wringing meaning from white
fall to silence
NothingI used to be lightning.
Power surged beneath my skin,
and in the silence, I heard myself thrum.
I used to be fire.
I burned bright inside, stellar lungs,
and in the cold, I sang myself warm.
Still and dark.
My stone sinews crack.
I am vacuum, deep void of space.
Asteroid dust, floating.
KnifeRemember that little human
boy who couldn't read aloud -
who couldn't hold a pen
because his slick corn oil skin
kept sliding past itself?
Boy, oh, boy.
And he was born a hundred
years too late for his cowboy
dreams. He rides herd on the
maybes and the somedays.
He sang a knife song - one
that sliced up the rigid spines
of teachers and parents alike
and parted them before him
like God-spoken seas.
Deft elision somewhere between
his teeth and tongue, lyrical, his
words in other men's mouths.
Knife song honed with lime,
polished with manteca.
Mocking SkyThe Texas winter mocks
with dust instead of snow
and bare mesquite to testify with thorns
against a shred of weakness.
The Texas winter gusts
fiercely from the south -
grit on lips, in eyes, on tongues that wonder
where the deer drink.
The Texas winter sinks
in rust and blood and peaches
beneath the horizon. Sweetly, sweetly,
she sips the clouds.
The Texas winter clothes herself in cicada song,
and all the stars applaud.
When our wings intertwined
and I fell into your music –
(It flowed like a trance and
dampened my skin with droplets, pianissimo) –
I could have lost myself
in your sonata storm
and let my chitinous scales wash away.
I knew even then
those strings held you bound
in ways I never could.
Lest we forget
In Flanders' fields, the poppies blow,
and we who walk among them know
that here men fought, and bravely died
with equal courage, side by side;
the lark has overcome the crow.
We touch the Dead in memory –
embrace them through the century.
The earth enshrines their valiant hearts
in Flanders' fields.
The torch has guttered years ago;
the enemy has been laid low.
And though your names should slowly fade,
your blood a better world has made.
Rest you now where the poppies grow
in Flanders' fields.
Indian SummerThe Texas autumn froths
in shades of taupe and cinnamon
and lemon-scented yucca blooms -
waxen belles amid the spikes,
thickets of Jumano spears.
The Texas autumn ravages
the sunscorched clay with burning winds
that chew the live oaks all to shreds
and turn mesquites to kindling.
The Texas autumn ticks along
in desiccated deer
yearning for a sip of winter
to ease their cracking riverbeds.
The Texas autumn flows
in rivers of molten tar
along the curbs, beneath the cars,
The Texas autumn breathes hard
like a woman in labor
and clings to the sun
with gifts of fiery fiddle strings
and a prayer for rain.
World-saver (A starter)“This one,” said the Oracle. “This one will save the world.”
It spit out a gene map, one with far too many chromosomes.
The President picked it up and spread it out so the others could see.
“An animal?” he asked.
“A world-saver,” the Oracle replied. “The subject will be phenotypically female, outwardly indistinguishable from Homo sapiens.”
“A general?” asked the Chancellor.
“A world-saver,” the Oracle replied. “The subject will prevent the destruction of the planet.”
“And the planet’s people?” asked the Minister.
“Yes,” the Oracle confirmed.
The Professor frowned.
“Where,” she asked, “can this individual be found?”
The Oracle hummed.
“No such organism is presently in existence,” it said. It sounded amused, though that was impossible.
“Then it must be built,” the Professor said.
They took the gene map and turned to
ProclamationBeneath the spangled, auburn sky,
the silence of cathedrals swells where once
the vulgar shouts held sway, the profane
and the irreverent, the raucous, the bold.
A hush grows ever deeper in the mouths
and in the ears of the sharp-toothed
sycophant and the frog-mouthed boor,
and for once, this once, they listen.
A raffia-soled sandal shushes through the gloom,
bearing in bent shoulders beneath raglan sleeves
and a heavy brow. A confessor stands ready
in every alcove, in every ribs-bare window.
Ready are they to receive those who come.
In robes as black as searching pupils they have waited
for the sinner-supplicant to kneel amidst the standing
and proclaim the new amidst the old --
in a mighty voice of silence. An army of philosophers
can outgrow the need for shouting. Someday
their gaping mouths will heal and they will learn
the comfort of a prayer in the heart.
Even now, their clamorous psalms die
on their frigid lips, and sober thought lifts
I'm All That's Left of MeI’m All That’s Left of Me
She put her lips on the fountain when we were kids.
I've kissed too many people to still be mad about it.
The first time she slept in my bed I had visions
of my grandfather decaying in his coffin.
(The scuttle of tiny legs and a far away buzzing)
I woke up to a thousand pairs of eyes staring at me.
Hers were closed, but her mouth started moving.
“People who dream about the dead often attract flies.
I’ll tell you my nightmares if you tell me yours.”
It was winter and the windows were closed.
There are flowers that bloom once in a life time.
The things I see during the day prepare me for the night.
A family moved into her old house.
They don’t leave beer cans on the front porch.
For some reason that makes me sick.
The only picture I didn't burn is of her
looking past the lens and straight into my eyes.
Everything else about that life is gone.
Sometimes even me.
This is the worst day to tell me I’m blind
Heart CutoutI met loneliness on a desolate road
And I became the only friend I had.
I fell in love with noble words
And moonstruck dreams
And genius schemes
And flaky thoughts
And berserk quotes.
One day the hummingbirds
Laughed at me because my songs
Contain no music.
I shouted loud, "YOU BIRDS ARE WRONG!
My songs are poems and a poem is
An eerie song that plays alone.
I had a heart shaped cutout in my chest.
Sometimes it became a subway for fireflies
Sometimes a bridge for love and lies
Sometimes I hid there a pack of fries
And a coke with ice – extra large size
But most of all, I hid a secret –
A hope so deep it blurred my eyes.
I wish one day you'd read my songs
-and return my heart to where it belongs.
dawn, day and pachelbeldawn cracked like a skull, &
day broke like a spirit, &
light burst from its split seams like blood.
piercing clean bandages arched
across the mottled abyss gaping open
where the sky had once been,
but they were too late to save us.
pedal to steel, you left like a vengeful dream
to chase down the future, while
i let music smother my splintered thoughts
with waves of sweet resignation,
pachelbel's cadences sweeping onward
like the skirts of a queen to her death
or the hands of a clock brushing
childish messes away -
and yet those waves stung like memory,
those tired notes prickled like sand,
and i missed the way the sun
would paint your face with auras, when
dawn cracked like a voice
and day broke like a fever.
i missed the way your arms
encircled me (like parentheses, safe and sound), when
dawn cracked like a facade
and day broke like a heart.
Dreamer UnawakenedIn a crowded room, filled with shallow souls,
Notebook and pen my company.
I sat alone, contently on my own
When a Dreamer sat beside me.
An artful mind, personal style, indifferent to the latest trends
That was the day, I had found a friend
And so began our story.
She didn't know she was a Dreamer.
You can tell that she was unaware,
By the way she asked about my thoughts,
When I had thought that no one cared.
She listened to my soft replies, wonder sparkling in her eyes
I pondered what she saw inside
A quiet mouse like me.
She always reminded me she was a Dreamer
Using a brush called "personality"
Painting through life, changing colors, with
Confidence and Bravery.
Splashing emotions onto canvas, she shares her world that I can't see
She put a pen into my hand one day,
And smiled, "Share yours with me?"
She showed me I'm a Dreamer
Unveiling my ability
To make rainbows out of black and white,
Breathing life into my fantasies.
The empty page that blankly stared, as bleak as my life used
Sleeping SongSometimes it's hard to fill the void
When my lips aren't pressed against your neck,
My arm not resting on your chest,
Rising and falling with each sleeping breath.
You'd mutter in your sleep,
Inaudible whispers sounding the sweetest melody.
I could listen every moment
To every sound you made silently on each breath.
Now the nights are too quiet.
My bed is a frozen lake
That used to move with the warmth of your sunshine,
And even the thousand times I take a breath,
I can no longer hear my lullaby.
I cannot fill this hole.
Endless DreamsCrashes, crashes
Fire and ashes
Burning all that touch the heat
The armies are shattered
Your protectors flee in defeat
The skies are black
Friends fall to thunder-cracks
You run away so frightened
The death bells toll
You cry and fold
As the noose tightened
Then your eyes turn wide
Why should you hide?
You are no longer screaming
The skies are blue
You see the world anew
As you're sleeping and dreaming
Will you talk to me,
And let me know I'm not invisible?
Will you hold my hand
And let me know I have a friend?
Will you hold me close
And let me know I'm wanted?
Will you kiss me
And let me know I'm loved?
Will you do these things
And let me feel alive?
Grow UpSo what, she's gay
Just leave her alone
She is human
Like you and me
She is still the same person
You knew and spoke to before
She just told you a secret
She thought a friend should know
She trusted you
Well not anymore
When she got the courage to tell you
You let her down
And treat her as if she's nobody anymore
Why can't you just understand?
It's perfectly normal
And okay to be gay
It's not a disease
It's just a part of life
I hope she knows
I'm still by her side
And like her for who she is
She is my sister
That is all that matters
I Wasn't Supposed To Be Worth It.Was it worth it?
Trading the taste of cinnamon on your lips
To smell like cigarettes and a painful hangover.
Was life so cruel to your perfectly skewed smile,
That you had to swallow a bottle of brandy
Every night at 9 pm
To hear yourself laugh again?
How could I have not noticed
The tremor in your right hand
Every time you held a pen?
Was I so blind for the love you had for me to see
That my love was destroying you?
'I am yours.' You whispered when you still had Petrichor surrounding you.
I inhaled your scent like oxygen,
All the while I suffocated you like sulfur.
You gave me your heart on a plate,
And I was the last pill that took your life away from you too.
Mother always told me I broke the things I had
Because that is how I was;
Selfish and undeserving.
I didn't deserve you.
You weren't supposed to be mine.
Love HurtsHe had a smile on his lips
But embers burning in his eyes.
His razor-blade fingers
Would cut into her wrist.
He disguised his black heart
With whispers of sweet nothings
And hid his need for control
Beneath a veil of concern.
"Love hurts," he would say.
She would lay awake at night
"This pain I feel is a burden of love; at least I’m not alone."
And she would explain away the bruises
Until she had herself convinced
That the mark upon her face
Was from walking into a door
And the broken glass
Glittering red in her skin
Was the result of her own foolish mistake.
Even as her blood
Would sluggishly drip onto the floor,
His snarling face would soften.
He would gently take her
Into his arms
And whisper the words,
"I love you."
So she would forgive him
Because “love hurts.”
And she knew the hands
That had come crashing against her
Were also capable
Of wiping away her tears.
And the sharp words
That exited his mouth
Would be erased
By the press of his lips
Upon her t
SorrowThrough sickness and health,
poorness and wealth,
real love is usually known.
But we, my dear,
share nothing but sorrow:
cry together, smile alone.
5 Ways of Looking at PoetryI. There's the romantic poetry
Filled with pretty words and airy compliments
That strike as uncanny,
Loving, yet fake
II. There's the haiku
The one that observes nature in fixed form
As though nature itself
Is not free
III. There's the elegy
The mourning of a death
Yet celebrating life
But only rarely being joyful
IV. There's the ballad
Where blood is ink
And soul is words
Such beauty, so pure
So genuine it breaks the heart
As such it's undermined
For feeling is feared.
V. And finally there's imagist
A way so blunt, so bold
Picture painted with simple strokes
But so clear, so loud
It is subtle like a rushing waterfall
EverydayEveryday the pain consumes
More and more as time passes by
Everyday I start to give up,
the more the pain has burden inside...
Everyday I lose hope in life
Abuse after abuse
trauma after trauma,
I dont see hope left in my life..
Everyday I lose my grip,
i feel more sadness, than ever felt before...
But everyday I pretend to smile..
than maybe this pain will be gone forever
But this was a lie that I told myself,
the pain is still inside me..
and these memories still arise.
Everyday I will try to smile...
maybe one day it will be gone for good..
Everyday it makes struggles in my life,
but not a moment to spare, i find ways to cope..
So everyday I will fake a smile,
not cry a single tear..
Maybe in the end I will become strong...
and maybe an Angel will take me high above.
Cause in the end, I dont deserve this pain
Maybe the sadness will so disappear.
So everyday I will fake a smile...
and maybe one day, someone will take this pain away...
She Really Doesn't UnderstandShe really doesn’t understand,
How you treat her the way you do.
She loved you more than anything,
She thought you loved her too.
She dies a little more each time
She sees you out with her.
She cries herself to sleep at night,
Then dreams that you love her.
You used to tell her she was pretty,
And how you loved her more each day,
Now she’d give anything,
Just to have you there to stay.
You don’t see that she misses you,
Each night the pain gets stronger,
And when she finally talks to you,
She wants it to be longer.
She doesn’t really understand
why she loves you so.
You were her one and only,
She had to watch you just up and go.
She really doesn’t understand,
How you treat her the way you do,
She loved you more than anything,
She thought you loved her too.