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Jan. 9th, 2013


Going Nowhere

Lose the pepper, drop the salt
Pluck vinegar from oil
Seize the us from the qs
Rob the spoken from the word
Swipe pen off paper
Run off with one of my socks
Filch a train from it's tracks
Sell the table, keep the chairs.
Let's go away together,
I'll take off, going North,
(Don't look behind!)
You leave, travel South,
Rip film from cameras
And trail it behind us like kites,

some liberties with the line and punctuation :)

Dec. 17th, 2012



I'm planning a trip
To the end of the earth
When the straight lines
Start to curve
In roads and on horizons
Where a murky darkness settles
Comfortable and alone
Huddled under a sunset,
Deepening to night-purple,
And falling hard over our heads
In place of stars.

Dec. 3rd, 2012


Trapped Tern

Scribbling small words
On post its
Is about the only chance I get these days

Days I spend, more often than not,
Between walls
Thinking inside boxes
Motionless, basically
Reluctant to compare myself
To a caged bird who has stilled in the face of imprisonment, a bird who, for so long, chirped and rallied and screeched to her feathered friends preaching rebellion at her caged counterparts, insisting on insurrection. Now stifled and silent staring through steel stanchions.

Something that has resorted to stale metaphors and cheap alliteration. Something with clipped wings, hobbled, perched, unmoved.


Dec. 7th, 2010


(no subject)

 Hey, guys, I just wrote a poem I really like...

Click here!
I have a lot of my poetry from Linebyline in my memories (see user info), and not a lot of it is also here, so be sure to check it out.  I am a fan of a lot of that poetry/prose.


Jun. 26th, 2010


Real Spring

Date Unknown - March 2010

Real spring green is a newly-minted tulip leaf young and still hugging the mother stem. The leaf clings to the creator but maybe tomorrow will really reach for the sky. It will never be a flower. Maybe it will be a blue sky, or maybe grey and it will rain. Who knows? Who cares - it's March. So maybe the wind will blow and snap the stem so the unbloomed tulip stem will sway, barely touching the ground, and eventually fall.

May. 5th, 2010


(no subject)

Broke the sound barrier 100 mph ago, about to catch up to the light.

Mar. 20th, 2010


I Know Some Things Cannot Be Forgotten

Hair reaches out, flows,
Snagging on sky as it trails the girl
who is running away with her kite
which makes it elated journey above her through inflated clouds.
The fence forms a ring
that cannot contain her, for it was built for someone else.

She runs fast, else
green seas of grass will flow
to surround her in a whirlpool ring
meant to drown the diligently lost girl.
While her conscience may still cloud
She shrugs off silent storms - she soars her kite.

A bright kite,
made and bought by someone else.
It's red and yellows contrast with the cloud
through which it is now drifting on air that takes it's time to flow
toward the girl.
The cold sun dares inquire about the glinting ring

on her finger, a ring
that was only a promise, a promise that left when she freed the kite.
This girl
is allowed to breathe for herself or else she may give up the opportunity.
And so, air keeps up it's flow into lungs filled with clouds.

(I originally wrote this January 6, 2006)

Second Grade

We would dive into dirt
hands, then feet into the mud
gliding past stones, and bones, and clay
and shards of rock
until, at last, we would combine
with the middle we always
colored orange in second grade.

Jul. 19th, 2009


(no subject)

You open your National Geographic, and all of Earth's colors spill out, into a swirling pool you will never comprehend.  And you look down, and see India and the Amazon and your Own Backyard. And you see grim men and women and children, some of them are starving, and some of them are not.  There are bright pictures of parrots and photographs of dimly lit coal mines with shinning faces in the darkness and they are all in a million hues you will never see.  You sit and you read.
I will open my window and look around.

Jun. 4th, 2009


(no subject)

Just for The Fun of It,
I buy a hundred yellow balloons.
Each on a string and
when the come together in my right palm
I feel myself
lift up
and soon, only my 
left toe is left
on the ground.
I spite gravity and laugh
as I reach out and touch the nearest cloud.
I spend the day looking around but
there's not much to do when you're Up but look Down.
And it's strange, being removed.

Night falls, I drift down.
I don't want to go back
but it's the inevitable.
Nature wins, only -
I see no place to touch down
and end up
getting my feet wet,
landing in the Lake.
I know what they don't.
I know Amelia Earhart lives.
I'm swimming to shore.

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