For The One That’s Always Been There

Ancient empty streets too dead for dreaming
no longer call out to me.
Now that you’re here,
I find no need to search for a new world.
My weariness amazes me.
You take some of it on yourself.
Together we lay
And appreciate the bond we have formed.

(bold lines borrowed from ‘Mr. Tambourine Man’)

Contradiction

A light nearly as soft as her touch warmed their faces as dark drapes caught the bulk of sunshine like flies tangled in a web. Despite his neat appearance, the thoughts that cluttered his office desk mind were not organized. His dreams were not dressed in suits.
Everything about her was gentle. A meek smile was so easily coaxed out onto her sleepy face by a simple “hello.” Relaxed waves created a current through the black river rippling down her back.
The duo created a fantastic contradiction, and it was growing within her slightly bulging stomach. They became an oddball trio compiled by two companions and the product of the deepest of trusts.
She was never able to settle for very long. He glumly stuck to one office; the only uplifting fact about this trap was the knowledge that she would always know where to find him. Despite her wild cross-country habits, she always managed to make her way back to that cramped office.
She’d nudge him awake during his late night shifts with one fragile hand atop a broad shoulder. A lift of his head, a flutter to the chair, and royalty, love, and violence would be dealt.

Warm Memories

The wick was charred and worn from far too many demands to glow. No one can capture the sun in there hand all the time. She slowly stroked the metal wheel, allowing the rough bumps to caress her soft skin. The sky dotted with birds was forced to crash into the sea with a flick of her wrist. Her father never sailed a majestic ship such as this. A lighthouse never led him home from journeys on a sea he’d only ever seen in pictures. Oh, how she’d love to burn herself to bits and scatter herself within that scene; to ramble up a winding path and dive off of that cliff into the rough argument of the waves. With a thrash of the of the wheel, no flame greeted her. Her father extinguished the sun hidden beneath the ship’s deck. She was left cold.

Just Wondering

If I find the courage
To battle my villainous fears
And let you hear my screaming thoughts,
Will you listen?

to remain untitled until something fitting pops into my head

i’m thirsting to spill blood
in the form of ink
all over the too-clean pages.
need the raging war in my mind to settle upon neutral territory.
if i can’t trust people, i’ll trust pages.
pages won’t spread the news of raging battles
or broken soldiers
or too-brave heroes that gave his life to save another’s.
too many.
too many.
i need the media here.
someone get the word out-
cease the bombing of my happiness with your atomic abyss.
no more craving bullets.

I Despise My Need For Comfort.

“Please.”
I try to whisper;
Silence
is all that escapes my gaping mouth.
May I scan your memory,
And omit the ones involving my plentiful mistakes?
If you leave
Can you forgive me
For all the messes I’ve made?
I’ll miss you when you’re gone.
Here’s to hoping you’ll feel the same.

Pressure (a Fifty Five Fiction piece)

Only fifty five words to write something fantastic. I can’t handle this.
The clock is tick-tocking its way to my doom: the end of class.
Quick! No! Pen out of ink. Avoid teacher’s watchful eye. Scribble. Twist ending? I could try. I can’t do it. But I did all under fifty five words.

Enemy Fire (a Fifty Five Fiction piece)

“Shoot him! Get him! What are you, stupid?! No, use your handgun, not your rifle!”
“Can you shut up? I’m trying! I’ll never be able to kill him if you keep nagging like this.”
“Fine. Hand me the controller. Man, you really suck at Halo.”

I'm Not Sure What To Do

How do you force some
meaning into a poem
when it's a haiku?

I Really Hate Haiku

How hard I try to
make this sound beautiful, but
I can't do this well.

I Really Hate Haiku

How hard I try to
make this sound beautiful, but
I can't do this well.

Five Ways of Looking at a Blank Page

Stare in fright of the possibilities that could lend themselves to this page.
Controversy may erupt form the words you write; or worse, the truth of your thoughts may be revealed.


Close your eyes and pray to whichever god you believe in, or none at all, that beautiful words may magically appear. The thoughts nudge and tug at each other in your mind, too plentiful to scribble on one mere blank page.

Close your eyes, aching from staring at the bright winter of the page. Take a deep breathe, uncover your eyes from their hiding place behind a curtain of lashes. Begin to engrave idea after idea so that soon that winter will become a twister of language.

Shun your masterpiece. Mangle the page that contains those inscriptions. Hide it, destroy it, so that no one may ever know what you once thought of the world around you.

Begin again.

Eight Ways of Looking at an Old Friend

Reminders of endless nights spend bonding by sharing secrets linger.
How could you have let your friendship go?
Waves of sadness, and anger, and jealousy splash through you sea of memories.
Why would she do that to you?
Analyze her new best friend-your replacement.
Will she treat her like that too?
Be glad that that time in your life is behind you.
You know better now.

Fear

Fear peers out from behind her book
And watches the other kids on the playground.
The other children call her over to play tag.
She refuses.
How could she risk the embarrassment of
Skinning a knee,
Lagging behind,
Losing the game?
So she sits with her stories
Of girls braver than her,
And feels the jealousy climb her throat
And sighs out the disappointment
Of not being daring enough to play.