The Dream

I found myself 

Walking along a distant road

Covered in pure, sparkling snow

Looking for something I had lost long ago

One night, in a dream I dreamt 

I stopped only to pick lovely flowers

And gather them in my arms

I felt a warmth spread into my bones

And as I gazed upon them, 

I felt oddly clean

I touched their velvety petals 

And allowed myself to cry 

I laid them softly to rest

Buried beneath that virgin snow

And I continued on

Feeling so lost and very alone

I came upon a small house

That beckoned to me

Promising me shelter and protection 

I struggled to the door

The snow now around my knees

Gathered all the strength and courage I could muster

And gave a soft knock on the door

The door opened

And I trudged in

Longing for something I knew

My breath caught in my chest 

For sitting there was you

I felt happiness sweep away the cold

And I ran to embrace you 

I whispered lightly in your ear

All things I had always wanted to say

And felt you pull me closer

An understanding passed between us

Took my words away and left me calm and assured

I knew you must of felt the same

Because of those three words you had uttered 

Tears came to my eyes 

Because I knew no longer would I walk that snowy path alone

Searching for something I thought I would never know

I found what I was searching for

I found you

I awoke 

With lovely sun caressing my face

And a smile touching my lips

I knew that it just wasn’t a dream

I knew it was all to real 

And for that I must remember to thank you

For making my dreams and my reality as one 

Mission One (only two years after the inception)

OK, folks.  It's National Poetry Month, and it's HIGH TIME we started taking poetry to the people, yes?  So say we all?  Well, regardless, I started yesterday.  I went to Sears in the Mall, crept up to the appliance section and ... well, just check the photos, that'll tell you the whole story.


I went back 2 hours later, and the staff had yet to notice!  heh!  I'm going to try again at Best Buy and see if it works there too!  

OK, poetry guerrillas, you have your mission, you have proof that it CAN be done, now GO TO IT!!! POETRY TO THE PEOPLE!!!

(no subject)


Keep Your Ear To The Stethoscope


You're disaster wrapped in reason,
a thick, cotton mess of lackluster love.
A sugar rush. Ephemeral. Nonsensical.
And you want to harvest this thing,
this feeling? These violated strands of
frightened surrender? This darkly heroic
suicidal tic? Let's just call it a lapse,
let's just call it a fuck. People do it all the time.
They ignore the twitching, beating, violent thing
that claims it owns us.

If one of us is alone, one of us is alone
mee

2am ponderance

And so I sit here pondering this particular evening

Silently smoking cigarette after cigarette

Watching the smoke withering into nothingness as it passes from my lips and out my window

These are strange days

Best taken with consideration and a straight liquor chaser

So I imbibe deeply

Trying to find meaning while reading between the lines

Deciphering semantics

And finding myself at the same starting point from years back

There are thoughts here

Silently spoken between lines of ambiguousness and obscurity

And I prefer to keep it that way

Simply spelling out my thoughts in the most cryptic manner possible

Cheerleading from the sidelines of my own life

Just watch me shake my pompoms

Gritting teeth into a pseudo grin

I mark the chapters of my life by how much my jaw hurts the next day

Shedding enamel to stop myself from saying too much

About what I know too little about

And so i let my thoughts wander

Like lost birds fighting the wind towards a destination they never thought to go after

And so I sit here

Pondering this particular evening

Silently smoking cigarette after cigarette

And I wonder how much smoke it will take for me to create

Before I can finally clear my vision

And find a path towards unclouded tomorrows

Choke, Icarus

Choke, Icarus
 
Your suicide note was pointless;
a ramble, a talk-show-radio rant
your wife had said death would become you
your children were crying with purple, cosmic skins
knitting themselves back together, after you
you: a rage, a lividity; you threw the sun agaisnt cement
he cried, his sister watched, his mother -
she downed a vodka before coming to his rescue
shaking, ink-stained hands ‘stop, icarus’
and you did.
and you flew:
your wings, made of wax
sizzled on the electricity lines
that snake from our houses to our streets
it worked as good as any other means; your wings
stitched together and ochre (of the earth), they fluttered
your final valediction: blue and red feathers, fluttering down
machinery whirred onwards, and we got your suicide letter in the mail
i asked ‘could icarus die?’ and my mother nodded, sombre
we lit a candle for you, and we saw your burning in its very middle
we held a service, and we wore your favourite skin shade
we said goodbye to your rotting face – i even kissed it
i kissed you, i mean
you: a quiet, choking, bloated face
emmett till without the rage
peaceful in your cartoon disgrace

Da mihi basilia mille

When you stopped me
In the wal-mart parking lot,
I mean to say
I love you.
 
When you asked
How I’d been,
And I laughed,
I meant to say,
Mother-fucking crazy
And, I love you.
 
When you smiled
And said good,
I meant to
Kiss you senseless,
 
Instead I smiled
And asked if you
Could drive yet.
 
When you laughed
And said ‘yeah’
I meant to say good,
Because I still love you.
 
When you asked if I
Still had emo tendencies
I meant to slap you
Upside the head,
Because I’ve never in my life
Painted my fingernails black,
Worn baggy pants
And a black band shirt
With unwashed hair.
 
And then I meant
To say I love you,
 You Fucking prat.

  • Current Mood
    lethargic lethargic

Left behind a container of Morton Salt in a Grocery Store...

Love Like Salt - Lisel Mueller

It lies in our hands in crystals
too intricate to decipher

It goes into the skillet
without being given a second thought

It spills on the floor so fine
we step all over it

We carry a pinch behind each eyeball

It breaks out on our foreheads

We store it inside our bodies
in secret wineskins 

At supper, we pass it around the table
talking of holidays by the sea.

  • Current Mood
    artistic