Progression 1990-I was shackled being led to the bidding table.I remember lessons more than just schooling.A day I watched my dad fixsomething broken.Recently I watched myself fixsomething brokenI am applying lessons and my schooling is being learned.I hope he would be proud.In a line of people I know All shackled all unable to stop their sad progression.There was a time I crashed my bike crashed my car. A time I fell "Such a trouper" my mother said of meHer support always and still.There were women There were times withoutThere were those melancholyteenage years-
Why it Wasn't Finished Yesterday I didn't finish my poem for the following reasons:I woke upplayed on the computerate lunchI went to class(begrudgingly)and hurried home to my computerwasting time untill dinnerWent back to my computerit told me to go to WalmartBought erasers and ink at StaplesTried to go to Murdocks(it closes at 7)Made it to WalmartA friend bought a bra(I remembered mine)I got home and dug through suitcasesBright pink and mascera- BingoI changed gender and went to the streets; time to forget my obligations.
This Villanelle Sucks so I didn't Finish It Tattered rags are all she gleansIn the last dead lamp lit streetsHer life is pieced with broken dreams.Scraps of the past amidst the seamsRemnants found of pointless featsTattered rags are all she gleans. she clingsto anything familiar that she meets.Her life is pieced with broken dreams.Tattered rags are all she gleans.Alone tonight in bed she reamsthe mind till her defeatHer life is piec... etc.Tattered rags are all she gleansHer life
Sudoku Poetry This is a standard villanelle,through the course of it I will accruesome simple thoughts stuffed into a shell.It won't hold your interest very well-you may want more but what can I do?This is a standard villanelle.It isn't great as you may tell,but this is all I have for you;some simple thoughts stuffed into a shell.I tried to write one before and fellinto snideness as oft I do. This is a standard villanelle.If only I could make it gel,but things to say are far and few-Some simple thoughts stuffed into a shell.My little paint-by-numbers hell;fill in the blanks like a Sudoku.This is a standard villanellesome
Dissolve I watched as the sugar dissolved in the glass of weak tea I had gotten from the coffee shop off a side street on my way to work. Quickly, the granules dissipated. With a swirl of my spoon it was almost palatable. Downing it, I got up and went on my way. Most people drink coffee in the mornings, but the bitter taste has never sat well with me so I go for tea instead. As I threaded my way through a crowd of people moving across the sidewalks like water, I couldn't help but think about work. I'm doing regional management for Chemco but the position I'm in is less interesting than my old one. I used to manage the day to day affairs of a sm
A The soldier stared at a fly in the bowl. He noticed that it looked different— just slightly. It was bigger to a certain, almost unnoticeable, extent and with a sheen slightly more blue than that of a fly. He decided it wasn't a fly. It was something else very much like a fly, but it couldn't be a fly. A fly is smaller—slightly— and does not have that off color. But the soldier decided that this new almost-fly didn't need a new name. Instead he lost interest and picked up the bowl. Placing it in a rucksack, he headed on with the mission. Walking next to the soldier who he had shared the tent with the night before, the s
A Glove is For One Hand A glove is for one hand. That is what he knows. Though the gloves are of simple design, and fit either, a glove is for one hand. He kept a black one and a white one. Black is right and left is white. That way he can remember which is which.The morning is cold. The grass, still with life, looked like bread mold. It crisped under a black and white shoe. He realized how cold it was and dug through pockets for gloves. At least the right one, his right hand really was much colder than his left.Problem: cold right hand. Solution: black glove. Problem: no black glove. Solution: put white glove on left hand. His right hand didn't feel much better
Glass Ceiling I wake up to my alarm clock, sweat on my face. Wiping dreams and sleep from my face and mind, I get ready to go back to the office. “Today will be the day,” I tell myself.The office is the place my life revolves around. I push papers all day long. But I know that one-day management will see my hard work and promote me. That is what I strive for, to obtain the bright light of a management position.Earl, the man in the office across from mine is a man whose stretched face exudes an aura of pessimism. He is always complaining to me about this “glass ceiling” that no one can see. He says that it is hopeless to try to work
Turning Point Open your eyes, my liege,And experience the world around you.Hold your face in the stream of bitter waterAnd wake up! Realize that what you said to usWas false.You are no longer here,With us, on the estates you manage;And why would you be? You don't want our famine,Our plague, our molded acres of dust and silk.Our Paine.So wake up to a new world,Not a brave new world, but a new world,A real world, one where people live and die,But mostly die for each step brings new plagues.For us.We will not exalt youAs we once did, when you cared for us.Why should we be bothered to praise your name.Your name is wicked and
Pledge Streaming colors on the edgeOf sight. Sitting by the ledgeOf land. Asking for the pledgeThat sees that all is right.Rippling lyrics on the edgeOf thought. Bouncing off the ledgeOf grasp. Seeing that the pledgeIs learned to say with might.Wafting flavors on the edgeOf smell. Drifting off the ledgeOf food. Waking up the pledgeThat you know how to bite.
Subtle Math All it is, is subtle math,This poetry I write.My equations differ from the wasted youth's,But that lessens not its might.Though there are the same stops on the wayThey travel down separate paths.They both run in parallel.My poetry is subtle math.Some things work and some things don't.There are dead end ways to go.But a final product is always good.And when it works, I know.All it is, is subtle math,This poetry I write.They are on parallel pathsAnd they each have their own might.
Good Folk You know I should have listenedTo what the good folk said.They said that they were angelsBefore they all were dead.I knew that they were demons,I saw their horns were red.But you know I should have listenedTo what the good folk said.The path it became splitBefore my aching feet,I went one way uncaringIf the ends would meet.And I ended where I startedI was forced to admit defeatWhen the path it became splitBefore my aching feet.I ignored what they told meWhen I set off for my own.I broke the laws of lifeAnd let my sins be shown.But when I was put onto the pathI was no longer alone.When I ignored what
Lessons of Love GraciousI always was when the plank came down CRACKAnd my love for father swelledin me as my face swelled from so many lessons.
Brute Between bails,I watched my brother love herfar too hard.Nowhere else to go, hedrug the body into the compost."Bury it deep!" I heard himmutter as he shoveled.At the timeI was horrified-absolutely rigid. HadI been able to move at allI would have yelped;but like the fears of Perseus,I was petrified.Secretly, I hated him for years.That was an older time. NowI understand the troubleWomen are. One moment they love you,suddenly they are dead-replaced with statues in your heart.They won't move and they'll weigh you downBut they aren't worth anything to anybodyelse.TodayI dig the compost.Turning it ov
Fading I am learning to understand what you said-how I cease to exist when you are gone,as if fading from your memorycan fade me from reality.Really,I come to find:while I may have argued with you thenI see it so true now and here.Yet not here or now; never in the moment,anymore.Instead, I'm two places-one that I've never beenand one that I've never left. "So many times I've thought about you. This place is not the same without you." ~Phil Coulter
Crowding Have you ever seen so many mothsso that when you look at the windowsthey crowd aroundpushingpushingand they are clinging to the dog doorslipping through the cracksand when you go outside theyare beating themselvesagainst the windowagainst the lightsagainst the wallsagainst youagainst air?When you try to walk through themthey get in your hairin your mouthand you are covered in their dust.Now walk down the street of New York Cityand tell me you see a difference.
Our Eyes I just don't know what to think.My eyes are blue; yours green.There are different worlds that we see-A cold one and one so alive.Can I stand in your light?Can you stand in my dust?Together we are a moth sweepinggentlyfuriously out of night.Do we leave a trail as we pursuesomething that can't be obtained?And if we do succeed,what, really, will we claim to have?I don't think anything knows what it is after;and if we did we wouldn't seek it at all.Green eyes, take a moment to look into myblue world.Let me gaze into your lifeand let there be trees in the drafting paperand measured lines across the land.
The Albatross Stare open into the eyes of the Bird-The Mighty Albatross that circles the world-And look into not only your soulBut the souls of everyone on this earth.Look up at the sky and feel the wind-Feel it pull away everything that is wrongAnd open your heart to emptinessThat is as dark as the eye of the Bird.When your heart has been made openAnd the wind can freely pass,Then you will fill with the light airAnd will Circle with the Albatross.
In this Body In this body,this body that is borrowed from the earth,taken from pieces of those who love.One in another borrowed body,One who has returned already.In this body lies a heart.Not the flesh that moves withinthe borrowed vessel,the fragile flesh,but something new and constant.In this heart lies a creationof a creator and a creatorof creations.Something new but will live foreverbeyond the borrowed earth.Yet, a heart without a body learns nothing,and a body without a heart does nothing.One without the other is nothing.
Too Many Apples How easy it isto become greedy for apples.You eat one,then anotherand pretty soon, apples are all you know.How hard it is to putthe apple downonce it has been lifted from the branch.Even if you recognize your desire.I have tasted the apple,I found I liked the apple,And all I want is the apple.All I can see/think/feelis the apple.Now,here I am staring at the apples.Corpulent off their sugars,and thinking to myself:"How do I set them down?"
Bubble I'll be your imaginary friend todayAnd you can take me on a longlongwalk to the end of the world.We can use a hot air balloon and seejust exactly whatis beyond the edgewhere the water pours.We can fly into the stars;a fantasy I had when I wasTiny.And maybe we'll see new worldsor maybe there is nothing at all.Just so long as I'm with you.Right now I am at the edgeand the water pours becauseNo matter how fun it is toimagine, it is simply a bubbleof a feigned world.A world that I holdbut can never grasp.A world without any flavorwithout life and colorwithout airwithoutyou.
Fencing The longer I live, the more people annoy me.Marx once called religion"The opiate of society"But I see that this is false.We use walls and fences to blot our sensesUntil we perceive nothing else.A false paranoia,How's that for ya?If anyone wants to cross,They will.Still,We stop friendly passersinstead of trespassers.So the folk who need to pass the tresses,And no intent to create the messes,Are stuck on the side they don't need to be.Please give up this stupidity!
Perfecting I sit and gather dialogueI hear right here; and think of her.And I conceive a monologue-letters form letters which form thoughts that I prefer.My masterful composition,So simple, perfect and fully complete,Is so delicate a proposition,That it simply can't compete.I want my emotions to hold precision,Instead I am a hard collision.Relief won't come without decisionBut I'm my own derision.
Wonderbread and Fish sticks Once a man broke bread and fed the people.Once a man took fish and spread it around to last.Tiny amounts fed the masses;A metaphor for faith and love.Today we get wonderbread and fish-sticks.We break it up and spread it around.Feeding the masses was never so easy,The product of a disposable society.The masses are still hungry,Their numbers make that clear,And they'll just build up their hunger'Cause the "givers" just have air.Superficial messages from the superstitious messengers--Wearing deep robes to show what they know.Their messages are crispy-friedIn smoke machines and laser shows.This isn't what the man w
Make Believe Let's play make believe.It's been years, hasn't it?Today I'm not a doctor,I'm the little boywith a sunspeckled face,And you are the girl from across the wayin the cute red sundress.My new red convertibleCan be the cardboard boxThat took me everywhereI needed to go.It's been such a long time!And today we aren't behind on paymentsAnd we aren't arguing over unimportant things.Let's pretend that you still smileThat smile that showed the lost toothAnd I giggle over the juice spilled.You could kiss my freckled cheekThen we could hold handsAs children might.Let's play make believe again.
Something Sometimes we forget who we arein the rush of lifecaught up in what we wantthat we can't hold on to what we have.Someone will say things heneverwanted to say.Somewhere we left behind the world-Traded for things we don't needin the endless wash of everythingthat carries us each day.Some of us need things to stop.We think there must beSome way to make it happen;but we can not seem to find it.Some how, no matter what happens,We must remember: the world moves on.Even though we left it behind.Even though we leave it behind.It keeps goingand we get dragged along behind itSometimes we forget about the love of
Sta.sh
