Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The linguistic queen of school bees

I don't quite grasp the nuance of it-
the bemusing buzzing of bees in the air,
the euphony of their translucent wings
mellifluously similar to her whisperings
I don't quite understand the meaning of their exotic movings-
the honeycomb of her hair as she delineates the day-
the day of a golden Fall
when I sing hallelujahs to this linguistic queen of school bees

hackneyed feelings and emotions on fire

picturesque clouds
repeat hackneyed feelings
so I fight to regain control
of my fleeting feelings
my struggling desire to be sole possessor
of emotions set on fire
To what do I owe the honor?
To whom do I direct desire?

Monday, September 14, 2009

I am soulful

I thought I knew life, and what it meant to be living. I thought I knew soul. Of course I was wrong.
There were people there. There were so many people there. Some of them homeless, all of them poor. And we were to talk to them; we were to know their pain. I only knew shame. Shame that I had so much. Shame I had not done enough.
Her name was Jamie. She wanted to see the bridge. Bill took her there. She walked the winding cement path past the sunflower representative lights lit in red. The fountain caught her green eyes. Spikes of water enticed her childlike amusement and Bill walked her on arms entwined. They reached the center, but she ran smiling on. On Iowa and Nebraska she tip-toed. "Who rules me now?" she asked with the smile of a thousand lights. You cannot rule her smile. You cannot stop the light from illuminating such a fountain of life.
He talked. Oh, how he talked of mobile Linux and Rocket mail. He talked to his friend, and they both laughed. They had forgotten what it was they talked about. "How can we?" he asked, "I thought we were smart." They laughed again, acknowledging their addle-mindedness. They were a euphony onto themselves, pleasing each other with idle chatter. They were happy to be alive and spirited enough to recognize it.
I didn't know he danced. I walked by the open door of his room as his hips swayed to the three of the tune. His eyes were closed in what could only be personal euphoria. A loss of the self, he was lost to himself. Only the music mattered- soulful music that brought a smirk. The Spanish rhythm of El Amor.
He danced, she ruled, they shared, and I cried. Not tears of sorrow, nor of joy. They were tears of knowing and of hoping. They were tears of living. I am soulfully living.

feeling invisible in shadow's glow

I spend a lot of time feeling invisible some of it rightfully so but do I take the leap to make a difference or do I wallow in shadow's glow? melancholy is clearly a theme

I don't know life; I know how to breathe

I don't know what it means to live. I don't know life I don't know who does life. I don't know who I live with. Who I do life with. I don't know anything not how to stand but I do know how to breathe and that, right now, is on what I live evidence of my ability to be melodramatic


is only popular to the point of stories no one wants to read my poetry what good is languages fragmented, unwhole what good are words placed for their play what worth is craft unhoned what then am I, if poems are home? and evidence of my ability to ignore actual words for the luxury of made up ones

don't wanna force destiny

don't wanna force it this action together what if I want you but you just walk away I've been hiding now I'm ready is it time? is this destiny? this is clearly evidence of the promise I made to myself to post every poem regardless of quality.