trying to eat him. 
He gazed down into the canyon as it inhaled. 
He glanced to his sides to and saw no one.
He scraped his chest along the narrow knife in his hand; 
He knew it was sharp but he had closed his eyes
and he fell,
and the ground ate him.
He was chewed softly;
thoughtfully.
His lineage never knew;
He never had to tell,
but his infection spread.
They never knew why
but they always fell.
The ground mushed him into pulp
and spread his butter across the floor
thirsty for the next in his line.
The rest would fall too
because he would not listen;
he would not know. 

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Rain Dance


I danced on a cloud and it started to rain. 
The wind came, sword drawn; cloud was slain.
It crumpled and bled and thinned it's soul.
My feet grew still and soaked in watery knoll. 
My footing slipped and my eyes looked down.
The ground came running with a sighing sound.
The cloud screamed among its final cries, 
"Breathe deep or else you will die!"
The air ripped deep and filled my lungs
and with water and ice I was downward flung.

Plunging fast toward the earth,
little broccoli trees began to birth,
lakes and rivers winked a glare,
the birds below had quite a scare.
as water and I, somehow still alive,
descended as lightning, could we survive?
I flapped my arms like wings,
but that sent me spinning into things;
Bits of hail deciding if they should melt
latched onto my shirt, making me an icy pelt.
It stung, I was cold, I couldn't feel the wind.
Would the ground's hug be my end?
Yet with all my flailing and screaming
I noticed a trick and thought I must be dreaming;
If I held my arms steady like this or that
I found I could float wherever I like, as a raft!
I twisted my iced limbs to fall more at ease
over a lake and away from the trees.

The giant puddle opened it's maw,
crunched my frozen shell with its jaw.
Who would have guessed the impact it took?
I was a mite jarred and a tiny bit shook.
But because I had taken the advice of the cloud
my lungs were still full and I cheered quite loud
"Hurrah!"  as I burst through the top of the lake.
I was not yet dead but I was tired and ached. 
So I rested a while and dozed off a bit.
Then the sun's rays cast a punch: o what a hit!
The lake, feelings hurt, cried a good bit
but it's tears heated warm and started to lift. 

I was taken up again inside of this steam
as sun kept punching with its heat beam.
From floating on water to floating on air
I'm sure there's a difference but I didn't care. 
The sun warmed my bones as the lake's tears rose
I was warmed from my head down to my toes.
I looked back below just in time to see
winking lakes and rivers smiling at me. 
The broccoli trees waved a hearty goodbye,
I drifted back toward Daddy up high in the sky.
My eyes stopped their seeing down below
and I was covered again in a white shadow.

Thoughts hiding now jumped up front in my mind
and I slowly discovered and grinned in kind;
I had flowed up and down with both kinds of rain
so I wiped off my brow, laughed, and danced on a cloud again.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Fall/fall, leave/leaves, rain/rein/reign


Leaves reign in Fall.
Leaves rain and fall. 
Rain leaves and falls. 
Reigns fall and leave. 
Rein in fall's leaves.
Fall rains leaves. 
Fall's reign leaves. 
Fall's leaves rain.
Fall's leaves reign.

Leave reined Fall's leaves.
Fall's leaves fall raining.
Fall's reined leaves rain.
Fall's reigning leaves rein.
Rains rein in Fall's reigning leaves.

Fall reins in falling leaves whose reign rains in the fall and leaves.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Campfire Haikus


Campfire, cool night
Soft leaves crunch and smoke dances
Beauty's silhouette.

Graham crackers wrappers
Marshmallows browning the air
Chocolate bite's bliss

Warming rotisserie 
Round and round around the fire
Something's always cold

Quiet conversing
Laughing with all of my friends
Those fires don't die

Noises in the dark
Invisible leaves crunching
Fear is in the mind

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Bitter Enforcer of Broken Logic


Such depravity doth rally thine soul. 
Once built to hope unending
thou now breaks all whims and joys
to shattered breaths of weakness. 
When first the iron rung did sing of emancipation
in thine deception thou hath proved an ill friend
and a bitter requisite against all mornings glory.
Thou two faced badger, 
thou seeks that all mine strength fall to despair.
All mine muscles flexed in light refrain
yet thou hast deceived me of thine mechanics.
One face thou showst to be bright and cheery
just to eat all breath from my lungs
with the other face grimacing in glee. 
How, in guarding such portal, 
can thou have two such loves?
I am weary of being the first to traipse through 
any path that thou may guard 
for thou doth exaggerate all mine weakness before mine kin. 
Many of thine brethren seek me no harm
but thou, Bitter Enforcer of Broken Logic,
are and shall always be mine bane;
Stupid pull handles on push doors. 

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Oceans are Hard to Sea


I've never seen the ocean before
though I've always wanted to. 
I hear the waves are big and tall
and the water is crystal blue. 
There's foam and boats and birds
that glide inside the ocean's glee.
That's what over and over I've heard;
That's what they keep telling me. 
I'm cloistered in my tiny house
so I only have tiny bits of sight.
It's dangerous to open up
but for oceans I'll try with all my might!
The nights are black and dark.
The days are gray and dim.
If only these fish would get out of the way 
I'm sure I'd see the ocean then!
The sky is too wet and full things
through which I longingly try and peer.
But how am I to see the ocean
at the bottom of the sea down here?




Thanks to Jordan for suggesting, "The Ocean," for this weeks subject suggestion contest.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Werewolves to Vomit



I see the remains of the purge; 
my vomit of sweet tenderloins.
When first tasted my dark smile gleamed 
in the fleshly juices;
sponged deep in the steaming liquids
that poured gently through my gullet.

It was a sweet and vile accident
that proned me toward the sultry scent. 
After succumbing to the brittle allure
I was rescued from the hidden poison,
Yet its first attraction lingers still;
hidden in my bones from birth.
I swore I'd never come back.

Yet I am dogged to return. 
to seep in the bile soaked pleasure.
My stomach saw it's true form
and threw from its depths 
the blubbered infection;
It shrieked songs I could not hear
perjured my soul in it's revelry.

Yet,
Yet my hunger remains.
glimpse of the subtle curve,
chunks chopped,
insistently incisored.
Smell and sound
gush forth and dance around my nostrils
and I am burnt;
crisp, crackling.

I cannot return to my wallow
though I long for it's temporal embrace.
I lust over my vomit
but I cannot again eat. 
I shouldn't. 

Since my tongue could taste I have hungered
and even after so long a time,
I see the rotted, corrupt sinews;
everything I was;
dead, bleeding. 
I see the drudges of it's evil;
and yet I still seek its photographs;
it's lying love letters;
hear its voice sound my name
and I thirst.

I must resist. 
I must hold pure. 
but sometimes,
sometimes
I am 
so
desperately
hungry.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Run Run Run as Fast as You Can


Pick a direction and run. 
Run with me. 
I'll pick the next coin to flip. 
We'll fall. 
We'll slip. 
But run.
Run fast. 
We don't know where we're going and we don't have to. 
We can't fail if we don't pick a destination.
Mold our hands together and fly.
We'll fall. 
We'll slip. 
We'll hurt.
But we can't get lost. 
We can't fail.
Run because the earth won't move on it's own.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Remembering You




Remembering you is
a flower.
The closer I get the more beautiful the detail, the sharper the thorn.

Remembering you is
arthritis.
Some days it's better than others, but it's always hurts.

Remembering you is
a gash.
It bleeds now, but the scar will never go away.

Remembering you is
my body on fire.
It burns, stinks and I hate with the fury of the flames.

Remembering you is
an old building I forgot was torn down.
I cherish it until I remember it's gone.

Remembering you is
a sign that says, "you must be this tall."
Because I know that I don't measure up.

Remembering you is
an echo.
Because the harder I push you out, the stronger you come back.

Remembering you is
a paradox.
You are everywhere you're not, which is everywhere that I am.

Forgetting you
is jumping to the moon.
It doesn't matter how hard I try, it's just not going to happen.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Toad Face


There is a toad on my face.
At first he seemed a tasty treat
and now it's him that has to eat
as he shows me warts and all in my disgrace.
all the guys say "Hey Toad-Face" 
and Toad always puts me in my place.
Again, again, it's his pace
to eat much like a bear. 
All because with my daddy then
I did refuse to share.
So I'm the but of every joke
I wish this frog I could just choke
but I'm the unlucky son of a bloke
that will have frog on face until I croak.