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

my beerlema

poetry

i really want a beer now
but i dont want a beer now
because i also want a beer later
and i cant have both a beer now
and a beer later
two beers in one day isn’t a problem
except that i want two beers everyday
and two beers every day isn’t a problem
except that then i have three beers every day
and when i have three beers
some days i want four beers
and five beers is really too many
so i have to refrain from a beer now
for feer of beer too beerquently

if a man with multiple personality disorder kills themselves is it suicide or murder?

poetry

they sat in this room and thought up
the worst things that could happen,
and he followed him everywhere
like some stray cat with no tail
but with lots of tales
and question marks
so many it could block out the sun
some days
and he would distract him so much
it was hard to finish his sentences
there were just so many questions
and so many things that could happen
and of all the things that could happen
one of them would surely not be
his disappearance.