Category: Poetry

I gladly vanquish eternal rest on earth
Holding the image of perfection
In a lost place of repulsion
Winding my mind around a path
Just to loathe the end
Reaching out of life’s redundancies
Past the edge, jogging over the slope
Slicing the urge to fall into doubt
Raise a pedestal to flaws
Raise my eyes to yours
Brilliant like the sun breathing
Over the field one last time
Before creeping behind the trees to sleep.

Still sitting here,
Now starting to decay.
A tear falls down my face,
While my heart is on display.
You never meant to hurt me,
You played me like a game.
I was left with one thing,
A burnt out flame.

I Love you for who you are and not for who I want you to be.
I Love the way your eyes sparkle in the light,
and the way your voice echoes in my ears.
I Love the way you think about others and not just yourself,
and the way you care about their insides and not their outsides.
I Love it when you’re near because I fear nothing,
I Know you’ll protect me from all.
I Love the way my heart fills with joy when I’m thinking about you.
The way you’re kind, sweet, and generous to everyone you see and meet.
And most of all, I Love the way you Love me.

Rip Van Winkle finally awoke from his slumber and decided,
he may have overslept.
The world was barren, and still, like the corpse it was.
The earth, so still you could hear it groan in protest of Atlas’ absence.
Old man Rip desperately sought new prey,
his story must be told or it all would have been for nothing.
And when It All seemed lost,
he turned his tear-filled eyes to the burnt skies
and knew what must be done.
Rip followed in his descendants’ footsteps
to the suns that studded the sparkling starscape.
The path, as old as it was, was lovingly marked
with the remnants of war, death, love, and suffering.
He pressed on and bore witness to truly great things,
and their abandonment.
In the place between stars,
where light is a whisper in the symphony of the night,
there lies the Cathedral.
Engraved upon its walls was the end of mankind.
Finally surpassing the limit of existence,
their minds could reveal their true forms;
Demonic angels tearing at each other,
exposing their crimson clockwork insides,
still ticking in unison with the rhythm of righteousness.
The heavenly bodies fought till reality itself was torn asunder,
leaving a building of empty worship and a message for the likes of Rip Van Winkle:
In the end, the penitent man was weak,
and here lies his grave,
along with all his hopes and dreams.
Alas, this was the burden Rip had in abundance,
but when he spoke of his own tale,
these words of the flesh held no meaning to
creatures who personified transcendence,
and meant even less to the dead.
Laughter boomed from the bowels of the grave marker at the sight of his frustrated sobs,
and even Rip, had to appreciate that humanity never lost its sense of humor.

I’m not some little girl 
That you can toss around
And scream at
When you’re mad,
Be a good man.
 
I’m no Raggedy Ann doll,
I have feelings
A heart that beats 
Just like yours,
Even when you’re mad.
 
It’s time you took a look in the mirror,
See the person you are now,
You’re filled with anger and frustration,
Those are now your motivations,
I’m not trying to be hating,
But see the person you are now.
 
It’s not your fault,
I should’ve stood up
Straight and tall,
I had many chances
Now they’ll have to take me “as is.”
 
Look at me,
I’m all grown up
Stop trying,
Stop lying,
It won’t help you anymore
I’m out on my own,
On my way out the door.

In the ripple of moonlight on the river,
A heron glides from reeds to tree.
A frog plops in the water as I pass.
The hum of cicadas surrounds me,
and the rush of water over Dayton dam.
I stretch my finger to the sky:
What separates me from the night?
Erase the line between it and I.
The breeze brushes the hair of my arm;
My fingertips reach to touch the wind.
This boundary of skin,
Here I do not end, but only begin.

Hanging                          off
the fire escape, dangling
yellow rain boots,
I consider the moss growing
in the cracks         me.
                  below
In the small, dingy kitchen 
you’re c/u/t/t/i/n/g
the celery wrong, cracking
ribs on the chopping block.
Quick eyes flick up from your
chore and I’m caught. Again.
You are willing to sacrifice
your toaster for privacy.
The         whips   the
      cord           in        breeze
and we both
fall
-crumbs on the concrete.

Here in this five-by-eight metal box of ascension and dissension we come closer to the entire world than we ever even realize. We see people of business, constantly rushing, always on cell phones, carrying black bags with that fancy aftershave smell and those pleather shoes which are always shiny.  We see people of art, constantly finding the beauty in everything, always daydreaming, carrying mp3 players, pens, notebooks and messenger bags or beat-up backpacks, with that strange smell that you can’t quite put your finger on. We see the people of money, constantly glamorous, always looking their very best, carrying label upon label, smelling of the finest perfumes and colognes, always letting the rest of the world know just how great they have it. We see the weirdos, constantly making everyone else feel uncomfortable, always wearing strange clothing that doesn’t fit and staring at people for long periods of time without blinking, carrying half -eaten bags of Funions and Bugles and dirty bandanas smelling of stuffing that was left out a few hours too long and body odor, always letting the rest of the world know just how risky it may be to get in an elevator.

Roaming the field in solitude, I’m declaring need to the heavens
Spilling death on the snow before me–red cold pressed to my lips
My hands feel unattached with wandering fingers.
Open my coat so I can become one with the frozen ground.
Free.  Grace forward and wait for the fluff to settle
Each flake plops light on my back
Warmth has never seemed so minute as this shrinking heart
With every shriveling beat left in my throat
I widen my lips to suck in the snow
Welcoming the slow freeze of my eyes
that will never see past the leaves
dead on the wandering oak tree.

Greetings Lad!

      Let me kill the fattest calf fer ya!

It’s about time I show ya just how much ya mean to me.

      Don’t know if ya understand how grateful I am

            To have ya as a father.

Thanks fer all the daddy warbucks ya lent me;

      I promise I’ll be payin it back

All the times we had playin sports;

      And wit yer broken back and all!

            Now that is a father who loves his children!
All the wisdom ya shared,

      Which hold a great deal of teachings fer me.

            And you though I wasn’t listenin; ha!

Looks like I fooled you, lad!

                              I learned a lot.
      I couldn’t be alive if I weren’t fer you.

(And I think we all know how that goes!)
But on a serious note,

      Thans dad! You’re a lad who ‘as made me life a joyous one;

            And you ‘av given me many blarney stones.
Now! let us mash those potatoes and search fer that pot o’ gold.

      The leprechauns are comin’,

            And we don’t want to meddle with them do we?
6.20.04