HER VOICE IS TINLIKE FLOATING THROUGH THE AIR
EXPANSE OF OPEN ROADS DIVIDING US
WHEN SHE COMES DOWN TO VISIT I USE NAIR
I’m still conflicted about poetry—not quite ready to seal my judgment on it yet, which is good since I”m signed up for a poetry class next semester, but still… I never really felt I was able to get into poetry, I was always writing around it, trying to get at things I couldn’t really feel. [...]
Someday, if I go bald
I can blame my grandfather
It’s easy to blame someone
you never met
I hate poetry.
Every word is wrong
Disgustingly simple, cliché
Who do I think I am?
To define a phenomenon
To know you have lied, misrepresented
Or at least,
tried your best and failed
A growling shock of anger,
indignance, despair.
You search for words you know
do not exist.
The music is weak
impotent, despite their valiant
efforts to churn the air
The bass swallows,
the treble fades
I know the song yet cannot find the parts
Lost in this sea of adolescents and itching
adolescent eagerness.
My mind strains, and finally
begins to find familiar notes
My body wants to jump to sing to play
Yet locked and bound I stand, maybe a sway
But [...]
Prose
Sometimes Muted Tones are nice
Almost the opposite
of the blaring
“I don’t trust you
enough to let you find me
on your own
So I’m going to screech”
-colors.
Muted colors
carry a subtlety their
more saturated companions
will never know.
You want a white that looks white, but
doesn’t really feel white;
You want the cleanliness, but not
the oppressive starkness
of a sanitary ward.
Elegance, simplicity
in light.
Muted light.
V.1
Wading
through the mind’s sludge,
You see, a search light
drag across
the jagged waters,
you onward trod, ever vigilant,
hoping (against hope) to
find something
of value
to your own
thrashing executioner.
Chiffon air rapture
She screamed as
she fell,
thirty stories
down, down
her mad judo skillz couldn’t
help her now.
Squalid asphalt caught her
archipelago of emotion
(Did she bounce?)
He looked at the calendar,
too many lonely years
ahead. He put down his
fork, and jumped.
They could not prevent
the closing of
his palendrome.
What is lemonade?
Two jiggers of kick and a shot of pizzazz.
[Each of these poems was written after moving to a piece of music, then writing this while listening to the music again. Each number corresponds to a different song. If anyone else posted theirs, link to here so we can read how they're similar...]
Freewheeling and dealing, we’ll swoon together now
Blossom and bright in clear fresh [...]
