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?