Spring Break Poems

I wrote a poem a day during spring break. They aren't the best, but they make me laugh. :)


Sunday, March 13

We were awake at 5.30 and out the door by 6
Our drivers fell asleep at 9.30 the night before and woke up at 4.30
That was the time I fell asleep. 4.30.
In Alabama there was a Chinese buffet billboard.
It had a baby on it.
Do they serve babies?!?
I fell asleep 3 times.
The AC was broken.
I went deaf in my right ear as we flew 80mph down the interstate
To board the cruise.


Monday, March 14

We are on board waiting for our LifeBoat Drill
And free liquor tastings
The sky is overcast and my foot
Was slammed in the health club door
A freaking giant step and heavy door.
Now I have two ankles on one foot.
I wait for my luggage; everyone has theirs.
I am certainly not the angel of good luck on this trip already
And already I want to throw two friends overboard.
Mimic-y, loud, obnoxious, lemming, and rat.
But I really love them.
I do.



Tuesday, March 15 (Belarus)

There is a bartender who always happens to find the 7 of us.
His name is Kirill and his“Russian is perfect, but my English…not so much.” He graduated from the Russian military
And also has an engineering degree.
This is his second cruise.
He smiles often and his eyes are as clear as the water the boat churns through
I wonder if his bald head burns.
Lindsy says he is my soul mate, but retracts the comment
When I had to ask her his name.


Wednesday, March 15

Carlos & Charley’s encompassed every typical college
Spring break scenarios possible.
Yard long margaritas, beers, and rum & cokes. (capitan!)
You must drink Dos Equis in Mexico. Apparently.
Spanking
Ass grabing
Dancing
Drinking
Screaming
Hot boys
Gorgeous girls (yeah, ladies!)
Blue ocean
Sun burns
Oy!
Do you know that swimming in the ocean drunk is not the smartest idea?

Thursday, March 16

John Scrafano was on an infomercial today. He was an RA in Forest my freshman year.I had a very bad, very sexy, very disturbing dream with him in it once.
Crazed madness.
Linsdy knows him too. We yelled at the television.
The backs of my legs are charred from reading on my stomach on the beach
I cannot extend my legs because the backs of my knees are almost in blisters
We frolicked in the ocean. the seaweed bit us and left marks and rashes
We stayed in a restaurant for 3 hours drinking yards of booze.
We went back to the ocean.
Mark & I Look Like Lobsters.
Cozumel, here we come

Crucial Transfusion

Crucial Transfusion

Walking into AutoZone makes me break out in a cold sweat.
I drop your hand.
Everything is in code. Written in a language
I knew probably existed.
It’s like reading Klingon.

Looking to you, my guide and translator, I worry
my eyes look like those of a frightened horse.
More white than color.
I know they’re filled with confusion and anxiety
As if I’m about to leap out of an airplane
And hope the parachute works.

I have an oil filter and 5 quarts of Mobile 1 in hand.
Ready to venture out into the grown up world
of oil changes, bills and 401Ks.
You squeeze my hand.
The parachute is a bit tighter around my body.

My blue-black Honda (Cassandra) is on 16 degree ramps.
My cutoffs and dirty tshirt are ready for hard work.

I crawl under the car next to you,
staring at the uniformity of color
and odd shaped organs I need to save.
I feel like I need an anatomy book;
I don’t want to kill her.

You show me how to drain the oil
I allow it to splash on my arms.
We both tear at the filter;
It finally succumbs and we bring the pristine replacement

An oil filter transplant is a triumph.We give another oil transfusion and I smile
as I start the car.

Success.

Rotting

This was based on work by Mark Doty. i don't think my line indents will work as well on this, but i'll try.

Rotting

I was early today and sat on cold concrete
watching men, brown with dirt and too much sun,
assemble the skeleton of a new building.

I’ve watched it every week, rise and grow
the way a bird builds a nest
or ants create their colony.

I sit and eat a sandwich that is soggy
from sitting in a cooler for too long.
Hours, maybe days.

I wonder and hope that all the workers are faithful.
That they’re strong. That booze, drugs, or a competitor’s
money won’t dissuade them from their job.

Because if just one man decides
he won’t give the 100%, the entire building
will fall apart from the inside. Cracked foundations

My academic brain soaks this in and I watch
the men pour more concrete while students
drop cigarette butts at their feet.

The trees have begun their rebirth.
Flowers from magnolias bloom then die.
Petal by petal their beauty decomposes.

Even in spring I see death.
The red petals of tulips scream at me for help.
Why can’t they be white, yellow, pink?

Have aphids attacked roses yet?
Have they been destroyed?
Rotting from the inside?

Apartment Complex

This was based on work by Elizabeth Alexander for class. she writes a lot about race and it's relationship with her.



Apartment Complex

1.
The smell is invading my nostrils as I walk down the hallway.
I cannot tell what is cooking--
Stir fry dishes used to all smell the same.
Now I’m at a loss.

2.
For the first time in my life, I’m the minority.
Beautiful women with shiny black hair surround me.
Men who simply look intelligent walk my hallways.
Why do they have to be my hallways?

3.
Are they talking about me as I walk to get my mail?
They looked my way and laughed.
That’s universal.
I smile and look down as I pass them,
Their language is a cacophony in my ears.

4.
I always feel like the oppressor when I walk home.
The white woman who does no wrong…
Is that what they think I believe?
I’m intimidated by superior knowledge, harder work
And more musical ability than I will ever know.
I’m plagued by all kinds of stereotypes.
Even the good ones.

5.
I dream of myself as a baby
With jaundiced skin and almond eyes.
After she saw it, my best friend asked
If I was Asian.

The Infinite

My father and i sat on the back porch together.
The metal chair left diagonal imprints on the backs of my legs.
My dad slowly rocked the chair back and forth and i began to rock too.
We said nothing in a comfortable silence, like a pillow that gives in with incredible
intimacy and support.

The sweet smell of tulips drifted towards me with the wind like the ocean tide.
The mourning doves cooed and in my mind's eye, I was nine years old again
calling back to them with a smile. Not understanding their name.
Thinking of 'morning.'

Another smell came from the house.
A hazelnut coffee candle brings my mother to my mind.
I thought of warm towels with the scent from the fabric softener that only works with her
water, her chemicals, her scents.

I looked across the yard to the massive gingko tree with fan shaped leaves modestly
covering the branches like a geisha waiting for her lover.
My eye traveled up towards the magical place where the trees kiss the sky.
The sapphire blue was freckled with four perfect clouds, each in a distinct shape.
Carousel horse
Puppy
Castle
A tear

The red brick of the garage seemed more vibrant than the day before and it was almost
moving with the energy of life.

"Stacey," said my father, breaking the sacred silence, "I want you to take a photograph of
this moment in your mind.
It is a perfect day;
you must always appreciate these. They don't come around too often."

I look to my left at the St. Bernard of a man who sits with me. The only man
in my life.
I gave a slight smile and looked back to the sky.
Crystallizing that exact shade of blue.
I'd be gone soon. So would he.

My eyes burned and began to swell as i blinked back tears.
The gingko will stand when we are gone. Marrying the sky
every morning.

Comedy Show

I am in joyful pain
sharp teeth brush my flesh but do not
puncture
again and again i reach to my sister
my n early perfect twin

Our appendages touch and embrace
as we wait for the next punch line
thank goodness it wasn't that funny.

i am now in a jungle of hair
dancing with the few strands who come
to join me.
i spin each around and around
until i cannot remember their names
finally, i decend to the table

My sister is busy
hugging a glass of upland
wheat ale
Theya re in a passionate embrace.
Sweat transferring.
Tears flowing.

WE again meet and the pleasurable pain returns
as we send our appreciation
to the comedian 3 feet away

*

I'm trapped
under cheap plywood and ugly veneer.
Suffocating myself with my sister.

The bruise from where i fell down keeps
me company
The cut from shving keeps my sister
from isolation

I hear distand laughter
I am hit and stuck in stale gum
Again i retreat
A bit sticker, but not in pain.

I jump to keep warm
The punch lines are muffled
as though he speaks through a telephone
with a handkerchief over the reciever
and hotdogs in his mouth.

Can we leave yet?
I suffocate my sister
we switch to keep each other happy.

"town writing" free write

this was an in-cass assignment where we were all given descriptive quips about a character in one town and had to write about them.


When i was 18, my best friend was the star quarterback. I was head cheerleader but quit after 3 seasons. Bill's girlfriend of four years, her name was sara, was a friend of mine too. Swimming star. She liked me well enough, but i always saw the looks she'd give Bill as i spoke with him before french. I hated relationships but kept that to myself. I"m a free spirit. A lost 60s child in a world of match dot com and finding true love. "you're nobody till somebody loves you."

So instead i kept friends. Male friends, female friends, 'couple friends', which of course were most prominent. They'd keep away from me seperately. Bill doesn't come over to watch terminator 2 with me unless sara comes. and then it isn't as fun, because sara doesn't like guns. Or accents.

When i returned home after college, it seemed people didn't grow up. their jealousy and lack of trust kept me from close friendships. Jack and i could watch football on sunday, but it had to be at a bar where the eyes of Kristin's friends could lock onto the activity and quickly report back with any unacceptable warning signs. i've often wondered if i should just be with a man so i can have friendships.

It Was Good In Theory

(Prose poem)

It Was Good In Theory

The micro-waved leftovers make my teeth bounce like acorns on a trampoline. The candelabra is overpowering and creating empty holes where your eyes should be. The steak tips are tires in my mouth and the gravy is chalk stuck in the crevices of my teeth. The peas I control on my plate are lost BBs. Separated in battle from their general and now POWs on my fork. Your V-day dinner should be recalled. This music must be a sick joke as your favorite Nine Inch Nails song plays on your stereo. I launch a pea in my mouth and it almost cracks my tooth. The romantic mood has fallen out like the aftermath of atomic warfare. My hair is my protection from your gaze. My brow, from this angle, nearly perfect McDonald’s arches as the eyebrow hair distorts my view of you. I drink the wine that is as pink as a pencil’s eraser. Tastes of water and rubbing alcohol. You really spent too much on me darling. Boxed wine doesn’t come cheap. The only salt my food receives is from the tear that falls onto the mashed potatoes and is quickly absorbed by the parched spuds.

Infectious Disease Barbie

(Imitation of Denise Duhamel's work...)

Infectious Disease Barbie

Barbie waits by the water cooler for Ken to appear.
Her azure blouse matches her eyes perfectly.
And as Ken walks up to her, his tie is the same
blue as her eyes.

A quick glance the jumps from Barbie to her lover
is as urgent as salmon jumping upstream.
They return to saving the lives of the innocents in the
criminal world of rapes and murders.

The end of the day brings Barbie to the Positive Link Program
at the local hospital.
Her plastic fingers, molded together, can't sweat,
let alone twiddle as they desire.
Her smile is happy and confident but inside
her phantom stomach turns.

The test is difficult since there is no blood to draw
or cells to swab from the cheek.
But Barbie's not positive she's negative.
the needles that have punctured her face may have been used before.

Barbie hums songs from Rent over and over in her head.
As the doctor approaches, she beckons Barbie and tells her
She has a disease, but it's not likely to spread.

1994

(Imitaion poem of Nick Flynn..i suggest you check out his work)


1994

I found you reading your medicine labels.

They were billboards of your life that only you were allowed to see.

You swung me up into the sky at the park

& white plumage attacked me and the bread in my hand.

The man who came to help us is nice but he reminds me of Mr. Slugworth.

Your hand in his is like a zipper.

I watch you from behind my jungle gym monkey bars.

The prison i built for you.

You take me to an opera so i can experience sorrow.

I don't know the language.

20 Pieces: A little poetry project

In class exercise where Alison gave us instructions (write a metaphor...Use a proper name...Tell a lie...Etc)

My heart is a bungee jumper plummeting down to the unknown.

I wake to dog's breath.

A flute solo. A warm kiss. Brown eyes with flecks of green...crinkles around them. A crisp apple. My laundry after it is done in the dryer.

I saw before me a warm smile as i hugged my grandmother.

her name was Ruth Wilson SanSimeon. Full of families of women with heads held high despite tragedies and oppression.

Her name as not SanSimeon. But the lie was not total. She lived outside the city of San Simeon and loved to drive to Hearst Castle to see the objects purged from Europe and brought to America. It was the closest she'd get.

My father's Corvette is a brilliant white with no scratches or rust to be seen. "Upair" is where he keeps his favourite California Car Duster. Just behind the wooden sign. Why it was hidden there, i'll never comprehend.

He knew if i used it for my car, the paint would not shine but would turn my car from midnight blue to red and perhaps he would fear the Corvette tainted.

"I have coffee on my hand and sweatshirt but it hasn't spilled out of the cup!!"

The snow is my shower as i walk to class despite my clean hair.

I watched a giraffe on the discovery channel fall over its own feet. Aren't they supposed to edit these things?

I rode a camel through the desert, abandoned of all hope. I fell forward in the saddle before i came to a town.

"Stacey is a waterworks" I heard him say.

he will not remember me. or her. we will part ways and at first stay in contact with overly simplified emails and birthday cards. But it will fade and while i will be slumped like a wilting sunflower, i will grow again.

I found on my desk my harmonious post cards i was to bring to europe.

"I am going to be the first woman to hike up the Eiffel tower."

Mais, c'est impossible. Ah, c'est la vie mon chère. Je t'adore.......

The Tower hugged me in its arms as i climbed the stairs and felt as if i was with Ruth. Safe in her arms.

The coffee's steam rises from her sweatshirt.

Glorious Elbow

Free write for 20 minutes based on a part of my body. i choose elbow. :)

My elbow is bony. almost unbelievable for the rest of the fluff that is on me as i feel it kreek into my other apendages. Kreep with a "K"? And it often seems like it is flying out of my body with no one to guide it, as i hit people i dn't like because they have prettier blonde hair or bigger teeth.

my weapon of choice. Becuase it has an easy "sorry" with it.

oh man, that elbow just was out there. I was talking with my hands and didn't see my chicken wing arms peck your eyes out.

Ha!

I am writing in the near total darkness to keep from editing. My elbow is dry and it catches on a running shirt I have. It's supposed to soak up sweat as i "work out." (ha!) But instead pulls on the scales oof my elbow as if it were small mice teeth. What are you doing there mice?

I'm trying not to think about not thinking and this is almost harder than in class.

My roommate is almost literally coughing out her lungs. Maybe i should've written about those. It pisses me off because i am awake too, but really, I feel sorry for her. Her and her perfect blonde hair and blue eyes. If you'd have pointed her out to me before we were friends, i'm sure my elbow, especially the right, would've nearly jumped at the chance to accidently bump her She'd fall like a willow branch.

My elbows will one day be moisture rich. Glorious. No more mice bites.

My arm hurts.

My elbow sees what i cannot. If it had ears on it, how beautiful! I heard and saw what you said across the dinner party. And now that i know you don't like me, i can stop being so dog, dod, god damn polite! FUCK!

my mom is dsylexic. Am I?

I rang up an order wrong at work again. Whoops. Screwed up more $ @ the cstore. Hatred.

I smashed a door with my fist. My elbow was jealous.

he doesn't get to act out any fantasies. Only passively listening to all that goes on, wondering why he must stay so far away. Even in writing this, he tries to get close to my belly, but she hates me and retracts inward with the repulsion of sauerkraut. Yuck.

Poor guy just wants to be loved.

As i age, his skin will be lazy. As lazy as i am now? Impossible. That was in a french dialect or accent. ok, word. But it is spelled the same.
Oh the french.

With their own elbow sticking out for the world to see. Their tower of lights that symbolizes love and art.
My elbow symbolizes death and isolaation.

Come close to my core, dear elbow. Stop holding the weight of the world, ok...my head in my hand, and be warm with me for a few short moments. Feel needed. Feel loved. Then run back out to the cold where i keep you like a dog gone rabid.

Poor Yeller. Poor Ol' Dan. wasn't rabid. Was he?

My elbows. Full of pain. but not from tennis.

Almost done w/20 minutes. To keep on keepin on? No like i've really stayed on the elbow thing.

Jesus...should've done ankle..as mine screams at me when my foot hangs off the bed. No longer. Poor thing. Bruised and swollen.

The elbow never gets that love and attention. It is the class clown of the body parts, tied in with the shy nerd who gets off as a crazed voyeur. But is deaf moute. Mute. silent. Shhhhhhh

heather's asleep, sick and coughing.

It watched out of for me as i wrote an essay on Harry Potter and The Giver.

My elbow will watch the mourners come to say goodbye to me as they cry. But only if i'm placed just right.

Secrets

This was another writing exercise in class. We started to write a poem about a National Enquirer article, then we were given a secret from a classmate (random) and fuse that in with the story.

Secrets

Jimmy Swaggart's love for God is evident as he gives his hand to the woman on the floor who begs for her sins to be forgiven. He cries with her, prays with her, then leaves the stage.

Cannot do it anymore. His sex scandal has wiped his credibility out the window. But the paraplegic didn't say no, so it wasn't rape; it was fine. Right?

But Jimmy again uses this to his advantage. "I have sinned as you have sinned! Now there is nothing between us. Only JEsus Christ, the ONE son of God, is free from sin! He wipes a tear with his hankerchief.

The phone rings with a credit card number. Collection plates are passed around. Even more money is given to the Church because Jimmy came out straight with his followers.

Jesus's followers?

So life at home is great. His family and he in a 3 story house with a car for each; even those under 16.

It pays to work for the Lord.

He goes for a soak in the hot tub. All that preachin' can wear a man out. The bubbles burst on his skin like boils. Feels so good.. Gettin' right with the Lord. The margurita in his hands is cold and smooth on his throat. He is at peace with his life.

But all will change in a few short hours. Because while being honest with your church will bring kudos to your wallet, you haven't been that honest now were you Jimmy?

because the whole truth is that Jimmy is still a virgin. Oh yes! Your sex scandals were a scandal weren't they? That poor paraplegic. Thinking she got the best sex of her life. No. the dildo you used worked wonders didn't it?

Your wife. Your...child? The dildo worked on her too, but how to explain your daughter? Paternity tests. oh yes. All of your best friends. the Church requires urine drug tests after the debacle with Tammy Faye. So you creeped in like mouse and took all. Took one from your baby girl. oh yes.

and now.

you wait.

working first lines

i saw an asian man waxing his car in the moonlihght tonight.


i am a marshmellow in a microwave, expanding and expanding until i cannot take the self inflicted torture and wait for either final explosion or sweet release of the timer that is so loud it wakes me up inside and i can shrink back to my original size and be soft and warm.

Combination Poem

Another in-class assignment. Directions: make 2 lists then combine them into a poem. I used my room and my grandparent's pyramid house)

The cold glow of the computer monitor
illuminates the Buddha that calms me.
Two blue wool scarves are out of place in the desert of Las Vegas.
But it cools down at night and
the sphinx guards the door
against unwanted spirits.

A jar of change in case of an
emergency
run to a Laundromat.
Old pictures of friends from high school are
brightened by the sun coming through the
stained glass.

Glass prisms lie on
each window sill.
The window is open a crack and the peach tree
in the garden is showered
by the artificial rain
falling up from the sprinkler.

Majestic Tour

We were lost going nowhere
as the road took us away
from our mundane lives of
reading and
writing and
working and
towards the unknown
which revealed trees
in yoga positions
and grass dancing
in such synchronicity that the Rockette's would be envious
when we found a winery,
a secret vineyard made just for the two of us
(the other 7 people
were figments of the owner's imagination
we suspect),
and we majestically walked through the
dirt rows of grapes
picking out the lucky ones
privileged enough for this year's harvest
then laughed until we fell
as we sank into the ground
and looked at the clouds that were just
the faintest of painters' touches against the sky
before before we drove home
and sang to Fank Sinatra:
The Way You Look
Tonight.

Autobiography List

(This was a free write done in class very soon after Chloe's funeral)



The ancient house with six generations and I am one of the last. My 2 sisters whose youth I envied at a young age as my back went out at 12. My mother who baked chocolate chip cookies for my girl scout troupe that at met across the street as we screamed, played tag and harassed the old people who lived on my block. My dad who was often at work and never played with us. The three lazy boyz he sat in. The constant fixing of the ancient wood, brick and paint. The glassy, shiny and cold "new" products for the house. The fridge, wishing machine, and stereo. My dog. That everyone loved and loved to hate until I left for college and missed her shedding blonde hair so much it hurt. Her warm brown eyes that always trusted. My brown eyes. My sisters' brown eyes. My dad's brown eyes. My mother's emerald eyes. My dad's cancer. A tear as he holds his towel to his face as he washes my car with me. The first time I've seen him cry. My mother who cries everytime I leave for school. The cancer, as I see it, invaded my father like battleships in space. My cousin who deals with more death than anyone could handle. Ten years apart. Suicide. Car wreck. Suicide. Car wreck. Watching him cry. Watching myself say bye to Chloe. The ice on my hands as I touched her face. Was that a snowflake? The theatre where I learned to cry and the hating of crying as the doves flew to meet God with Chloe.

Work Haikus

(these are in preparation for the poem/s due Tuesday)

A bored expression
At least the money is good
God I hate it here.

people wait for food
their lips downturned in a frown
not even "thank you"

The bacon is done
Lettuce so crisp in my mouth
hating this sandwich

Alarms going off
Cookies are burnt to a crisp
No milk anyway

Incompetant boss
overpriced slice of pizza
glorious when starved

Put on the old coat
I know you can see your breath
But freezers need stocked

Thank you bags and smiles
We dont mean a word of it
Give me an Oscar.

Dont forget the gloves
making the salads today
wouldn't want them sick

The apple is bruised
The orange with white spots on it
Please throw them away

Elegy for a Stag

Preface: This is an in class poem in which I had to write an elegy (ie, funeral poem) for one of Aesop's animals. Here is the fable:

The Stag With One Eye
A stag, blind of one eye, was grazing close to the sea shore and kept his sound eye turned towards the land, so as to be able to perceive the approach of the hounds, while the blond eye he turned towards the sea, never suspecting that any danger would threaten him from that quarter. As it fell out, however, some sailors, coasting along the shore, spied him and shot an arrow at him, by which he was mortally wounded. As he lay dying, he said to himself, "Wretch that I am! I bethought me of the dangers of the land, whence none assailed me: but I feared no peril from the sea, yet thence has come my ruin."

Also, dear reader(s), stags often symbolize pride, sacrifice, and independence.

Elegy for a Stag

The white snow falls as we walk
away from the beach.
The lighthouse shines on us
momentarily as we speak.

I remember he left to be on
his own on his second birthday.
In stag years, that’s about 12. Still
ambitious.

I knew he visited his mother
often, bringing her the best raspberries
he could find.

How she weeps.
Her head hung to the snow covered beach.
As she looks back,
his blood, though dulled, is still
too bright against the contrasting white.

When he lost his eye, he was
bleeding and laughing.
"How all will know me!
I saved my wife and the bobcat
now dead!” as he held his head high.

He was always on guard after that day.

I am always on guard too.

I see him in the sea now.
He dances on the waves and I
smile as I watch him laugh
the same laugh as the day he was mauled.

I giggle as I point to the sea and shout “I see you!”

I see you.

The Power of My Pen

The Power of My Pen

I turned a man I do not like
into an ox.

I pushed him down a ravine
and said he'd be better off
in life as
a belt.

Low.

Evil.

Fantastic.

I have the power of the gods
at my hands.

Zeus is powerless,
unless he gets pissed

and the lightning hurts more
than my inky remark.

But the "do me a favour"
MUST be stopped!

Though it is funny, my choice
of an animal for this shell of a human.

Because all that comes
from his mouth is an
animalistic groan.

Or mumblings if i am lucky.

The mooing may be just as persistant,
but at least i can tune that out.

And legally serve him as dinner.

Funeral

how painful when
you want to let go
but can't.

not because you should be strong
not because of shame
and not because your
heart's made of stone.

but because your nose
just hurts too much.

The funeral home
of all place
should have the best tissues.

Moisture rich and full of lotion
so when you see the angel
lying on the satin pillow

You can wipe your
nose and eyes and
not feel that it isn't

just your heart
that's bleeding.

On the Path

I am writing this on a roll of paper towels
at my job.

Hello, Jack Kerouac!
The neverending glory of the stream of consciousness that
will never stop..

I saw that manuscript. On the Road. It really was
on the road.

Travelling from library to library.
Who would see it? Who would want to?

Apparently, i would. And i did.
It stretched from one end of the library to
the other.

A medieval parchment. Only a bit more recent.

The sporadic souls in the grand room were
all in the exact
same postition.
As if they were dancers in a ballet
with choreography made
especially for them.

Parallel to the manuscript
that was encased in glass
were their bodies.
Lined up in random order
their heads turned to the side.

My dog looks at me this way and
sometimes i feel like she understands me
and tilts her head to the side.
She really looks kind of intelligent.

The same, are we just appearing intelligent
with our hands folded behind our backs and
our bodies at an 80 degree angle?

jack, Wouldn't you be proud?

Ryan...Ugh.

The Cashier

He sites like The Thinker
Rodin would be proud.
His shoulders hunched foward
in obnoxious agony.
it is not the weight of the world on his shoulders.
it is hell pulling him home.

he is as far from noble as
Ramen noodes are from
smoked salmon and caviar.
New clothes will not save you
and Henry Higgins cannot cure you of your simple tongue and speech.

If you were to find salvation in
an education
you still could not escape your overly simple nature.
It is your shoulders that give you away.

A bit more rounded and you'd be an ox.
Suitable only for hard, manual labour
in the filth and the mud.

it is cold and your hooves will lose
all traction as you slide down
the ravine.

Even as you groan for help,
no one will rescue you.
They will spit on you as they walk by
chatting with each other
that you would have made a better
belt.

Sensual

Sensual

swelling
pulsing
Love.

rhythm
beauty
Love.

pain
pleasure
Love.

pounding
gentle
Love.

Music.

Hometown (in class)

Hometown

What is it about Greenfield that makes people stay?
Generations of people who move houses
but they are only a few blocks away.

Is it the idea of a family as being planted
that strikes people?

Giant Sequoias of families in this one town of green.
Or white, if you get what I mean.

Roots that are so deep that you get lost in the earth.
You travel on the back of an ant,
which is acceptable,
(they often carry heavy burdens)
and slowly decend the roots.

There's my cousin. Add 15 more.
There's grandpa. And grandma.
But she's beating him with a broom.
And step-grandpa is there too.

Deeper we crawl as I see relatives
whose pictures I know
and I can guess a name
but it is all a mystery.

What is it about my house
that people love so much?
Anther root in the tree?
Over 150 years old, and
"so beautiful"?

Why don't they leave?
Why come back after college?
Why marry the high school
sweetheart?

Perhaps it is the home they
cannot leave.
It is the
unfortunate
gold standard.
the Good Ol' Days.

And the good ol' days are far and gone
the "national road" that runs through our town
And the settling of mighty Greenfield
Must've been great.

Imagine the dirt highway that runs through the center of town
Running east and west with horses pulling mail and milk carts
and mud that dries on the ladies' boots.

Imagine the money in Greenfield Banking Co.
with its two story facade facing the courthouse
because money and politics would never coexist.

Imagine the courthouse. Its gothic glory
rising like a flag's mast
proclaiming justice for all of Hancock county
as the iron bells of the clock
echo time for everyone.

Imagine the years going by and the changes they bring.
As the dirty gives way to brick on
Ol' US 40
and horses phased out to "farms" where
children are told they'll have more room to run.

Imagine the Depression. As the gas boom ends
and they money is gone.
The terror as lines grow out of the bank
and another forms out of the courthouse.
And the backs of the last two people in line
are back
to back.

Imagine prom on the roof of the building
next to the bank.

Imagine Pickett's Hardware and
in the era of gum for a dollar,
in one visit with dad to get a few nails
and a single nickel, a handful of gum
spills forward.

Imagine the trees that started so small
and must now be cut down
because nobody expected
they'd last.

Imagine my family.
Five generations in this town
All of importance.
And the shoes to fill.

Imagine the disappointment when I leave.

Because Pickett's has closed forever.
The bank is now an ATM.
The new State Road is on the interstate
and Starbucks has invaded my safety.

The Different Stars & Suns

The Different Stars & Suns

The yellow orb in the sky, so familiar
Now there were two as
the neon yellow softball few into
the air

Already abused by the alluminum
bats of others
It sailed through the air
as graceful as a rocket.

The crash as it hit the tree
was deafening
The breathless anticipation of a homerun
fulfilled.

The first home run, and a momento now
to excite, inspire, and remind.
Her own personal sun.

Memory

ory

The needles stick out
reminding me
of days when all were together
and happy

The needles beckon and i
go to them
pick them up
and laugh.

I twist my hands around
them
and wish all could see me.

I turn the needles on
myself
Then gently put them
back
with the yarn.

Getting back to ANOTHER blog...

So i figure i'll at least use this blog for something. why not put the poetry i've been writing at work on this thing? it's all horrible, but i don't care. So here we go! an entry a poem!

not so much to really talk about. i got this more so i can comment on jess's site without telling her (twice) who i am. ;)

more later i'm sure. i post way too often.