poetry

Growing old must be hard

poetry

Perhaps among the top
10 crappy plights with
which the elderly suffer
from day to lengthening
day, is sitting across
a table/room/bed/couch
from their grandchildren
who want to talk but
know not what to say
because they can’t ask
someone who never leaves
their house, who can not
do anything different or new
“what have you done lately”
or “what will you do today.”

A Man for and With Others

poetry

I am no longer a student
But a scholar A follower
Of the teachings of Ignatius
My life is changing rapidly
To transform into a new
Being of competence
To show the world my best

What am I to become?
What am I in four short years?
What am I in my prime?
What am I when I move on to the other half of life?

I answer you now

I shall become
A Man for and With Others
I will be
A Man for and With Others
I shall succeed as
A Man for and With Others
When I leave this place I’ll be still
A Man for and With Others

dreams i tell you, dreams!

poetry

the dreams i have
of jealousy
of hope and fame

dreaming of hope – i know its sad

they lead to things
like life again and again
i’m reminded
not to take things
for…
granted, i have things

hands being held
waiting for the next good picture
to present itself to me
in words
so i can know what color to paint it
and on what canvas
or 100% non-recycled paper

the greats?
they cut down trees and drew
their masterpieces

Back when I was young and silly enough to flirt with the word “hollow” (It has been wooing me since, but I will not have it)

poetry

I am nothing but hollow
a hole so yellow
my words are like fetid air
all I’ve got is inconsistent despair
I wish to renew my dreams
chase away the stale realms
I, too, was a hoping girl once
but both luck and ball bounce

I’m left with nothing to say
with my years I pay
in tear and sighs, for so long, my cowardness lay
Did I ever think myself worthy?
Did I ever think that I was owed something?
Now I crawl under the shadow of the damned tree
trying to hide while my shame runs free.

All I want to do (Or was it five years ago ?)

poetry

All I want to do is
pull out my hair
howl all the way to nowhere
touch the sand again
brush the sky with my lucky comb
climb trees in a strange land
dance with my hands in the air

All I want to do is
loosen my soul
wander in unlit alleys
listen to the night heartbeat
sleep in a lilac field
hold hands with a bum
find oblivion in a voice

All I want to do is
uncover my eyes
stroll in a desolated park
run through rain
fill my lungs with more air
bathe in silence
get drunk from cupid’s wine

All I want to do is
take off my body
feel the wind beneath my feet
whistle in a dark night
hug the silvery moon
jump into the abyss covered in grass
free fall with muted screams

i think it’s the brisk clean air i miss most of all. (hoping i wont one day reminisce about today’s reminiscence)

poetry

the sunshine reflecting from the snow
on a saturday with nothing to do
stale, repetitive breakfast spiced with chalula
i try not to stare at the pine needles
so much as to let you know they’re more beautiful
than our your conversation

and we stroll

its cold out, but too beautiful for anything save a t-shirt
my feet cool and dry in my shoes and a jacket
a little too tight
breathing the crisp air you talk about your guitar
your hopes for a band we both know will
never materialize

we pass over grass we know we’ll leave soon
and dream of a place better than this
(dirt made mud filled snow now slush)
knowing full well we’ll later dream dreams of this day
recalling the cool brisk air and the joy we feel
knowing we’re soon to be overcome
reminded we cannot beat the cold

more needles and pine trees and squinting through fall
the beauty of spring – the life of so many things
and the death of our shared plight
a place we’ve found so comfortable

balconies where we pledged to smoke at least one bowl
of vanilla black cavendish
friends we were sure would never fall in love
places we were sure we’d never leave
and times we were sure about which we’d never
reminisce