A Stockholm's Farewell Letter

Wouldn't it be wonderful 

To smile so bright? 

To see, 

To know, 

To believe? 

I saw them, 

You know. 

The thieves. 

The places they come from 

With their smiles. 

I love their, 

Their noise. 

Beautiful isn't it? 

The colors they wear, 

The colors they hide. 

Smiles so big, 

So nice, 

So beautiful, 

So... 

Haunting. 

The fakery is so easy. 

I like it. 

But O, 

The wonder of their noise. 

Their names are ice; 

Cold and smooth. 

They scream in song. 

Black of color. 

Blue of nature. 

Red of rain. 

O the moments 

I gaze at them. 

To say, 

To see, 

To know, 

To believe. 

O the beautiful colors

As they smile so bright. 

Goodnight Father. 

They will come steal me 

This night.

Cookies

It's broken how it fixes.

Odd how it mixes. 

H2O, crushed plants,

Dried bits of cane, birds unhatched,

Ground beans, tree seeds,

All-natural calf feed.

But this concoction

Goes like mad at auction. 

All these unlikely-nesses,  

Mix like bricks.

Still separate; only blended. 

They can woo many

Because they're splendid. 

Even the dough butters

Battered hearts to joy. 

The trick is the heating. 

All the hearts, after greeting, 

Burn in life changing yearn,

Into each other and churn. 

A new title is earned. 

Cookies.

An amalgamation 

of all the broken bits.

But when they're burned together

They become strong.

They become one great song

in their throng for the Baker; 

The Maker that together 

makes them better. 

Good Night Green Man

Sleep well, my brother. 

My body sifts with you to earth. 

Once together we grew.

Now we join in mirth. 

Become again your forest. 

Sip your way into seeds. 

Slip your way behind my ears. 

And tempt with tiny tease. 

No longer we together.

Yet never again apart. 

Sleep well my siblings. 

In this forest of the Dark. 

You Ain't No Judge

Who said you was dead?

Did you not see the knife?

Who was it told you 

That you own you own life?

Bought and blood-paid for;

That's what you is. 

What you doin' sayin'

"Ain't none a His biz"?

See you done with the dark.

He set in you a fire. 

You wrong if you don't think so;

He was the high-price buyer. 

You can carve you arms,

You legs, or you chest, 

But He did all that bleeding

So you can has some rest. 

Come down offa you stand.

You ain't no judge at all. 

Daddy's made you clean

But you ain't that tall. 

You gotta Let it go; 

He's made it all fair. 

So shut up, breathe,

And be free as the air. 

Raptor-Rex

Once I read a book about dinosaurs.

It said long claws and sharpest teeth. 

Scales that built bridges over taught sinews

and a mouthful of bloodthirsty heaths.

I poured hours into raptors and rexes

and the high towered brontos they raid.

I dreamed music of the dancing strings

on which they dangled their prey. 

I awoke in half-dream hoping that today

I would be taller and stronger and bigger

and sharper and longer and thinner.

I read that book instead of played. 

Next thing I knew I was twisting green

and a tail sprung from my butt.

My feet arches jumped high

and my toes; sharpened juts.

I could smell blood and sweat,

see in circles around my head.

I took one breath deeply in

and roared loud, causing dread.

For I am fearsome dinosaurs!

Running edges and clearing heights.

Spikes and talons singing fury

and my mouth full with every bite.

Who can stand my powerful form

When I am the pinnacle of the world?

For everything that can move

will be in my gullet swirled. 

I race soaring against the wind

but I would not be conquered easily.

Swallowing tiny creatures left and right

but sate my appetite? They were measly.

I stood tall on the highest mountain

and bellowed my terror reigning cry.

What or who could hold a candle

to a blazing inferno such as I?

But a trip, a slip, a dip dropped me 

and I soared too brief and fell down. 

I pushed my regular, boy's wrists 

against the cold, real ground. 

The earth went back to normal,

sad, dull and full of grey. 

I was once a dinosaur,

but gravity got in the way. 

I teared up a bit and sat down hard

and realized I was impractical. 

Being a raptor-rex was silly. 

I should have a been a pterodactyl. 

Thanks to Steve, Freddie, and Emily for this Saturday's inspirations, "Reading" and "Pretending to be a raptor." And in a slightly subliminal way, Bill Waterson for Calvin and Hobbes.  

Lore of the Tuesday Coffee Club Haikus

A land in peril

Warriors fight vile deeds

Over coffee's steam

The tea cups collide

Breaths purge lungs and speak magic

Orcs and dragons slain

Lore of the old ways

Twist tales over the french press

Power wrought in words

Full bellies of cake

Muffins and cinnamon rolls

Fuel the ancient feuds

Friends fein enemy

Every Tuesday at eight

Kingdoms rise and raze 

Guns and Gullets

Two walkers on a road dirty. 

Mud stained faces and an anguish. 

Pools of machete droppings hover to the ground. 

Break a silence down and march to the rhythm of the road. 

Leather straps hold up all the pieces of places they've been. 

They smell of smoke and blood to which neither belonged. 

A perjured glance across a flesh of scars pulls back a set of rounding lips. 

Sunglasses didn't keep the light out but the eyes in. 

The world is dead it was they killed it. 

Lonely disgust pulls at guns and gullets. 

No hands held.

No breaths accidental.
Two sets of teeth shine a sunset yellow.
Two long knives grip in one instant, thrust, and loosen the next.
Partners fall into their own pools.

There's nothing left to build or destroy. 

Everything is finally in control. 

Said and Done

When it's all said and done 

is when we'll know how to speak. 

We'll know how to do 

and we'll dance cheek to cheek. 

A waltz made of our stumbling

will pad the falls we take now. 

A moment more of bumbling

before a grace filled bow.

Our broken knees will heal

as we pour our smiling tears.

A blink, a brilliant accident

will seem these broken years. 

Moments few the clocks have left

a simple step full of thorns

until our last becomes the first

and we our bodies are reborn. 

Silly Boy

Silly Boy,

O Silly Boy.

Why do you stack all you cards again?

You stand them awfully high to shuffle. 

Silly little Boy, 

O Silly Boy.

Why is your cornerstone in the corner

Away from your tiny house of bricks?

Silly, Silly Boy,

O Silly Boy.

Another floor you build on the sand. 

Do you forget the ends of the plans of men?

Such a Silly Boy,

O Silly Boy.

So tall now all your hopes do teeter.

Your foundation shakes when the storms arise. 

So Silly Boy,

O Silly Boy.

Latch tight again to compass and anchor.

Let not such winds avert your gaze. 

Stop Silly Boy,

O Silly Boy.

I am sorry that it all falls down. 

Why I Only Have Nine Fingers

     Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. You know what's it's like to be scorned? I do. That's why I only have 9 fingers. It's kind of a long story, but, well, here goes.

     It was kind of an accident. I was cooking dinner with my girlfriend at the time, Lauren, and we started having a spat about something or other and things got heated. And I mean more than just the oven, she was a gasket waiting to blow and I was trigger happy. She wasn't a terribly stable person nor was I terribly nice. She picked up a knife we had cut up some chicken with and aimed it at me to emphasize her point. It dripped a slow juice down on the linolium. I dared her hard with my eyes and her voice raised more hell than the Devil's birthday party. I didn't think she would do anything with it but when she cocked her arm back I grabbed her wrist with my right hand and she started struggling so I put my left hand on the counter for balance. Our polar forces couldn't chill out and the energy was deflected to my left. I flipped my supporting hand over to grab her wrist but the blade came down too fast and went right through my pinky.

     It didn't even hurt at first. We were both just shocked as it rolled onto the floor. We left for the hospital before we thought to grab some ice. Unfortunately it was rush hour and we didn't get there in time for them to sew it back on. 

     They asked if I wanted to keep it. I still had my teeth from when they ripped the wisdom out of my head so I said, "why not?" There was a nod and twenty minutes later I received a tube of formaldehyde in an ironic "have a nice day" bag. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with an unattached digit but I was ready to get out of there. On the way out, Lauren asked if I was ok. I just stopped dead in my tracks, glared at her, and gave her the finger.

Umber and Ella

Two tiny people and a warm umbrella. 

A six year old girl and a five year old fella. 

He wants to be Peter Pan and she Cinderella. 

He makes a it sword and she a parasol bella. 

He slays pirates and crocs and evil mermaids

She rides horses, drinks tea, and watches plays. 

He wants a Tiger-Lilly to help conquer the days.

She a handsome prince with an enchanting gaze.

But this cold rainy day collides them together. 

Under the umbrella they're forced due to weather. 

He is too dirty and sweaty to get near her sweater.

He smiles thinking about how dirty he'll get her. 

She screams for their mother and pushes him down.

He rises, fists clenched and then slips like a clown. 

For one little moment she turns over her frown,

but his five year old scream flips it back around.

She rushes letting the prop catch on a burst of air. 

She's getting wet and muddied but she doesn't care. 

Between a bruised knee and a hug, his pain they share.

And he quiets, still teared, knowing she'll always be there. 

A Lonely Bridge

So many bricks 

lay all alone. 

Covered in mortar,

cold sullen stone. 

Dreams of the sun

while covered in muck. 

With no eyes to see

and their bodies stuck. 

Frozen winter nights

chill to death's first bone.

Rocks bleed water

and weep alone. 

Every oven opportune

was warm and grand

but a cold shattered through;

pelted them to sand.

Lone howling nature

but no ears to hear.

Stones moan and groan

wanting someone near.

Yet in the moonlight,

overlooking the ridge,

each stone is alone

as part of the bridge. 

They arch in a wonder

they never will see.

Lonely they may feel,

but they will never be.





Thanks to Meg, Craig, and Barbara for this Saturday's inspiration of "Being Alone."

Audition Haikus

Hey there, my name is. . . 

Let me start over, Hi um. . . 

My name's, uh. . . nervous. 

Eighty four hours prepped

Two minutes to shine brightest

Smile and wave and trip

Why are they worried?

They keep apologizing

They're doing just fine

Did I read the script?

Like, I know the character

I mostly skimmed it

I am prepared

They will love me or they won't

breathe in, release, and. . . 

Old to Bedtime

Muscles creak,

Bones start to ache,

Mouths leak,

Hips break.

Joints pop

And speak Greek.

Knees knock

Because they're weak.

If a moment you seek,

To roll your aged cares to the Maker of new,

When things look bleak,

He will rest your head and your cares, strew,

When your own body is rebelling,

When you feel peck to death with a beak,

When you sigh in your own dwelling,

And you know you've passed your peak,

Rest in Him your pieces,

Let Him your smile tweak.

Give your breath releases,

And smile into sleep.

Thanks to Lyndsay Ricketson for providing inspiration and some of the writing. For more of her work check out her website!

A Red Flag

I'd already been warned

of thine doubled mind. 

Anticipated criss-cross smiles,

blackened batting eyes

lashing backs. 

The woos to the unwary as sharpened teeth,

sliped and sucked blood dry.

The anictdote is the antidote.

Charm deceives,

beauty's vain.

Watch for the one Daddy calls.

Avert the shame. 

'Lone on Saint Val's

I'm jonesin' for sumpan I ain't never had. 

A sweet taste of pastries I ain't never seen. 

Sugar that's sweeter than candy

and is 'least as pretty. 

Is a forest I ain't never been to

but been studyin' all my life.

I got its poison ivy itch 

and not a thing to scratch wif. 

Is all them stories yo mama tells ya

'bout when you's tiny. 

Not so sure I 'member it

much as I may have 'magined it

I know 'bout God havin' plans and all

but right now is His plan for me to be here,

'lone, on Saint Val's. 

Sometimes it don't help so much;

Knowin' there's a plan that ain't here yet.

Is all nice and fine when is for tomorrow,

but today?

Today just needs a hug. 

Someone to sit and hold and all; 

Shoulders to lean on;

heartbeats to rhythm back and fro. 

It's ok, I know it is. 

Daddy big and He got me.

But today,

today He got me for tomorrow. 

There a time for everything and today is a time for me a be 'lone.

Today when everybody it seems has got somebody, 

and all them words they keep saying 

about "later" and "just you wait" and all. . . 

Today I gonna sing a couple a sad songs,

sift a slow drink or two, 

and go dance wif the moon.

See the moon ain't never had nobody neither. 

Every time it get close to day is still night.

It only ever know twilight;

that promise for tomorrow

'cause it ain't here today;

the horizon peak you can't never climb.

Maybe some clouds'll kick up. 

Clouds don't know much for bein' 'lone

but they sure know to make it feel like they do.

Moon know what is like to dance near clouds it can't touch;

trying so hard but they grey and ain't never seen no moon;

moon just goes right through.

Maybe that spark of clouds'll stay and visit for a bit.

Maybe it rain and me and the moon can cry a spell together. 

Kick back on the porch, little drink, little song.

Just me, the moon, and tomorrow.

To Mr. Piano Man

Mr. Piano Man, 

Please don't tune me out. 

I know you've heard my songs a million times

but that doesn't make them dull. 

My singing doesn't loose the sweet

just because it's normal. 

My notes ring true regardless of the ears they fall on. 

Tune me in and listen for a minute

and remember again how we fell in love.

How you sang harmonies into me

and my keys danced with your fingers. 

My moments in your desire

burn a chord no one else knows.

I preach to the choir

because choirs forget.

Don't let me be casual.

Don't resist my regularity.

You been deaf to me for so long. 

You've tuned into yourself

and your strings hold still.

I can awaken you to your chord;

lift you back to pitch;

we can harmonize a wondrous waltz.

Please, Mr. Piano Man, 

hear me again.

Empty Stomach Promises

What are you hungry for?

What do you eat?

Are you satisfied with seconds of sweet nothings?

Do you love blissful accidents that leave you starved?

Is there a moment when your teeth fall and wonder

why they never sliced, never crushed, 

why every morsel was imitation mush?

Why do you eat death's food when your blood still flows?

The thick syrup of your veins; does it love you?

Do slow arteries serve your temple

until it creaks like fracturing stairs?

What moment do you wait for?

What bough do you break?

When the meal arrives will you then be satisfied

when stuffed cupcakes dog your pours?

What meal is worth having that requires no patience;

no work; no love; and a stomach full of sugared grease?

Children in Theatre

O the hoard of tiny people running!

Frozen in stopped formations

holding on to parachute strings

and hiding from the ground below. 

"Go go go!" is my cry as I hope

these wandering pilgrims know. 

The air pressure shifts

and the wings pulse in the air. 

They want to be right so bad 

they are afraid to be wrong. 

They knock socks in shivering shoes

and try to remember their lessons

but the butterflies they stomach

have forgotten how to fly. 

None move an inch for fear of the miles. 

The small farmlands and distant lakes

ache their minds at the dropping

and until push comes to shove

they hold tight to the metal poles

that fight the gravity of the situation. 

Soon they are yanked out by the vacuum

and tossed to the fearful pull. 

Then, suddenly, they breathe

the air swirls between their fingers

and the remember everything. 

A broken idea fixes its pieces

and utterances long rehearsed revive. 

One by one they soar and sing.

All songs form the mesmerization

at their forgotten memorizations

and they dance an air of joy

through all the clouds and fog. 

The brief flight fills lungs and sighs. 

A string pulled looses the curtain,

a smile beams from each faller;

each flyer as they slow descend;

as they come down from high

to their parents praise.





Thanks to Tommy for this Saturday's inspiration of working with kids in children's theatre (Super paraphrased).

Just Me and My Sis

Rock to the left and right songs

we sang in broken harmonies. 

A drive by shot into veins

of symphonic bliss. 

Just me and my sis. 

Take turns through life mazes

and hazed roads 

with alternating songs choices

and voices caught in abyss.

Just me and my sis. 

The jams flip from croons

to spazzed jazz to musicals

made for tv award shows

we will never remiss. 

Just me and my sis. 

We play biting games

in car rides and grow tough hides

with these times 

we will reminisce. 

Just me and my sis. 

Tunes brew us new

to truer siblings

and fewer zing swings

because we will always have this.

Just me and my sis. 

A Former Citizen and the Cultural Transition

Burn my bridges to the lands of waste. 

I don't live there anymore. 

Pop my big headed-headstrong air balloons. 

I cannot fly by my own power. 

Kill my wandering-eyed fish.

I no longer swim in uncertainty.

Hunt my tiger-fights for independence. 

I cannot survive alone. 

Drain my sewage-singing lips.

My song reeks no more. 

Fix my ripped and hungry heart. 

I am no longer dead. 

Hold me through this electric culture-shock fence. 

Now I am home in You. 

The Centurion of Faith

Faith. O how we long for faith. To believe so intensely in the truth over our own, fitful, fleeting, forgetful comprehension. Today I was reading Mathew 8:5-13 and I was blown away. See what you think. I'll break it down on the other side. 

"When [Jesus] had entered Capernaum, a centurion came forward to him, appealing to him, “Lord, my servant is lying paralyzed at home, suffering terribly.” And he said to him, “I will come and heal him.” But the centurion replied, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof, but only say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I too am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. And I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.” When Jesus heard this, he marveled and said to those who followed him, “Truly, I tell you, with no one in Israel have I found such faith. I tell you, many will come from east and west and recline at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, while the sons of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” And to the centurion Jesus said, “Go; let it be done for you as you have believed.” And the servant was healed at that very moment.

Woah, right? Jesus used remote control healing. Awesome. But what really blew me away about this is the faith of the centurion. We have no reason to believe that he had ever met Jesus before this. Jesus had been doing miracles and preaching quite a bit at this point and that kind of news spreads fast, so it's reasonable to believe that the centurion had heard of Jesus, but not that he had ever met Him. 

The centurion didn't even ask Jesus to heal his servant. He just said, “Lord, my servant is lying paralyzed at home, suffering terribly.” Two things here, 1) he calls Him Lord. 2) HE DOESN'T ASK JESUS TO HEAL HIS SERVANT. He has no request, he doesn't ask, he simply presents the issue before Jesus. It isn't about what he wants, it's about letting Jesus do what He wants to do. The centurion kept himself open to whatever Jesus would do when presented directly with someone who was suffering. He also knew that Jesus could do something THAT NO ONE HAD EVER SEEN HIM DO BEFORE. Previously Jesus always went to the suffering person and said something to them or touched them. It's possible Jesus never saw this servant. Ever. The Centurion says, "only say the word and my servant will be healed." That's the centurion's faith in the person and power of Jesus. Not only in what Jesus had done but in the limitless expanse of what He could do. 

Jesus sees the need and starts to move. He immediately responds with "I will come and heal him," but before Jesus takes a step the centurion stops him. Why did the centurion stop him? Why not let Jesus come and heal the servant like He'd done with everyone else? It's like the centurion said, "Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof." Cool, he's humble. But wait, what? He's a centurion. That means he's an officer in the roman military (the world power of the time) and he has 100 soldiers under his command. That's a lot of buff, brawling dudes. Which probably makes him the buffest and the brawliest of them. Also, Jesus was mostly hanging around the poor, so societally, NOBODY ELSE was more important than the centurion. It's not like the centurion was ignorant of his own power either. He says he can command people to do what he wants, and does so all the time. He's no pushover. This guys took some serious humble pills. He had a deep understanding of the power and love that Jesus had for everyone and a deep love for his servant. 

The next thing that happened is that, "Jesus marveled." WHAT?! Somebody just impressed God?! God who made EVERYTHING by talking about it, who commands the WEATHER, who causes the UNIVERSE to function was IMPRESSED?! Why? What made the centurions faith so much greater? Jesus said, "Truly, I tell you, with no one in Israel have I found such faith." That's a pretty rocking resume, when Jesus says you have the most faith he's see since His incarnation. But again, why? The centurion's humility to know that Jesus can heal his servant, based on what he had only heard about Him.

Jesus is so impressed that He reveals into a sermon about how salvation has come for everyone, not just the Jews. "Many will come from east and west and recline at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, while the sons of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness." Jesus is using the centurion as an example of how faith in Him can be had by all and many Jews will reject Him still.

Then Jesus heals the servant and says to the centurion, "let it be done for you AS YOU HAVE BELIEVED." God works when we believe He will. He wants to do things for us and us to believe Him when He says He will.

The centurion didn't need to see or know Jesus to believe the truth about Him. He humbled himself in spite of his own power and selflessly trusted Jesus to do the most God glorifying thing regardless of his own desire. That is faith in the purest form. That is hope in the truth and essence of God. May we all be centurions of such faith. 

Pain, Burn, Breathe

What is this feeling,
all of this pain,
bursting through the catacombs
of my brain?
The shock has killed
all of my senses
and now my head
slowly denses.
I cannot hear.
I cannot see,

as the echoing words
bounce around vividly.
Tears roll down,
though my face is plain.
I cannot stop
this aching pain.
So small are my breaths
as I inhale,
and my inner being
begins to wail.
Though not a sound
passes through my lips,
the pain courses down my back,
into my hips,
then through my legs,
and into my feet.
It needs no help
to make itself complete.
Then it turns
into a mist
and slowly upward
it persists.
Through my nostrils,
access it gains.
Only to once again,
surge through my brain.

The hurtful words
that you spoke,
grasp around my neck
and intend to choke.
Do you not know how much it hurts,
what you said?
Or did that make you happy
as you left me for dead?
Though thought to have died,
I did not.
The sun burns down on me
scorching hot.
Compared to my anger
it now seems cool.
Lost in my fury
I start to drool.
And so I hold
in a cage
my growing,
simmering rage.

Then I am taken aback

by more words,
but from the unseen
and quietly heard.
"Vengeance is Mine,
in it you have no part.
For you are Mine,
from the very start.
There is no reason,
to make bloody your hands.
Just love me
and obey my commands.
I am just
and they will pay,
though it may not be
until the last day."
Waves of peace
washed over me,
scales fell out of my eyes
and again I can see.
Starting at my head
then down to my chest,
passing through my waist,
then cleansing the rest.
Again I can move.
Again I can be.
No more rage
and no more fear of me.
Now I can love you
undaunted.
no longer by my hate,
wanted.

Poker's Facing

Cold stare, hands full and cards down. 

The clock ticks and the sweat drips. 

Humid heat blurts brows in the cold drown.

Drinks go flat and a slow tightening slips. 

Bored eyes fein and fuel intent. 

The stress floats the air and weights. 

Hunger dribbles, hopes are sent. 

Each line is cast and hooks abate. 

The balance tilts and see-saws. 

Seconds build towers and crack. 

A breath deepens before the brawl.

The cards tip, lay flat, and attack. 

Toenails

I hurt. Not like angry or sad. I mean, my eyes feel like crying my lungs feel like screaming, but I don't. It's more like. . . like my toenails are on strike. Trouncing around with their picket signs, rebelling against my feet. It;s not like I really need them, but more that they are that little part of me that I have put so much care into and now they're broken. Like shifting gears without a clutch they're grinding my feet so that I don't want to move or eat. Not that I'm angry or sad. Just hurt. Even though I barely pay attention to them aside from the occasional trim their rebellion is like a hole bored into my chest. But I don't think it's because they're toenails that I hurt. I think it's because that little part of myself is rejecting me. Not so much because they're toenails, but because they are. . . or were, mine. 

Jasey Rae

I ran a run with you with me

and the slacked track shorts. 

There was a slip of grip 

that tripped us into last resorts. 

Fire desires to eat and we treat

our feet as frozen until they're burned. 

Break my contemplate

and the complications we earned.

Hurt me quick and stab me back

then attacks whacks will lack stain.

We deserve our accidents

the fact is in that we're in pain.

Sorry for the mixed up slip ups

and tiny pups that bit like bulldogs.

I tried leading and feeding the blind

not knowing I was in the fog. 

Jasey Rae, a day will come 

when J.C's rays will allay our mistakes. 

Even in cuts and slices, rolls and dices 

we'll get through, whatever it takes. 

This Saturday's post was inspired by Ashes and All Time Low's "Jasey Rae."

Kidnapping the Library

T'was always me greatest dream 

to pour through books like a stream

to engulf their insides

make my mind collide

and grow my imagination to be supreme. 

I devised such a plan

that would stun any man

who could perceive

what I conceived

thus I enacted this game plan. 

I walked through the quiet doors

whisked across carpet floors

past the lady,

that's kind of shady,

at a quarter and a half past four.  

My plan was set in motion,

to drift into the literary ocean

and empty pedestrians

who did infestrian

and interfered with my great notion. 

I pushed past the books all shelved

to the back nooks I did delve

a little bit wary

in the silent library,

stopped, and slowly counted to twelve.

I moved closer to the wall

and just inside the hall

I pulled the fire alarm

sure not to cause harm

and everyone heard its "exeunt all."

Now I wait for a minute and a half

before my gleeful book bath

until after they're gone

out waiting on the lawn;

every citizen, student and staff. 

I find all of the brooms and all of the mops

Jam them through door handles to stop

those who fleed 

from a reentry. . . 

at least until they call the cops. 

"O no!" I scream then quiet then think

then stand still and blink and blink.

The alarm is too loud

worse than the crowd

and the police will think my plan stinks.

I only wanted to be trapped for a while

to read and read uninterrupted and smile

but, by my beagle,

I forgot it's illegal

to kidnap a library (even with such guile).

BSGBG Haikus

Deceit pervades glares

Tension rises, ruins friends

This game is intense

Lights flicker and dim

Strings of sweat bead to the floor

This game freezes souls

Debate flares and fumes

Life and death hold tight the air

This game will decide

Maniacal laughs

Shocked into tearful faces

This game empowers

Screams, accusations

Flung furniture cracks moral

This game is awesome

(BSGBG Stands for BattleStar Gallactica the Board Game)

Inner-City Swirl

I have seen the city icey and hot with it's peoples lathered in coats and clothed in sunscreen.

They march in rain boots and short shorts in ridged, railed sidewalks and crazy, curved park paths.

Pulled by umbrellas and gusty wind towards the epicenter of it all.

They swirl in great numbers, holding tight to their wistful hopes.

Closer and closer, towards the beginning or the end or whatever their hapless mind wander.

They drift in great batches swelling and breaking against the buildings as waves on the shore.

Rising in a cacophony of silence and unsaid truths, there are no words, no mouths, only drowning eyes swirling

With a singular heartbeat pounding, their chorus resounds to refining hammers of insanity.

This post was co-written with Phillip Justman. We used Twitter's messaging system to take turns writing each line. He wrote the first line, I the second and so on.