Last Day

It's the last day
The last day
Of the old year.

366 new days
To do with what you will.
So use them well.

You Need to Know

And I'm waiting for time
Waiting for courage
To share with you
All my concerns
All my fears
And all my joys.

Because you need to know.
You need to know
What my parents think
You need to know
So you can stay or run.

You also need to know,
That every little thing
You say
Can make me run the gauntlet
Of wild and crazy emotions.

So be careful,
Be yourself,
That is what you need to know.

Christmas come and gone
Another gathering
Of love and remembrance
Banished to memories.

Let them stay,
Old age.
Let me keep my joys.

Little Lost Phone

I posthumously dub thee Bellatrix,
Poor little lost phone.

Ye who shined so bright,
So blue,
And faithfully served me
Until this fateful night.

Where ever you lie,
In this city,
I pray you stay safe
Until I may return for you
And scour the lands,
Returning you safe
To my pocket.

Weeding the Garden

I know you care
And want to know what's wrong,
But oh my love,
I am so much better
At walking away.

I am adept at ignoring heartache.
I am skilled
At stuffing the pain.

To reach into my heart
And try to pull it out,
Weeding the thorns of my garden...

Does the Earth feel it
When we tear roots from her skin?
Does it hurt
To rip the wrong?
Or was it wrong at all?

So let me hold my pain,
Gather it like dust.
Maybe one day,
You can blow it from my shoulders.

I've Got the Joy

"I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart
Down in my heart
Down in my heart
I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart
Down in my heart, yes Lord!"

When did these songs
Cease to be?
When did we have to grow up
From the simple truths
Contained in childhood melodies?

Because I'm trying to find peace,
But I can't find it
In the breathy, pop-esque
"Wish I was a famous as Katy Perry"
Singers that think they can sing
"O Holy Night" and cater to P!nk.

no

I can't find peace
In this world that thinks
It's God-forsaken.
Isn't it a shame
That the adults in control
Don't know didly squat.

"If the devil doesn't like it
He can sit on a tack!
Sit on a tack!
Sit on a tack!
If the devil doesn't like it
He can sit on a tack!
Sit on a tack to stay!

There's a song that's called
"I Gave Up" from P&F
It's really catchy...

*sigh*

Help me, cher.
I really needs some aid

Seriously.

I don't know
What to get you
For Christmas.

And you say:
"I don't need anything,
Don't want anything,
I have you."

Tis wonderfully romantic.
But won't fly
(until next year
When I'm poor
Due to paying for college
And then it has to work
Both ways).

So help me?

Waiting out
The illness
Waiting out
The pain.
At least I have time
To study
And to write.
That is,
If I have the energy.

So much to say,
But so little time
And no way to say it.

As I sit
and wait for snow
Way past my bedtime,
I sit and marvel at how one day
Began with joy
The next not.

But happy anniversary,
Mon cher.
And I pray the weather is kind.
May the storms
Not batter you
Beyond what your hull can withstand.

May you always walk in sunshine,
May you never want for more.
And may Irish angels
Rest their wings beside your door.

The Cheshire Cat Moon

The Cheshire Cat moon
Is smiling for his birthday.

His pearly teeth
Shine for a young man
Standing on the edge
Of the nest
With a big mama bird's foot
Simultaneously shoving him out
And pulling him in
(from what I can tell).

The Cheshire Cat moon
Is ready to disappear.
But can I manage to pluck
His wicked grin
and save it for the day
When he needs a pick-me-up?

Cheshire cat smiles
Echo feminine wiles
To dry up the tears
In time for birthday cheers.

In my Grandmother's House

There are two pictures
In my Grandmother's house
That will never grow old.

As the seven around them
Year by year
Show the ticking of the clock
They two remain,
Torn away
At the fragile ages
Of three and eighteen.

There are two pictures
In my Grandmother's house
That will never show time.

As the seven other grandkids
Grow and change,
Push and pull,
The two stay the same,
Ripped from their family
Who never said goodbye.

There are two pictures
In my Grandmother's house
That will never grow old.

I'm watching my wonderful boyfriend
Mess with my laptop.

He's adorable,
But would contend I am more so.
He should be a Finnigean,
And will win this argument.

I don't know this language of computers
So it's a godsend
That he does.

And slowly,
the laptop gains a life.

Thanksgiving

Mmmm
Food.
Ah, thankfulness.

I am ever so grateful
To family
For making me who I am
And most importantly,
For cooking the best
Food ever!

And, I guess,
For loving me.
But you can do that with food.

(Stuffing's my favorite part.
What's yours?)

Prep

I'm hurrying to finish a paper,
To finish it well too.
And study for two tests,
Make that three,
And also to clean.
Because Thanksgiving is coming
And so is family.
So it's time to prep
And stop
Being distracted by the wonders
Of Facebook and poetry.
Also fanfiction.
And reading.
And friends.
And oh dear
I need to stop listing.

New friends

One must forget differences
One must ignore problems.
After all,
That's the only way
To make new friends.

Inkblots

The rain calls to my soul,
My heart,
And I almost reach
For my notebook and pencil.

But I only accept
Inkblots and teardrops
On my poems.

It's raining at Tinturn Abbey
(Or Abaty Tyndyrn)
I have a daisy in two hands
(Thanks be
For friends who bring umbrellas).
And I marvel,
As poets before me,
Of the affect of nature
On the mind.

We both feel the secrets
The stones hold dear.

A downpour does not feel sorrow
Like these sad drops.

Missing chairs and long-gone tables
And these halls will ring no longer.

Mac or PC?

The rainbow wheel of doom
On a mac computer
Is my least favorite sight
When I am trying to prepare
For an oral commentary tomorrow
And my father
Will not remove himself
From the speedy
Yet communal PC.

The plotbunnies are
evil and they all should go
learn to be polite.

The Cathedral

After you left, I visited a cathedral.
I'd gone walkabout in England.

The grass reminded me of your own eyes.
The carved oak recalled your hair.

The artistry would've been inspiration to your hand,
The curve of the arches defined like your cheek.

The steps were as steep as the ones to your heart.
The finery was beyond what you could have made.

The stones worn smoother than your skin
The cold metal had a touch gentler than yours.

The candles burned brighter than your soul
And the angel's beauty you only echo.

In the cathedral God gave and God took away.
God bestowed new life to me.

And that day he took away you.

The Artist

Why are artists unstable?
people always ask.

Think of Van Gogh.
Rather than remember all his beautiful
Pieces, so many
Think of his crazy moments.

We open ourselves up to all
The emotions of the world
All the pain and joy a human can feel.
Can suffer.

Perhaps that is why
So many of us
Are missing ears.
(Or are we?)

Philosophising on the Tube

The train rushes past.
I can feel the air glide
As the cabin cars slide inches
From my face.

It's Death saying hello.

He's a very courteous spirit.
It's rare for him to take a person
Without fully introducing himself
Once or Twice

I, a poet,
Have learned to recognize
The little tips of his hat as he passes by,
Reminding all he is never far.

The cabin lurches under my feet.
Holding onto the seat,
I merely lean with the movement,
Upset for only a moment.

It's the Earth.

She says goodbye somewhat,
Reminding all who fly
Along the tracks
That there is ground to comeback to.

I find that Death and Earth
Work in tandem.

The need to touch
To comfort.
That reaching out
That connects lives.

The need is driving.

An Olive Grove Facing the Sea

Slicing through the blue,
Darting and dancing
A wild cadence of skin, scale, and wave
She swam
And he,
Poor earthen boy of green
Standing and staring
A silent song of skin, cloth, and dirt
He gazed
And she…

To know the way the ocean loves
To know her salty touch
To live without it is not have lived at all
The thought of surviving another day
The thought of struggling another hour
The thought of swimming dove into his mind

Don't make me leave
Don't make me breathe
I don't want to be the loner on the beach
I don't want to be alone
Let me dream
Let me live

(He forgot himself,
Forgot his god and his family.
Perhaps it was a good thing.)

11/11/11

Today was special,
As you all know.
And at 11:11 I made
The biggest wish of all.

I wished for your happiness.

Childhood Creativity

My dad gave me a
Blue broom handle and it turned
To a wizard's staff.

Syrena's Prayer

Give me air,
Give me life.

Give me the smooth caress of silken waves
Give me the sun sparkling high above
Give me the sweet taste of freedom

Give me air,
Give me life.

Give me my sisters
Give me my friends
Give me my aquatic brothers

Give me air,
Give me life.

Give me some one different
Give me a protector
Give me love

Give me air,
Give me life.

Pas le Jambe du Danseur

It is the worst punishment of all

To have one leg
When you have used two for so long
To walk, to run,
To dance, to
Fly

Take what ever you wish.
Take money,
Possessions,
Time.

But do not take the leg of a dancer.
Not the leg of dancer.
Pas le jambe du danseur.
PAS LE JAMBE DU DANSEUR!

Tastes Like Jazz

He tastes like jazz.
Smooth,
And sweet- no!
Sour - wait!
Silken- maybe.

He is like jazz,
He can be however he likes.
And I'm in love with him.

I'm in love with jazz,
With swinging, switching rhythms
Leaping hearts
And flittering notes,
Pure and high on a solo saxophone
With low notes rumbling across
A bass standing alone.
The quiet,
The loud,
The happy and sad,
It's all mine.

Shoes

Wearing shoes too small
And jeans too big,
He wanders the school,
glum.

You see,
His shoes are symbols
Of crushed dreams
And lost freedoms,
Money not spent
On the college
I've heard him speak of
With so much passion.

His life-blood denied him,
His hopes shattered before him,
And all I can do
Is stand beside him,
Hold him,
Praying that he find His Way.

Sleep

Bedtime is bad.
Bedtime means I'm alone.

By myself,
In the dark,
Left with only my traitorous thoughts.

It's no wonder I sleep so little.
Without the distractions of day,
Night creeps in
With it's dark lies(truths)
That I am vain,
That I am selfish,
That I am alone.
If I am not perfect,
If I cannot distract myself,
What will happen
With the lies(truths)
Slip into day?

Reason Says I'm Wrong

Why can't I breathe?
I'm afraid I'll cry.
Why can't I walk?
I'm afraid I'll cry.
Why can't I speak?
I'm afraid I'll cry.
Why can't I sing?
I'm afraid I'll cry.
Why can I only smile?
I'm afraid I'll cry.
Why can't I cry?
I'm afraid you'll love me less.

Why can't I fail?
You'll love me less.
Why can't I say no?
You'll love me less.
Why can't I show pain?
You'll love me less.

And then I'll be alone again,
The fool again,
The lost, kicked puppy again.

Reason says I'm wrong.
Then why the hell
Am I crying alone?

Happy Halloween

Bwahaha
It's time for sugar!
Lots of candy
And sweets for the tots.
And fun for the teens
Who remember their youth,
Enjoying a day for costumes
With general delay.

Freedom means you have choices
That you can freely choose.
Freedom comes from knowing Truth
From knowing what is absolutely Right.
Because then you know the outcomes
Of your decisions.
Freedom gives you choice.
But it also gives terrible responsibility.

Piece by Piece

piece by piece
i'm breaking down.
toes ankles hips
and bones

this musical
is running me
into the ground

Sirius

Sirius,
Always half never whole.

The Dog-Star,
Two stars,
Bright,
Locked in a dance for eternity.
Once half now whole.

Always half
Never whole
Always reaching
Never to a goal

Starlight,
Star bright,
First star
I see tonight

One is king
One is queen
But which is which
And who is seen?

Brother brother
Turn and turn
Will he leave?
When will he learn?

Turn turn
And turn again
You see the what
But never the when (end?)

Half is whole
But with his friend
And thus did Johnathan
Meet his end.

Who is John
And who is David?
Who is king?
Always half
Never whole

In the end,
There can only be Cain.

Girl in the Fireplace

He kissed her first.

The man who dared not age.
The man who saved our lives.

As my love and I
Take the slow path
He leaps through our years
Bothering not to show
An hour in his eyes.

She loved him.
She waited for him.

Be he failed to return in time
Watching only her coffin pass by.

He may have kissed her first,
But I kissed her last.

Covering for You

You can't rewind the clock,
Make it go tock tick tock.
You can't give me back the time I lost
But maybe you can pay the cost.

In His Jacket

I look at my hand
And for an instant,
It's his.

But then I remember that
I
Am in his jacket,
Not him.

That he was too warm
And I too cold
So we split the difference.

But now,
His jacket hanging on the way out to my car,
I wonder if he's cold.

Mezuzah

I touched the mezuzah
In the Holocaust museum.

Two days ago.

Why do I still feel it
On my fingertips?

Why can I still feel
The weight of time
And sorrow
And tradition
Brushing up against
The gentle skin?

Passing Period

Go go
No time to drink
No time to breath
No time to think

Keep keep
Your feet in line
Gotta get
To class in time.

She's gone.

Well,
Not quite yet.

But everytime I open
My laptop,
She screams.

And it breaks my heart.

Goodbye,
Loyal machine.
Maybe the Heavenly Geek Squad
of the Big Best Buy in the sky
Take care of you.

Do re me

And I'm trying to find my way
Just whittling myself a place
In the world
Bit by bit.

Fa so la ti do
When you know the notes to sing
You're not ad libbing.

Time time time time
ticking ticking ticking
by by
you

until until until
it's it's
gone

Two Girls

Little girl dancing
Little girl dancing before God
Little girl not caring that a
Big girl is watching, that a
Big girl is writing
Little girl dancing
Little girl not knowing that a
Big girl is inspired

How many secrets can you keep
Until your heart bursts with pain?

How many sorrows can you hold
Until you find the one to break your spirit?

I Want Easy Silence

Why does every freaking one
Have to freaking follow me
Every freaking where?
Can't my loud friends understand I want silence?
Can't my wild friends understand I want peace?

Don't they realize I grow weary?
That I tire?
And when I crawl off to the side
Where rest my calm friends
I do not want the party to come with?

Is it so hard to think that maybe
I'm trying to chase after time
With someone both crazy and sane?

My Pooch

Her big brown eyes,
Fur softer than new grass.
She's got a heart full of love
For anyone who will give her a pet.

And her trusting nature,
Her warmth on cold feet,
That's why I was able to finally write
A real blank verse poem.

Not this one,
Of course.

Psalm 42:8

As the day passes,
I see Him everywhere.
The blossom of a flower
The clear blue sky with dancing clouds
The smile of a friend
Or their wisdom.
And as I lay my head down to rest,
If I listen very carefully,
Ignoring the world,
I can hear His Song,
Singing me quietly to sleep.
And a thankful prayer
Rings from my heart.
To see Him is to love Him, you know.

Dream a Better Dream

I will dream you a better dream.
One where you need not fear death.
One without sorrow.
I will sing you a sweeter melody
In a major key
Not minor.
I will dream you a better dream
Because I need one myself.

Date a Girl Who Reads

"Date a girl who reads.
Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes.
She has problems with closet space because she has too many books.
Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads.
You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.
She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants.
You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader.
They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street.
If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already.
Lost in a world of the author’s making.
Sit down.
She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted.
Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami.
See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship.
Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent.
Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads.
Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries.
Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song.
Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings.
Let her know that you understand that words are love.
Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book.
It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her.
If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie.
Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue.
It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her.
Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax.
Because girls who understand that all things will come to end.
That you can always write a sequel.
That you can begin again and again and still be the hero.
That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not?
Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop.
Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close.
When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her.
You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you.
She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it.
You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable.
If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone.
If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."

edited by me, from themonicabird.com

Last Times

It's the last day of July,
(Harry Potter's Birthday!)
and the last day before
School orientation.

It's my last time.

The last first day of public school.

The last school pictures,
The last schedule.
Unless I change it,
Which I will.
I'm so not taking Drama II.
Stress free last semester please!

I had poems,
Written down
And tucked away to type up
And post here.

I lost them of course.

So now I'm just rambling.
Because that's all any of us
Can do.

I'm Completely Mad

If I said
I was making it up
As I went along,
All of it,
Even now,
Would you believe me?

Would you believe
That underneath it all,
I'm completely mad?

I have to be.
I'm a poet.

Gone
For so long.
A wanderin' in the past
The present
The future.
Returned again to the ordinary.
To daily life.

Can there still be joy?

Writing

There is nothing like the
Scritch-scratch
Of pencil on paper
Furiously scribbling the ramblings
Of a crazed poet
As in a moment of genius
She puts her thoughts to words.

Growing Up

The blows across my face,
Carrying with it the tantalizing smell of freedom.
The heartache of a caged bird
Pulses in my chest.
And I yearn for the liberty
Morning with it brings,
As it is one less day
That stand between me
And the wisdom
Od adulthood.
So I cherish my pained moments
Caged by ignorance.
Because with them come the lessons
I must learn to be free.

Light

I figured out why I love big cities.
It is the lights,
The sparkling gems
Shining out into the darkness of night.
I care not about smog,
Or traffic,
But give me tall buildings
Gleaming like stars in the night
Full of poetic power.

And give me such light,
Reflecting off the rims of your glasses
Straight to my heart.

In Love with a City

Listening to Snow Patrol's
"Take Back the City,"
I thought of two cities.
One I know,
One I've barely met.
Neither one I live in now.

I love her sprawling glory,
Stretching from mountain feet
To the edge of the seas.
Her crazed traffic,
Filled with hidden sense.
I could live with out her smog,
But it's a part of makes her
Real,
Those imperfections.

This is Why I Should Call You

Ah, cher,
This is why I should call you.
I get to hear your voice,
Your life.
And you get to hear mine.
We are totally ourselves
Because it's hard for me to hide
When my sister constantly
Opens me up.

And it's rather fun,
Almost falling asleep,
Happy in the easy silence.

This is Why I don't Call You

Oh, cher,
This is why I don't call you.
We're both quiet
(Sometimes),
Flustered,
And you seem to be the bane
Of technology's existence,
At least today.

I'm laughing,
And I can't stop.
Because you're cute.
We're cute,
I suppose.

Ah,
This is why I don't call you,
Because it's hard to type with one hand.
And to talk.

Why are You Bored?

There is so much to do,
So much to see.
So many adventures outside
Are waiting for you.
Why are sitting bored
On the computer?

Mountain Stream

I went wading in stream so fair
To fill my lungs with mountain air
And remind myself of the things I'll miss
When I'm again a Nebraska miss.

In in that babbling brook I found
Stones so smooth and several round
Contrasted with the ones so sharp
Small but with a lot of heart.

And in the end I now believe
To be at home you first must leave.

Lessons from the Ocean

Joy
Dolphins must be able to know joy.
Otherwise,
Why would they leap into the air
For no discernable reason?
If they can breathe merely
By rising from the waters,
Why propel themselves
From the waves?
Their graceful arcs
Spell joy to me,
Pure joy in life.
And to have joy
When your life is a constant
Life-or-death struggle
Is something to be copied.

Resiliance
The waves are strong.
Stronger than you.
They move fast.
if you fall,
You simply get back up again.
The waves can keep going
for eternity.
So can you.

Help
When you fall down
In the ocean,
When you get wet,
You'll be covered in sand
In grime.
And you can't get clean by yourself.
You need the help
Of other people and,
Most helpful,
A shower.
You just need to ask for it.

It Still is Home

Remember when I said
I ached for a place that
Isn't home anymore?

I was wrong.

I am home!
Amid smog,
Traffic,
Smokers,
And danger,
I am home
Amid palm trees
Mountains,
The ocean,
And a big city.

The dry air
Is stirred by a cooling wind
That chills to the heart.
It gives a rush,
A thrill,
A feeling being on the edge,
Of unpredicatability.

And as the waves lap against
Your toes,
Cold,
The land of heat is one of chill...

Last Day of May

Last day of May
Is not the last day of school.
I'm so tired of this.
Tests,
Projects,
Worthless worksheets.
I'm done.
Sadly,
Mt district disagrees.

How to Starve off Sorrow

1. Eat
2. Laugh
3. Don't drink
4. Talk to people who lighten your heart
5. Make something
6. Write something
7. Cook
8. Eat
9. Eat Chocolate
10. A lot

Pixar Movie

Today
I saw a sky
That fit right into
A Pixar movie.

The sky was a bright
Clear
Perfect blue
That stretched for miles
And miles
Beyond what I could see.

The clouds were soft
Were white
And pure.
The floated above
Like serene sleepers.

And in my mind's eye,
Animated toys
Or a man, boy, and dog
Come to life
Beneath lovely skies.

I had a Poem

I had a poem.
But I lost it yesterday.
I'll write a new one.

Letting Go

A couch,
A computer,
A song.

A couch,
Once a plaid wedding gift,
Used a thousand times
For sleepovers
(thank you hide-away bed).
But now torn,
Broken,
And lacking support.
A piece of furniture that had traveled
Cross-country
From California to here.
The first good-bye.

A computer,
Once the best desktop
And a child's first internet,
First computer games,
First novel.
But now the blue has faded,
The harddrive cluttered.
Though a 10 year warrior,
She cannot keep up with all
The new technology.
The second good-bye.

A song,
One that jogs a memory
Of friends long gone
(or are they?)
And a place that is home.

Or is it?
It isn't anymore,
I must confess.
Home is here,
Where I am now
With the people I have met.

But the thought that makes me cry
Is that soon,
I will leave Home again.

Stress Reaction

this is my attempt to
Explain
my reactions.

I can be tired.
I can handle stress.
But rarely at the same time.
And often,
one causes the other.
I'm sure you understand.

So when a smile
Or kind word,
Or a dissapointment
Or heavy load
Sends me cascading into a pool of tears,
Relax.
I am.
That's why I'm crying.
The dam broke.

I've a job again.
I'm just a lifeguard again.
But haikus will help

AP Exams

AP exams.
Stressful.
But important.
(and slightly easy)

Loss of sleep.
Loss of time.
So goodbye sanity.
Goodbye control.

But the possible college credit
(and thus dollars saved)
Will be worth it.

And the chance for do-nothing-times next year.
Yay.

Lalala
This is just here so I
Can come back later and
Write a b-day poem
That
Blogger
will say was written
Actually on
My b-day.
:)

This is for my Sister

This is for my sister.
She holds me in check,
Protects me,
Reminds me of what's right.
She laughs with me,
Makes me laugh,
And sometimes she outsings me.

She loves me.
I love her.

Happy Birthday!

Little Girl

Little girl,
5 years old,
Dancing and dressing up,
But ever so happy
To sit in her dad's lap
And listen to him read.

Little girl,
10 years old,
Fighting to be herself,
Already.
But still finding the time
To lose at chess.

Little girl,
Sixteen,
Who sits in her room
And nearly cries
After she makes a mistake
In a board game,
Because she disappointed her dad.

Little girl,
Eighteen,
Realizing her dad
Was always right.

Little girl,
Twenty one,
Wanting to go home,
Wanting to go back,
But at the same time,
Wanting to surge ahead
And make her daddy proud.

Little girl,
Fourty-nine,
Saying good bye.

Easter

You're worth it.
You're worth Love.
You're worth the death and life
Of the Son of God.

You're worth the real reason of Easter.
God doesn't make junk.
God makes no mistakes.
So let Him chip and chisel
To reveal the beauty He made Himself.

The Medium of Life

Words give me so much
To express myself.
But sometimes words are nothing.
Dust.
Empty phrases.

Which is why God must have made music.

A simple choral piece is my life.

The deep, low,
Foundational bass line
Is all my past,
Life lessons learned,
Supporting me.

The arts,
Writing and music itself,
Are like the tenor and alto lines,
Weaving together to create harmonies
That add the color to life,
And sometimes they get to take the melody.

And above it all
The people in my life
Proclaim themselves.
(One can always hear the soprano line.)
They are the melody,
The song.

Music is the medium of life.

The Benefit of Rest

I find the more tired,
The more exhasted I am,
The sharper,
The more acidic
My tongue becomes.
Darker and darker thoughts creep in
And settle down in the crevices
Of my mind.

Thus,
I highly advise catching as many 'z's
As possible.
For your health,
And for ev'ryone's.

I Miss Our Late Night Chats

I miss our late night chats,
Conversations taking place
Way past when we both should've been asleep.
Words passed back and forth
Across the wide, wide interwebs.
We were restricted only by
Our senibility's cry for sleep.

I miss that.

But,
I suppose I get more sleep now.
Some nights.
Which makes the daytime all that better.

But I keep forgeting to ask you cher:
How have you and God been lately?

Musings

Sometimes,
It is only poets
Who understand the world.
And sometimes,
Nobody comprehends it.
Sure,
We have words and words,
Thousands of languages,
But at the end of the day,
It takes the Divine.

Wisdom Teeth

Pain.
Ow.
I'm hungry
And my teeth hurt.
I want this to be over with.
I wish I could
Have spicy food.

I'm tired of a stomach ache.
Stupid meds.

Shake the Dust by Anis Mojgani

so this is the second poem that's not mine. oh well.

This is for the fat girls.

This is for the little brothers.

This is for the school-yard wimps

and for the childhood bullies who tormented them.

This is for the former prom queen

this is for the milk-crate ball players.

This is for the nighttime cereal eaters

and for the retired, elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters.

Shake the dust.

This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,

for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,

for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,

for the nighttime schoolers

and the midnight bike riders who are trying to fly.

Shake the dust.

This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood

because they speak half-English and half-god.

Shake the dust.

For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy,

for those gym class wall flowers

and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,

for the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers,

for the girl who loves somebody else.

Shake the dust.

This is for the hard men,

who want to love but know that it won't come.

For the ones who are forgotten

the ones the amendments do not stand up for.

For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to

and then are never spoken to.

Speak every time you stand

so you do not forget yourself.

Do not let a moment go by that doesn't remind you

that your heart beats 100,000 times a day

and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.

Do not settle for letting these waves settle and the dust to collect in your veins.

This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling,

for the poetry teachers

and for the people who go on vacations alone.

For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips

and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips,

for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.

This is for the tired and for the dreamers and for those families who'll never be like the Cleavers

with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.

This is for the biggots,

this is for the sexists,

this is for the killers.

This is for the big house, pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers

and for the springtime that always shows up after the winters.

This? This is for you.

Make sure that by the time fisherman returns you are gone.

Because just like the days, I burn both ends

and every time I write, every time I open my eyes

I am cutting out a part of myself to give to you.

So shake the dust and take me with you

when you do for none of this has never been for me.

All that pushes and pulls,

and pushes and pulls,

pushes and pulls for you.

So grab this world by its clothespins

and shake it out again and again

and jump on top and take it for a spin

and when you hop off shake it again

for this is yours.

Make my words worth it,

make this not just another poem that I write,

not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all.

Walk into it,

breathe it in,

let it crash through the halls of your arms

like the millions of years

and millions of poets

coursing like blood

pumping and pushing making you live,

shaking the dust.

So when the world knocks at your front door,

clutch the knob tightly and open on up,

running forward into its widespread greeting arms

with your hands before you,

fingertips trembling

though they may be.

You Must Fight

You must fight.
Awaken the sleeping dragon.
Let loose your passion,
Your anger,
Your eloquence.

Make some noise.

They will not listen to one.
They will not listen to two.
They will not listen to ten.
You must be a hundred,
A thousand.
You must stretch beyond their limits,
Beyond your comfort zone.

America was not made
By the lazy,
The apathetic.
America was forged
By those that rose up from their seats
And did something.

Make some noise.

Get off your rear ends,
Get down on your knees,
And pray.

Make some noise.

Stand up against the storm,
Stand tall and strong,
Stand with many
So you do not break.

You must fight.
Or you will surely fall.

Love?

It should be a crime,
That you make me giddy,
My stomach flips,
And you're not around.

You make me want to fly,
To sing,
And mostly dance.

And now I have to go and fight a battle,
Politics.
You have a firecracker,
And she doesn't have the time
To say all she wants to.

But know there is a lot more
Where this came from.

Prom

And somehow,
You make it home safe,
With the echo of music in your ears,
Thanks to God in your head,
And the touch of him on your lips.

And you're thanking God
That he took the time to make
Such a man,
Who laughs with you,
Who dances with you,
Who treats you like a lady,
A treasure.

And you're lying on your bed,
No remnents of the dance
But a dress in the corner,
Fallen curls,
And the quiet,
Quiet
Memory of your first kiss.

Time slips through fingers
Like water not molten glass.
And you can't catch it.

The Snow Unfurls

As time slowly turns to spring,
I remember the blurring snow
Across the road in front of me,
Not missing it.

But I recall the poetic beauty
Of the light snow,
Snaking its way across the street,
Moving gracefully,
Softly,
Quietly.

Common words,
Common themes,
Commen phenomena.
But each poem,
Though all tied to each other,
Is unique.

The snow unfurls along the road,
Like banners waving proud in the wind,
Like a poem sneaking out
Of her poet's lips.

Wisdom

Gained through experience,
Not lost through time.
Something revered,
Something treasured,
Something so hard to come by.

Knowledge is knowing the difference.
Wisdom is understanding it.

Ignorance is Not Bliss

Ignorance
Is not bliss.
Yes,
You may be unaware
Of the world's strife,
The pain,
The sorrow.

But I have a question.
If you do not know darkness,
How can you know light?

Anonmous Questions

They come back to bite.
And bite hard.

For February,
And Valentine's Day,
The whole "month of love" thing,
My church small groups did a thing
Where we submitted questions
About love, dating, sex, all that jazz.
And we did not put our names.

I decided to challenge the house leader.
He had said multiple times
That he believes dating in high school
Is a good thing.
I'm not against it myself
(after all, I have a pretty awesome boyfriend)
But I guess I wanted to hear his reasonings.
So coming from the perspective of:
"Is it wise to date at a young age
Like 16
If there is a small chance
(as all the statics claim)
That you and your significant other
Will get married,
And thus you'll be giving away pieces of your heart
That you will never get back?"
I asked
"Is it crazy to ask for forever at 16?"

Bad wording,
I know.
But I asked it.

And was called crazy.
He offered a straight jacket
To the asker,
And then asked
"Who wrote this?"

Well,
OF COURSE
I'll tell you now.

It's as if
He didn't think
That behind the question was a girl,
Frightened,
Worried,
Scared.
And questioning herself,
And trying to hold on to her faith.

Now I ask you:
Will any one else dare to ask
A daring question again?

Valentine's Day

I feel like a rebel,
Writing this
A day late.
Or is it 364 days early?
Hehe.

I had a fantastic day.
And a lot of people complain about it,
But really?
It's a day named after one of 8 saints
And people are supposed to show love,
And not just romantic love.
My friend's heart stamp is still
Holding strong on my right hand.

Of course,
You could take the
"Bake my girlfriend a cake" route.
I like that one.
Or the
"Make an insane amount of valentines for my boyfriend."
That one is fun.

OR
You can celebrate
Singles Awareness Day,
Stay at home,
And eat chocolate.

But whatever you do,
Don't complain.
Because someone out there
Has got to have it worse than you.

The Crickets Have Arthritis by Shane Koyczan

So, Friday was my last forensics tournament ever. And this poem was a part of my favorite program to watch. And I did edit the poem to what he performed. Because we only get 8 minutes and he had three other poems and 30 seconds to introduce it.
So for once, this is someone else's poem. Not mine:


It doesn't matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting. It doesnt matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man who's faith tells him God's hands are big enough to catch an airplane, or a world. It doesn't matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death. Doesn't matter because my hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas, and he's 9 years old. His name is Louis, and I don't have to ask what he's got.The bald head with the skin and bones frame speaks volumes. The gameboy and the feather pillow booms like they're trying to make him feel at home because he's going to be here awhile.

He asks me if I believe in angels. And before I realize I don't have the heart to tell him, I tell him, "Not lately." and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. But he doesn't know how to, so he never does. Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before God gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was. He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I've never seen in someone who knows they're dying. And he'll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I've been with him for 5 days and all I really know is that Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground. Almost as if he's the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say, "It's gravity that's been getting us down."

The truth is: there's not enough miracles to go around, kid. And there's too many people petitioning God for the winning lotto ticket. And for every answered prayer, there's a cricket with arthritis. And the only reason we can't find answers is because the search party didn't invite us, and Louis, right now the crickets have arthritis. So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying 9 year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant.

But I swear to whatever God I can find in the time I have left, I'm going to remember you kid. I'm going to tell your story as often as every story you told me. And every time I tell it I'll say, "See, there's bravery in this world. There's 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we breathe has to be given back. A 9 year old boy taught me that."

People drop pennies down a wishing well, so the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. But if you've got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of a 'hard work, hang in, hold on' mentality. Like, I accept any challenge so challenge me. Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night I mugged a mountain so bring it, I've had practice. Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found that the prize inside is we never lied to ourselves. Never told ourselves that we'd be easy or undemanding. So we sing in our own vibration, and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands that God's hands take the time to catch you. So, even if God doesn't, it wasn't because we didn't try.

I don't often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, "This is for you." I half expected him to say, "See, this is the first one I grew."

Like a Fool

I used to be content
With nothingness.
A few scattered ribbons
From rounds
But no medals,
No trophies,
No finals.
I used to be content.
But things never changed.
And so,
You ask me why
I am quitting?
Because I feel like a fool!
I've given three years of my life
To forensics now.
Spent endless hours practicing,
Lost countless,
And now precious,
Hours of sleep.
For what?
Nothing that will be remembered.
Just that girl who
Challenged someone's thoughts for a moment,
Before the next,
Better,
Competitor stepped up.
There are novices
Who final.
And I'm sitting in the bleachers,
Feeling like a talentless fool,
When I'm already ravenously hungry
And am missing my boyfriend.
Yes,
I am secure in my position
As one of God's princesses.
But why should I waste my life
For something I don't love?
Why should I waste my time
On something
That will only give me
More pieces of paper
Telling me to talk slower.
That's why I write.
Because written words
Can be read at any speed you'd like.

Cocoa Power

You kissed me
On the cheek
Yesterday.
Was the cocoa power delicious?
I'm not sure
How to write this poem.
How can I put to words
My happiness?

The Last to Know

When you kiss me,
Cher,
They'll be the last to know.

Don't listen to what they say.
We're not weird.
They are.
As if waiting
Was wrong.

Remember how I mentioned
That I'm not so good
At the talking serious in person?
I think I should mention,
It's not like
All of me doesn't want you
To kiss me.
It's just that bit that suggests
Wait.
It would be my first kiss.
And that is not something
I take lightly.

He had a point.
When the time is right,
You won't have to ask.

To the Tune of "Lollipop"

Go away, Voldemort,
I'll tell you why,
If you kiss me then I'm gonna die.
And when you cast
That killing curse,
Man I'll tell you dying hurts.

Locker Trouble

I hate my locker.
In opening it,
I lost the feel of your hand
In mine,
I lost the soft rememberence
Of skin on skin.
The brief moment was lost
With the ring of the bell
And the turning of a dial.
But if I lay down my pencil,
And let my hand remember,
I can still feel you,
Still touch you,
Even though far away.

Gretna's Primetime Show Choir Competiton

I am so tired.
And I am in so much pain.
But 6th is worth it.

Aren't You Damn Lucky

I was sitting quietly at the table,
Eating pizza
(customary forensic tournament food).
With many of my friends.
There was talk
But it was mostly theirs.

This one friend of mine,
She was complaining,
As she had been all day,
About this boy,
Who goes to different school
In a city an hour's drive away,
Who she had a fling with through forensics
She was moaning
About how he said their relationship
"was a mistake"
And she
"wasn't girlfriend material."

If it had been three days ago,
Or a different friend
(who hadn't been rehashing this all day),
I would've reacted
Kinder.
I would've comforted her,
Boulstered her up,
And tore him down.

But I didn't.

"Well aren't you damn lucky
(Pardon the language)
That's all you've got to complain about today.
My cousin just died recently.
Eighteen with muscular distrophy
And the dreams he could've accomplished through God
Are dust.
Aren't you damn lucky
(Pardon the language)
That you're alive,
Your family's alive,
And you have use of every bit of the body
God gave you.
Aren't you damn lucky
(Pardon the language)
That you get to be here,
Instead of breathing only with help,
Instead of in a coffin.
Aren't you damn lucky
(Pardon the language)
That you can do whatever you set your mind to.
Set your body to.

My cousin is dead
But oh,
I'm sorry.
You're having boy troubles.
Just another failed teenage relationship.
That puts my pain into perspective,
Doesn't it?"

No, reader,
You're right.
That kind of standing up for yourself
Only happens in Disney sitcoms.
Rather,
I sat there in silence
And prayed to God
She'd never feel my pain.

he was going to fly

he was going to fly.
that's all i could think
when i heard he was gone.

he was going to fly.
i can remember
sitting in the basement with him,
playing that flight simulation.
me
with use of all four limbs
i couldn't keep that stupid plane
in the air for more than a minute
and i crashed the pixelated machine.
but he
he flew it perfectly
around the monitor.
all over.
and landed it like a dream.

HE WAS GOING TO FLY, GOD!
HE WAS GOING TO FLY!
AND I WANT TO CURSE
AND SCREAM
AND FLY AROUND MY ROOM IN A RAGE!
CENSORING GROWS HARDER WITH PAIN!
I JUST WANT TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM
but i won't.
keep some decency.
some dignity.
screw you,
5 stages of grief.
i only have three.
and not in your pre-packaged order.
screw you.
as if telling me about it in some
ridiculous public education class
ahead of time
will make it any easier.
but this isn't about me.
it's about him.

he was going to fly.

i suppose he's flying now.
with you.
and walking,
running,
dancing,
breathing all on his own.
and
i suppose that's all i can ask of you.
better i suppose.
still hurts.
still pains.
and
i want to talk to a friend
but
but
how do i pretend i'm ok?
how do i pretend i'm not acheing
for a cousin i wish i'd known better?
how do i pretend
pixel smilies
and typed hugs
will make me feel better?

he was going to fly.
he couldn't drive.
he could barely walk.
but he was going to fly.

he was going to fly.

The Future

The future
Is always on my mind.
How can it not be?
I'm balancing on the knife edge
Between childhood
And adulthood.
I'm debating colleges,
Thinking over careers,
And falling in love.
Every little decision,
Every little mistake,
Matters.
So when I let go,
I always come crashing back.
It's so hard
To relinquish things you don't know,
Don't understand,
Into the hands of God.

Back to School

It's back to school.
Back to learning.
No more sleeping in.
Easier to connect with friends
But less time to do so.
New classes?
Maybe.
New fun?
Most assuredly.

New Years

New Year wishes
To all of you.
To the whole world.
Live life well.
Don't be afraid to fall
Because there is Some One
Who can pick you up
If you let Him.
Spend time with friends
This new year,
Cultivate relationships.
Improve yourself,
Improve your life.
This is a new year.
And if it need be,
A new you.
2011,
Here I come.