A Very Colorful Soup
I have so many colors
Building up inside of me
Venting in hot, tingly streams
From my mouth, from my ears,
From every orifice.
Yet I find myself with nothing to say.
I want to leap wildly about
Throwing my arms this way and that,
To scream and dance and sing a song
About British men and eels.
But I need so badly to graduate,
To read Shakespeare and write essays,
And pass grey and white tests.
I have no time to release the buildup
Of energetic colors rippling around,
Nor time to lay back and let them casually steam
Out of all my pores.
So instead I curl up tightly,
Grinding down my teeth,
Shaking from the pressure within,
Trembling against the pressure without,
Waiting for the day the seams give
And I pop.
…
I think I’ll learn a crimp about soup,
And forget how to be colorful
Or useful in any way.
On a Ship to Nowhere
Disrupt the silence, darling,
Do you see where it leads?
This vessel only sails
Through fog, through
The darkest nights.
A voice like yours,
It deserves the light.
Eyes like yours
Crave a sight of day.
As long as you don’t
Blind yourself
On the glaring sun,
Or grow harsh,
From the noise of the world,
It would be good for you
To leave this place.
You’ve always been too sweet
To sail on my ship
To dark and sheltered days.
The silence does nothing for you,
The air doesn’t suit your needs.
Break into the light now, darling,
Because from here
The fog invades your eyes,
The night smothers every prayer.
Daylight
Daylight:
The last word you speak
As the sun goes down,
Melting into the vast
Plain fields.
Daylight,
The only word
You never came to terms with;
Too dull, too bright,
Too cliché.
But if you’re a half-mile away,
With one last kiss till sunset,
Daylight
Just might be what you seek.
Can you not see that
We are dropping
Into darkness?
I’m begging that you reconsider,
And accept the tall green waves
That bid you farewell
Across the sinking plains.
But if you must go,
Then journey far
Through the new and dark and free.
And find
This thing you sought
When you were looking
Straight through me.
Then come to terms with
Daylight
And, please, send some back
For me.
Shoulder Angel’s Dating the Devil
Ring Ring!
My shoulder angel’s dating the devil.
I should have noticed when she stopped making sense.
The way she talks now I wonder why she ever wanted to hold me back.
Does that make her less holy than thou?
Does this mean she’s stopped looking out for me?
Ring Ring!
He’s all she ever wanted but never pictured in her dreams.
He’s giving her all she asks for and now she’s ready to give in.
She’s seeing things from the other shoulder now.
She’s seeing the grey we were careful to not admit to.
Ring Ring!
My shoulder angel’s dating the devil.
I wonder if this development should worry me.
If this keeps up there will be wedding bells.
Who’s going to look out for the good side of me?
Ring Ring!
Ring Ring!
So Like The Lily
It leads to reason;
This should kill you,
Should suck you low
Beneath the surface of life,
Bleed across your skin
In viscous rain.
It is so like the lily
To poison you to death.
A flower that pleads purity
Cannot rent love or trust,
But must drop back down
Into the corners of unyielding
Despair.
Cigarette
There’s a cigarette still burning
In your limp hand.
The ashes begin to taint the carpet,
The smoke has started
To eat away at your lungs.
There’s a part of me that wants
To get to know you again.
There’s a part of me
That never missed it.
The Way To Strawberry Fields
If you journey halfway across the world
And follow the brick walkways
That wind and twist
Between every old, refurbished building
To the farthest corner of the earth,
Past the broken tree branches
That have covered the path
And you must step off
Onto the damp green grass.
Wait until the coldest day of Autumn,
When you can see your breath
Leak between your teeth.
You’ll find a cove
Where sunshine and darkness collide,
Where strawberries ripen
Beneath the snow,
And the moon lights up every night.
I’ll wait for you there
Until frost lights up the trees
And the space between us grows too wide.
Then I’ll pick up and begin my journey
Halfway across the world,
Back into your arms.
Wind
A single wisp of wind
Can fill sails,
Can carry a vessel
Far beyond the reach of the shore.
But it takes a nudge
To move a ship this size.
Even as the wind grows strong,
It takes power
To dislodge an ocean liner from the sand.
We have never moved a boat before.
We thought wind would be enough,
But it’s trying as hard as it can
And we’re still landlocked.
As we stand in the breeze
And scratch our heads,
Shots ring out onboard.
Winter
I stood by crystal light tapping,
Or typing on the frozen glass
Messages of want, or waiting
The kind of which I shouldn’t
Understand at my young age.
I didn’t seek to wake the room,
Only to softly strike the keys
Of every little mocking bird
Landing just beyond the pane.
Why should so much light
Feel like it’s become so dark,
Stretching just beyond the reach
Of my fingers gently taping
Or typing on solid glass.
Nightmare
Do not defy me
End of the night
Darkness is leaving
Hide in the light
Try not to run
Try not to scream
The end of your life comes
It's only a dream
Washed off by candles
An eerie glare
Run from the shadows
I'm hiding there
Do not defy me
Try not to cry
I'll be your nightmare
Try not to die
The Butterfly
Do you still remember the butterfly?
Her wings swept away the smile
From the corner of your cheek.
When she fluttered past
You saw something new,
Maybe it was just the light.
Do you remember the butterfly?
She landed close
Then flew away.
Didn’t you ever fear
That her wings would carry her
To a place where you couldn’t reach?
Do you remember the butterfly?
She knows nothing of herself.
She didn’t brush past
Intending to land upon your hand,
She was following the wind
And the scent in the breeze.
Do you remember the butterfly?
You could crush her in your hand,
But somehow she survived the summer storm
And still flies on.
Do you remember the butterfly?
You saw her in the sun.
Well it’s nighttime now,
And she’s paused her flight,
You can admire her closely,
Watch as she sleeps.
What happens when the morning comes?
What will you do if she never wakes?
Do you remember the butterfly?
She couldn’t have lived in a cage.
She stole the smile from your cheek,
And freely flew away.
How shall we
Restrict the tide?
It’s crept too far
Upon our shore.
Shall we sweep
Away the moon
And stop it’s pull?
Let’s strike the source!
That’s what they say.
December Moon
With every flake that falls upon
These green and fragile years,
Another rolling drop of sorrow
Is frozen into place.
This pure white world
Is called “the season of love”
For whatever reason.
They said winter was made
For recalling memories,
Winter was made to create dreams.
Do you remember when we used to play in the snow
As it piled into high banks?
Remember the year we wore matching hats
So we could find one another on the sledding hill?
It was “our world,”
This land of crystals and ice.
It could have always been our world…
What happened to me?
When was it that I learned
That crystals are raw
And frozen.
Now I can’t go outside.
I fear the cold, wet snow will seep into
The hems of my jeans and through my shoes.
I haven’t owned boots since you left.
Do you remember that I was there first
When you slipped and fell on the ice,
First to catch you and to help you to your feet.
And I was the first one to hold your hand
On the New Year
For so many years.
I don’t look out the window now
To watch the frost accumulate on the pane.
I look forward to the summer
When sunlight warms these hollowed halls
The way the cool December moon no longer can.
I remember a time when I would have said,
That no flower could look sweeter
Than the snowflakes in your hair—
But snowflakes bite.
They kill the flowers and the sunlight
And bury all our dreams.
I remember that I was there first
For the ceremony,
Arriving even before you,
And before everyone.
No one was there to catch me
When I slipped outside the church doors
And lay there in the snow,
With tears and snot oozing away down my cheeks.
There was no one to stop me from leaving
Before I even had the chance
To see your face
Adorned with roses.
With every flake that falls upon
These fragile, dying years,
Another New Year fades away,
And the snow banks just grow deeper.
A Reason For Procrastination
Old, defective, wasted.
I’m not about to sit here
On the edge of my seat
On a night when I should be asleep
And rhyme my feelings for you.
Nor am I going to paint you an image
With no regard to style or meter.
My hat’s off to Will Matthews
And I don’t feel like writing poetry.
I think I’d better waste my time
Face down in the pillow
With the covers pulled straight up off my feet
Than try to write poetry for you tonight.
It isn’t getting me anywhere
And you don’t want to read it anyway.
Sympathy for the Invertebrate
Sometimes after it rains
I watch the worms that came up
From the safe, cool ground for a drink,
As they wriggle of the sidewalk,
Now destined to find themselves
Scraping along
On the bottom of someone’s shoe
Until they’re good and ground up
And get discarded
As several ugly piles of pulp—
And I wonder if that’s who I am.
Maybe I’m
The useless spectacle
That clutters the newly cleaned walkways
And disgusts the proper people
In their nice, new shoes
Who could have stepped to avoid me
If they were looking where they were going.
I think about it,
And then I carefully walk around them,
Not willing to be charged with the murder
Of harmless invertebrates,
Because it’s not the worm’s fault
They were seduced by the rain—
It intoxicates the best of us.
Cure
Use bitter leaves
They say
To cure the cold
That leaks beneath the window frame.
Use bitter leaves
To shake out all the pain.
Crush them and drink out the oils
That kept them green and new:
They’ll warm the deepest cold.
Use bitter leaves
They say
It’s the only cure you haven’t tried.
Use bitter leaves
Because the sweet fruit’s nectar
Only left you ailing.
Drowning
What is this
Damp, smothered feeling
Of not knowing where I am?
I inhale
And the air around me
Comes in slow, and wet.
I turn full circle
But I’m not moving.
I can feel a stream—
Why is it above my head?
“What do you believe in?”
It’s asking,
But what did I ever claim
To believe?
“Why are you still waiting?”
I’m waiting for the stream
But it’s fallen below my feet.
I don’t remember it
Catching up with me.
“Where are you standing?”
I’m not standing.
I’m groping wildly
But I touch nothing,
My arms and legs have deserted me.
“What’s this dripping down the walls?”
There are no walls,
But they’re surrounding me.
I am spinning round and round
And it’s only getting colder.
I’m not speaking but I scream,
What am I doing?
What happened to my head?
Where’s the rushing stream?
Now there is only dripping,
Only silent dripping,
And it’s still.
Everything has stopped moving.
“What do you believe in?”
Who says that I
Can still believe?
The Wall
There’s a wall all around us,
In every direction I turn
It lurks on the horizon.
To everyone inside it acts
As a constant guardian,
A guarantee of safety.
To me,
It’s beckoning.
It calls me off the cobblestone path,
Draws my feet onto the long, unkempt grass
That grows along its edge.
It bids me to place my hand
Upon it’s mossy side.
The angle of the wall tempts me
To try to climb it,
But the height is sheer
And as gentle as the lichen looks,
I know the stone would only cut my hands,
As it is rough beneath my palms
Where the soft layer of dirt and decay
Crumbles off,
Exposing the sharp concrete beneath.
As far as I know,
There is nothing beyond this wall.
Nothing comes or goes from outside
Except the blackbirds
Who swoop down to raid our trash.
From what I know, or remember,
This wall marks the edge
Of existence.
But for all the warnings
To stay inside,
I find that no one even knows
How we came to be here,
Or what happens if we leave.
No one has ever seen past this wall,
And it taunts me,
Saying no one ever will.
I draw my hand away
And step back carefully, eyes upon this looming
Grey sentinel
Until my feet are safe
Upon the road.
Then I begin to breathe,
And wipe my hands off on my skirt.
The clock tower in town
Rings its heavy bell three times,
The sound of which reverberates off the wall,
Telling me it’s time to go back
And forget about this trace.
Above my head the blackbirds are cawing.
They’re flying away,
Into the sun.
I watch them,
And briefly wish that I could muster the will to follow.
Another ring of the bell
And I close my eyes,
Then look down at the dirt
Trapped within the creases of my hand
And clench it all up in a fist.
I turn and follow the sound of the bell
And the straight, paved trail,
Knowing loved ones are waiting for me at its end,
And that’s a greater comfort
Than any danger
Or mystery beyond this wall.
What I feel is ill
And a little winded from the shoulders up.
I hear a movement,
That marching in between moments
Of speech and silence.
My vision is nearsighted
And drawing nearer
The closer the future becomes,
So that soon I’ll see nothing at all.
Holding tight to the rail
I let my feet leave the ledge
And float above the chasm.
I must trust my legs to hold me
Wherever I chose to stand,
So I plant myself on a space
That holds no matter,
And let go.
I hear movement,
The crunch of salted ground
And the rattling of bare branches.
I feel winded.
My hand slides from the rail
And I sink into this space
Over which still trust myself to stand.
I feel flustered, and ill,
Too ill to forgive a fall like this one.
Let Me Keep The Morning
Keep your shadowed evenings
When the sky’s turned violet red,
You can have your starry night
Just before you go to bed.
You can keep the sunshine
That heats the longest days,
Hold fast to all the colors
That sundown drags away.
But let me have the mornings
Just after the night has witched,
Let me keep the early hours
When all else is still and thick.
Leave me all the quiet
When there’s no need for lies,
Leave the freedom morning offers
And the last starlight in the sky.
All I want is darkness
The last breath before the dawn,
That second of inspiration
From which sleeper’s dreams are drawn.
You can have your nightlife
And the sunlight in the west,
Just let me keep the morning
And I’ll give up all the rest.
Shock Value
Here comes the cool
Red
Spray that coats our eardrums.
Next there will be a collapse
Of everything we believe.
Where’s the moral high ground
We’ve waded so deep in?
Did we slip and fall in it?
Or were we
Lifted
To safety from everything
Sweet
And clean?
It started with a twinkle,
That liquid metal smile
That comes before a lightning
Rage.
It captures us
And we bath in it.
We wash off the many colored
Spectrum of light.
Here we are knee deep,
And beneath the surface
We squish our toes comfortably
In the grime and filth
And we pretend we’re made
Of its stench.
We pretend
Ashes to ashes
Is another name for the sewer
To hell
And we pick up reality
And float straight through it.
We suck the pale urine
Through our noses
And giggle off the chaos
Of sunlight
And dancing
And blue skies
That are only pitying our
Existence,
Only that daily air
We have to breathe
Before we clog up our vision
With the world we can’t even imagine;
A world that’s cold
Beneath the blisters
On our skin.
We close our eyes
And we can all hold a weapon now.
Fuck life, love, and beauty,
We are the new generation,
We are the ones
Who want
To see you die.
Congratulations Human kind.
I Love Sitting Under Stars
I love sitting under stars
And letting their creamy glint
Build upon my eyes
As the sky slowly turns dark
I uproot the solar system
And swing it around
Above my head
Then kiss it goodnight
I think of how my heart
Would twist and burn
If half the stars I saw
Were only light.
