"The snow falls and flitters like glitter against the light
as I sit here and blink my eyes
my lashes are feathered fans from the frost
contemplating
as I’m powdered by the ceiling
it brings me no answers
as to if I should persue you
or if its like the last kalediscope I looked into
that resembled stained glass that glinted
like a snow globe I peeked inside through a thorough hole
the size of thorn
acupunture:
it released the picture of a party of people
and his face smudged cake
now your face
your body a similar replica
with the swift speed and silence that suffocates me like smoke
this is a mistake?
or is this me gasping and geysering out of the ground water
awakened and aware
you were always there
a record waiting to be realized
when i was newly borne out of abandonment."
I’ve had writers block for quite some time now and have been attempting to write new material because I have so much sitting in my head. A lot of the poems I’ve been posting are from the past but pertain to the present. I wrote this tonight, and hopefully soon I can write some of my short stories.
The short story idea’s (three of them) have been kicking around in my head for well over a year (one of them maybe two-three years). It’s been complicated to get them going because one requires research and overall the words just don’t seem to come. I have a feeling though I can maybe write one over the summer :)
Maybe Better
It’s been two Thursdays in one week. been growing gold in the garden better than before; nugget potatoes.
Looking through a shutter I shudder at what I almost lost years ago I shake it all off now, think I’ve taken care of my core.
The last time I visited this I was fractured yet free from the concrete I lived in the forest reliving the moment.
Now two and three it got better as this all soars up with the sunflowers; a memento my mentor left me I relinquish this relic from my life and get better.
This poems is about how the last three years my May’s have been filled with things that were hard to get though. This May has surprised me by being surprising (in a good way) so it help me let go and heal.
"We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
Sometimes I don’t know where to look in the water, deep, dark into the matter. I try to look if I’m over looking you ‘cause you seem to be evil. I catch a glimpse every once in a while when the light glints, I see it crawl under your skin. Maybe you know and maybe you want to take me to hell with you.
I’m already there, on the lost side of love, lost. You’re the care taker trying to take me down. My life force orb is in your hands and you throw me down, knocking each option I have left. My life is a bowling alley and you intend to destroy it.
I’m on the train home. I sweep you out of my thoughts like rain going down a storm drain. I lean against the window and reminisce of the things that’ll never happen as my head rhythmically hits the glass The clouds are too many shades of gray, so I close my eyes.
The more you keep up with this, the more powerless I feel. In the end you’ll be left. I may be walking down the street, my head bent: a weeping willow, but you’ll be emptier. You’ll be an instrument played cliche and the people will turn away to the haunting harp under the sun.
[I wrote this a couple years ago during a creative writing class and I thought this was the best poem I wrote that semester]
"One opal cloudlet in an oval form, reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm, which in a distant valley has been staged- for we are the most artistically caged."
