Poetry
 

share a poem or two. I promise not to make fun of you, ya big sissy.

I walk the world now in the gloaming,
My silken tendrils roaming, roaming.
As though the very air were foaming;
roiling, boiling nether light.

And in the shadows, I do linger,
Grasping without fingers, fingers.
What cold silence I could bring her,
crying, flying from the night.




...still working on this....i haven't decided if this is about a ghost or the fog.....

I'm taking three (3) writing courses this term. College Comp, Intro to Poetry, and Making of Metaphor.

The latter has, in the first two weeks, assigned three love poems to be written.

Here's what I've got so far.

Untitled

He stands on her stoop,
having just given a quick jab
to a gray, paint-caked button.
A buzzer sounds inside,
and the silence that follows drags on
as if he just told an awful joke.

He fidgets, trying in vain to dry his palms
inside the pockets of his rented tuxedo.

A noise.

Glancing up from the suddenly interesting tops of his shoes,
he catches sight of her.
A sharp intake of breath.
As the door opens, he pauses.

Staring blankly forward,
he is not overcome by her stark beauty
or some other cliché fate.

Glancing furtively over his shoulder
he panics, breaking character.
"Line?"

--

Hollywood Romance

A table set for two,
lit by a single candle.
Half-drunk glasses of wine,
no waiter in sight.
Off to the side of the table
is a bouquet of red roses.
They hold hands, smiling.

Pause.

Zoom out.

A darkened room, a man on his couch,
a blanket covering him,
a remote in his hand.
In the glow of the television
sits an empty popcorn bowl
and a can of soda.

--

Young Love

Sprawled across his bed.
Around him, his room:
Pink Floyd posters on the walls,
a cellphone,
clothing in heaps.

He loved her completely,
calling once or twice an hour.
Stalker if you insist,
but he thought it was loyal.

One day he was answered by an angry beep,
saying her phone was occupied.
Taken aback, he looked around for an idle distraction.

Turning to his dust-covered computer,
the keyboard untouched since he met her,
his journey was short.
The roads to Rome were since redirected:
Everything ends in porn.

His pants fell past his knees
and he began with the fervor of a madwoman making toast.
Across the room his phone began to ring,
but he would not abandon his post.

Time passed, he finished.
Ten feet away, the phone blinked.
"Eh," he said, "maybe tomorrow."

Metaphors
 

'Do you like metaphors?', I asked her, waiting.
'Like a simile?', she smiled, sweetly, I thought.
'Like is for similes, as you should know'.
'As a metaphor, your question is a puzzle'.
Her brows knit, her eyes glowed a fair green.
'Poets like similes, politicians like metaphors.'
'Nonsense', I replied, 'Poets change reality more than politicians'
'A duck is like a duck', she said.
'A duck is a duck', I replied.
'Duck!' she cried, throwing the towel.

Planters mixed nuts, 56oz container, filled with nuts and dried pieces of papaya
Borg Cube ceramic coffee mug filled with pencils and pens
thermometer with LCD display, reading 57.0 outside, 73.9 inside
little stuffed cow that actually looks like a pig with cow coloration, wearing a sign that says "SAVE R HIDES. EAT CHICKIN. Chick-fil-a"
rectangular box of transparent smoke colored plastic filled with paper clips
checks, standard bank issue blue with security features, number 313 on top
headphones
Swingline stapler, not bright red, but rather matte black
tiny reproduction of mars Pathfinder rover
forest green cotton longsleave shirt lying all rumpled where I left it after getting home from today's trip to New York City
$15 Best Buy gift card with an image that changes when you look at it from different angles
small nail clipper
mostly empty aluminum 12 oz can of Pathmark seltzer
'3M Precise(TM) Mousing Surface' mouse pad, if it had a sense of self, this one would believe that its pedigree and name would make it superior to all other mouse pads- it would be wrong
several pieces of aluminum confetti shaped like parrots, pineapples, and palm trees all fallen out from inside an envelope of an invitation to a hawaiian themed party that was in early March
Post-It brand Post-It notes, light blue, small rectangular pad

The Fog


I walk the world now in the gloaming,
My silken tendrils roaming, roaming.
As though the very air were foaming;
roiling, boiling nether light.

And in the shadows, I do linger,
Grasping without fingers, fingers.
What cold silence I could bring her,
crying, flying from the night.

My dank embrace, her soul is chilling,
See? Her tears are spilling, spilling!
That she feels my touch at all is thrilling,
Sublime, the time ‘tween night and light.

Old fear now as the light grows stronger,
I pray the time be longer, longer!
Where sunlight shines, my mist no longer.
From thee, I flee before the light.


The Ghost


I walk the world now in the gloaming,
My silken tendrils roaming, roaming.
As though the very air were foaming;
roiling, boiling nether light.

And in the shadows, I do linger,
Grasping without fingers, fingers.
What cold silence I could bring her,
crying, flying from the night.

My dank embrace, her soul is chilling,
See? Her tears are spilling, spilling!
That she feels my touch at all is thrilling,
Sublime, the time ‘tween night and light.

Old fear now as the light grows stronger,
I pray the time be longer, longer!
How my heart, in life did wrong her,
No cheer, I fear, my ghostly sight.

come correction fluid, master of the liquid paper, god of correctional stationary
come see the error of your ways,
for to err is human
and you are always in the wrong.

dear brother
 

I'll never understand
the life you took away
but the hurting and the tears
will leave me soon, now any day

I will recover
and this too will pass
if only you'd realised
in this life, nothings lasts

I will one day forget everything
I will forget every fact
I'm going to push you so far away
for such a selfish act

if in my dreams you haunt me
I wont recognise your face
you'll be a ghost without a name
and a love that's been replaced

This is a few months old.

Azure, violet, copper, scarlet, rose, mauve, maroon
Every sunset color, both the cheerful and the sad,
each hue is manifest within a fibrous bloom,
resting gaily atop a verdant lily pad

Betwixt a fluted cave of granite grand,
the wind croons a contralto reverie.
Lay and loll upon the soft sorrel sand
and gaze upon the flowers of the sea.

the early bird was caught
by the cat
who in one of it's earlier 9 lives
had been a worm.
revenge is sweet
like the song of a robin,
abruptly stilled.
silence is golden
like the eyes of a cat.
its all in the eye of the beholder, anyhow.
if we are what we eat then
cats are robins and robins, worms.
QED: the worm ate the bird.
i think i'll sleep in late
and avoid the entire question.