Sunday, May 29, 2011

What a crazy random happenstance

69th post, oh yeah. I feel like I've achieved greatness.

A glance from this person may cause:
swooping sensation in the stomach,
unnatural giggles,
frequent, matched glances in class,
spontaneous flirting,
increased heart beat,
dizzying of the mind,
singing of love your room,
constant daydreaming,
over increased amount of smiling, 
and a general giddiness.

If you exhibit these signs you have
what is known as a “crush”
There is no cure.
Good luck.



Poem-a-Day Challenge, Day 5 (read: Olivia is really bad at this...)
there were dark eyes
like embers
or ashes
hidden underneath
the flames

and also a
kettle, silver and
smooth, when
she was calm,
as cool liquid
is for it rarely
makes a sound, even
upon descent

aromas of unquenched
tea bags kissed the
noses of the lucky
sweetly, and
soon embers were
flames with sleeping
water above

she was
trapped, contained
and utterly unable
to dance with danger
never close enough to
touch without a heart

and she was being
watched, unless
it was a mirage that
fell before her steam-clouded
watched by the flames
asking her to let go

was there anywhere to
go, but up?
warmth ignited everything
and each molecule
moved a thousand
times a minute
a liquid heartbeat
leap and pop
pluck then pop
pop, pop

frenzy, like
those days when
the sun could pierce to
your bone marrow
and a pool of
cool water
rested a foot away

sizzling ensued
boiling maybe
heat that emanated
from within and
from the outside
sang to her soul
a chance to take or
leave forever

she condensed her spirit
taught like a tether
and let the things that
didn’t matter ring a
cloud song to the world

the fire consumed her
as gravity
flipped and silently
she slid away

she allowed her heart to
pour downward into
a porcelain catcher
and at the first drop
of her soul everything
that happiness smells like
danced within and around her

free at last,
she was submerged in what the
flames had made her
and no longer
was she alone,
just her cup of


Saturday, May 28, 2011

Absolutely Perfect

The writing club prompt was:  It's pouring.  Include a ring-pop
I got the ring... pop in there.   ;)  comments please?!
May 28, 2011

The rain is pouring down, tickling the window sill and trickling down the glass.  Lightning flashes and the soft figure laying next to him stirs softly, mumbling in her sleep.  Leaning down in the darkness, he lightly brushes the hair aside from her sleeping face, a gentle angel at his side.  Running a finger down her cheek he smiles remembering that night so long ago, that fateful day in the rain…

He had planned it out for months, running down every rough detail into smooth pebbles in his mind.  He wanted to make sure everything was absolutely perfect.  Nothing less than that would do.  

A creased and wrinkled piece of paper, read over so many times, lay on the passenger seat of the car, a letter she had written to him years ago.  Just a glance at the little folded treasure fills his stomach with purple butterflies and tugs at the corners of his mouth, drawing his lips back into an excited, idiotic grin.  He smiles all the way down her street, pulling up her driveway and hiding the letter and a small blue box away in his pocket, tucked into his heart.    

She looks absolutely perfect, as always.   Her face fills the window, his reflection staring back right next to her sweet face.  I don’t belong next to that face!  She’s an angel, look at that smile!  I’m nothing.   He rolls down the reflection and forces a smile to his face.  Fear of rejection floods over him.  Why would she choose me?  Why on Earth would she say yes… how could she lo—

Her crooked smile leans down through the open window and kisses his worry-wrinkled forehead, banishing the questions from his mind.   The simple act shatters the iron grip of panic and sets those butterflies free once more.    Before he can open the door she has already skipped around to the other side and jumped in beside him.  A single strand of twisting hair tickles her cheek and he gently guides it back into place behind her ear.  A rosy blush dances across her smile, a laugh escaping from her heart and floating on the air.   God, it’s great to hear her laugh again, to have her beside him—to be together again.  They pull down the drive and race away, sealed with a song on the radio and wrapped up in smiles.

The afternoon passes by in a blur, time whirling by along with the rest of the world.  Everything had gone according to plan, nothing less than absolutely—


No… no no no no this can’t be happening.  Not now!

His spirits wash away with the driving rain, all his plans bleeding like paints on a canvas, dripping in brilliant colors and splashing on the ground.   He turns to his love to apologize and take her home.  But to his surprise, she takes his hands in hers and laughing begins to pull him to his feet, running hand in hand down the empty street in the rain.  While everyone else races to cover they stand and dance, dance in the rain.  His disappointment melts into sweet puddles, dripping off his nose as he pulls her close.  They move to the beat of their own bass drum, a melody only they can hear, in perfect time with each other's heartbeats.

  He smiles as their gaze meets in her eyes, pools of crystal full of life and love, hair drenched and limp, clothes soaked, make-up smeared.  Yup.  She’s the one.  She’s absolutely perfect.  

He digs his hand into his pocket
Drops his knee down into a three inch puddle
Pulls out a ring—pops the question

A flash of lightning retrieves him from his soggy memories… back from that day in the pouring rain, back from the beginning, back to his love.  He leans down and kisses her softly on her forehead.  Together through it all, braving the rain, dancing in the storm.  Together, absolutely perfect.

Friday, May 27, 2011

seven deadly honesties.

because I love that I hate that
I can’t stand your

because it’s always better than
one, except when
it’s not

because the foliage is heavenly and
the sky reflects earthen

because unavoidable imagery is, well, unavoidable
in some things, when it comes
to greenery

because it makes a circle, a great whole circle
with insides and outsides and

because of the cursing and the red, oh
and the looks you give

because you thought no one was watching
and so did I , and look where
that got us.

The Truth About Things

We as a people
cling to material things
like a drowning man
clings to rotting wood

We as a people
ignore the cries
of those losing hope
like a hunter
ignoring those of his kill

We as a people
judge the words of others
like the fates
judge our lives

We as a people
strive for want
like the religious 
strive for perfection

We as a people
abhor our true being
like the angels
abhor the devil

**I haven't posted in a while! Ash*


Rain falls down on the footpath
while thunder rocks the ground with its roar.
A light turns to shadow behind the window of a house
to hide the fact that someone's still home.

Water taps gently on the front door
and silence screams “nobody's here.”
Lightning flashes all through the yard
and lights a pair of eyes behind the glass.

She waits alone behind a curtain's shroud
and burns like the stars above the clouds.
Yet like nobody sees the sky tonight,
nobody will see her.

In her mind stirs a troubled, frightened dream
that can only hide, but hopes to be free.
The gray of the clouds reflects the walls
and the prison-like aura they've always held.

The thunder subsides as silence returns,
and words in her mind speak aloud
to remind her that she'll never be free,
but from the freedom to escape.

But when they speak, she understands
that for words to win, they must be heard.
And she earned her freedom when she cast them from her mind.

Imagination comes at a cost

Is it true that
not only recognition 
but encouragement as well
is necessary
for creativity to be considered

Perhaps the hand that screams
for hungry god
is really just a sharp stab
from a pencil.
Maybe that soul bleaching
headless bowl of whipped cream
is actually shampoo.
So, reasonably, the shark swimming
in a neon sea of bloodless paper
probably isn’t so.

Nothing is truly creative
unless the peers and publishers
glare through the sharp lensed 
microscopes and decide.
Anything deemed uncreative
such as the flying daffodil trees
or elephants with glowing 
pinwheel trunks
is discarded.
Thrown away into 
the growing, invisible landfills
of imagination
and inspiration. 

Now dead and gone
all because 
they said so.


Thursday, May 26, 2011

Today, what are you?

Early morning
The sun isn’t even up
Eyes crack open
Clock starts with a 5.
Eat something healthy
Energy for today
For today
Is the day
Today is
THE day
Everything about today fights against you
The sun drains the living life out of your soul
The air itself dries every breath
Leaving you gasping
And somehow, there’s serenity
For it doesn’t matter 
Who’s there
What the weather is
How you felt earlier
What matters now
Is what you do with today
Others laugh
All strong and muscular
Talk of their achievements intensify the atmosphere
Yet there you are 
Feel the sun dry your blood
the blood gush out your legs
your stomach cringe in pain
the sweat steam off of your face
your hands burned to a crisp
And Most importantly
Make everybody wish
They were you
Because with everything against you
You made it
It doesn’t matter
Their tales of glory
and victory
and pride
what matters today
is yours.
Stand up
Head held high.
You’re a Winner.


This poem
on my computer
will say that it posted around 5:40

Why does blogger lie?
it is 8:40
because Vampire Diaries is about to go off

But I wont be cliche
and start talking about the meaning of time
I'll leave that for James
That reminds me of clocks!
Which reminds me of Jena's culminating

While I''ve been rambling
the clocks been ticking
I'm running out of time
before dinner gets cold

So I'll let blogger lie
if only for now
so I can get some ramen noodles


Numero ocho
necesito diez por ahora
para yo no buena
a poesia

Una poema en espanol
sera diferente
Jenamarie le va a gusta

Para yo sabe
muy poco espanol
asi que mayoria
esto es problamente incorrecta

Para yo no me importe
porque esta es numero ocho

Tools of a Teenager's Life

Such harsh words

I may be stalling
to keep from telling someone
something they do not want to hear

I may be procrastinating
from one project
just to do another that is more pertinent

I may be avoiding
someone because i know if i see them
I will punch them in the gut


Such things are necessary
to survive high school
so don't judge

Titles are too Limiting

A poem about poems
is ridiculous
isn't it?

And a poem about flowers
is so cliche
but Olivia makes it wonderful

A poem about jeans
seems so pointless
but Jena makes it marvelous

A poem about Doctor Who
would be much too complicated
but Haley will go do it now

A poem with no plot
may be confusing
but Shayli can do that because she's fabulous

A poem about a spaceman
is so childish
but Nathan made it grow up

A poem about your friends' poems
is necessary to tell them how fantastic they are
so I did it

On the Contrary

this is a story
about a girl
a fabulous girl
a wonderful girl
but what does it matter?
because she underestimates herself
and a sad self esteem
never did anyone
any good
yes good?
which is it again?
no good.
for sickness
and perception
lie to her

so the girl
the queen of fabulosity
and poetry
will read this
and smile at her friend's
sad imitation

Words and Labels.

I think I'll write a poem
And I think I'll do it here
Not with a pen or pencil
But with the clickity keys on my typeboard

I don't really know.

And it doesn't really matter.
Because the labels don't really matter

Labels exist for convenience
Things just exist

So I think I'll write a poem
With my typeboard
And even though I call it that
This poem was still written


Yeah guys. I'm really clever. This poem a day business is tough. I'm going to run out of things to make commentary about!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

here we go again.

this is a story
about a girl who
sucks at life
and at updating
but what does it matter?
it's an every day occurrence
and a soggy salad
never did anyone
no harm
yes harm
for words
with words
who, like people,

so the girl who
sucks at life
and at updating
hopes you enjoy
her impromptu

Houses and Homes.

The floor creaks
And the tiles cracked
So they'll soon be replaced.
The windows break
And the siding splintered right off
The whole house can be replaced.

I creak
I crack
I break
I splinter.

Please don't replace me.

"I think therefor I am confused"

Is there anyone
in the universe 
of fools
and desperate lovers
who can say
If they quite jumping
             and laughing
could there be
a white blurred purple moment
where giraffes fly,
a brush can speak of beauty,
all the turtles live to reach the ocean,
and the inner soul
becomes the outside image?
Where time can tell us
why it flies when we most wish it
to freeze?

Suffocation bleeds oxygen
and energy drips exhaustion.
Things are always never
what they seem
and even the purest of angels

But can they tell us?
‘Tell us what?’
Tell us why
the beauty is always hidden fear.
Why anger is red 
and peace is blue.
Why the systems
never have human components.
Why belts have untold memories,
boys speak of fairytales while
girls speak of disaster, and
why one sock is always lost.
And why does the world
appear to be soaked in red
when it was once a vibrant

If they can escape a self-absorbed selflessness 
can they answer
my questions?



I'm very hungry for a snack
I really, really need a snack
don't want anything nutritious,
just really want a snack

Don't need anything sweet
don't want anything sour
just need me a little treat
to get me through the hour

Tuesday, May 24, 2011


Denim is for
Digging for gold out West
And planting trees,
whenever you still do that.

But I love denim.
Even though I haven't made it out West
And I've never planted a tree
Because no one really does that.

Denim is blue
And blue means sadness
But not when you're wearing a pair of shorts.


Freedom bears pale skin and a brilliant voice
that sings sorrows to the enslaved and imprisoned.
She only knows love.

But what happens when freedom is enslaved?
She'll fight – teeth gnashed and hands clenched.
Alas, bound at the wrists and broken in her soul,
she only knows grief.

But by the hands of her children, she flees her prison.
Her once pure virgin skin will never lose the taint it gained.
She won't lament her tragedies, though,
for now she knows much more.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Trains of Thought

A poem a day
one a day
melts onto your tongue
tingling and rough
in and out
I stick my tongue out at you
because you deserve 
to be wiped from the earth.
Quick motion
to a door in the 
leafy green bush 
under a tear screamed 
picture frame.
It contains all of the world,
dripping the devil
into a puddle under the legs
of a deep sea swimmer. 
just keep swimming...
and it goes on and on and on
Energizer bunny,
hoppity hop hop
don’t drown in the devil,
s’il vous plait. 
Giant orangoutang flavored CD cases
confused confuzzled configuration
Wingardium leviosa.
Osa not leviosA
dumb butt
mohawk diaper
in danger
of a terribly uncomfortable 
But wait.
what what?
what what what?
oh dear, if could it go on forever...
did not 
I wonder if it’s chronic
how can someone’s breath
even smell that putrid?
poor goofy freshman.
I get the impression
that you’re too big for your body
but maybe that’s just my bias.
you know he really is 
an amazing creature.
can’t begin to comprehend.
your laugh is infectious
but we know you’re lying.
and then BAM
the end of a lifetime
severed by the icy cold knife
of reality.
With out oxygen 
there can be no love.
Or maybe it’s 
the other way around.
There is no spoon.
There we go. 
There is the sliver lining.
Sliver? Silver?
Silence is gold tape,
betcha didn’t know that.
Maybe I should stop thinking.


1 Corinthians 13: 4-7

Front door slams
Heavy hasty foot falls
Trudge through the hall
Home once more from starched office
Work day in day out
Clock never ceasing
Ticking away the seconds,
Beat by beat till the heat stops and adoration dies
Till time stops and in death do they part
Always in a rush
A race to the end
His voice demanding, his tone commanding, his precious
Is running out

Love is patient

Dark shadow of
Blue bruise sinks
Into her cheek
No matter, nothing she can’t cover
With little white lies and gentle dabs of blush and cream
Stupid girl, do you
Think you mean anything to him?
He already has everything he needs
Ice cold glass of hot liquor
In his harsh fist
Do you really think, stupid girl
That he strikes out of love?

Love is kind

Dirty socks gather dust
Dirty dishes fill the sink
She scowls dirty looks
into the back of his old arm chair
She hates that chair
asleep again
“Lazy man,” she mutters
Engrossed in his sports
Glowing crackling screen of advertisement and entertainment
Fat lazy dirty man
And look at this mess!

Love is not easily angered
It keeps no record of wrongs.

Drunk and staggering
He bumbles into the home again
Supported by his “friends”
Undressing her even now with hungry eyes
Forcing entry
Into house and home
Unwanted guests
Fearsome wolves of men
She is helpless, trapped
Her guardian, her father
Drowning in heavy draft of purchased happiness
Blissful drunken abandon
Free of responsibility, possessed by the bottle
Leaving her alone
Surrounded by ravenous wolves of men

Love always protects

Visiting her sister
Just off to see an old friend
She wouldn’t lie… not to me
My baby, why? Come back
Just tell me the truth
Behind the crumpled paper in your pocket
Black sharpie number
“Call me” <3
Ink bleeds as tears fall
Staining white hands

Love always trusts

Downhill… sputtering out…
Not worth it any more
Maybe her sister was right
Maybe he never will get that new job
Maybe it will only get worse from here
It can only get worse from here
He doesn’t care anymore
We can’t make this work

Love always hopes

The rain streaks down the window pane in tracks
Looking through the glass, they seem to leave
Shadows of tears on her dry cheeks
Twirling the small cold circle of gold
Around and around her finger
Dangling from the tip of her finger by a heartstring
Spin spin spin falls
Empty thud of metal
Echoes in the lonely dark

Love perseveres.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

a haiku for your reading pleasure.

sniffle sniff sniffle
sniffle sniffle sniff sniff sniff
I sniff am sniff sick.

Title, yeah.

A poem a day
Is very hard to say
Three times fast.

I haven't had an ounce of sleep
Not a peep
And no clever rhyme to accompany that.

Sometimes I wish
I was a fish
But I'd probably end up on someone's dish.
Which sucks.

So I've written my poem for the day
Because that's really all I had to say.
And I'm running out of monosyllabic rhymes.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

No need to type it all out

I'm sick and sleepy so forgive me for the short poem :)

Amazingly arrogant,
confidently conceited,
and effortlessly egotistical.
It’s ironic
that all the things you hate about me,
I hate about you.


achieving that sleepy-eyed look.

so valuable
with the coffee and eyeliner and
metallic formulas
going into the efforts of aliveness
and appearing confident in such a way that
is less passively twisted, if possible

so vulnerable
the nights spent with the coffee
and the sitting in this chair, this
one right here
with the velvet brocade
the moon reflecting and blending
pale skin and ivory dressing gown into
a washed-out, drained pastel

the doe eyes
caught in headlights and alarm clocks
murmuring, sleight of hand, lashes dipping
into a cup of all the expectations
smudged views and tripping feet
signal the courage to do what
must be done

the signature
in highlight-like tangerine
and colours blend
when a tired mind tries
logic, that bane.
the look of the sleepless
the look of the successful
the look of the suffering.

Friday, May 20, 2011

No Problems

 There is a dog barking,
over on Carvington Hill.
You know, the perfect neighborhood 
where every person is problem free?
It’s booming but harmless barks echo over
the head of a little girl 
who is crying in the corner
as all of her possessions are carted off 
and her family is forced out of their home.
No problems.

The truck containing her precious toys
drives past a high school
where the seniors
are saying their last tear soaked goodbyes
and giggling about those guys 
that they’re totes gonna marry next year.
Yet, just a hallway away, 
that dark haired girl
who always gets good grades
is busy worrying about 
how she will ever pay to get into college.
No problems

Meanwhile, across the street
in the middle school, 
the girl’s sister and her friends
are bragging about their sex lives
and gossiping over who’s pregnant
with who’s kid
while a guy cries silently in the bathroom,
worrying about how he’s going to pay 
for a child when he’s only in seventh grade.
No problems.

In a stall, 13.84 miles away from the boy,
is a married woman screaming for help
as her high school sweetheart
beats her for not making dinner on time.
No problems.

And as a little child, clutching her mothers hand,
 says her last goodbyes, 
she sees her dark haired neighbor, Alicia,
 arriving home. 
“Bye Miss Alicia” she waves, sadly.
“Oh, dear Kaitlin, it will be ok.” 
Alicia bounds over to hug her.
The moment Alicia’s arms wrap around
the sobbing child, 
a young boy wipes his tears away 
and walks out of the bathroom to his bus.
“Good luck being a father, Dan!”
a teasing voice calls from the faceless crowd. 

Out his bus window, 
Dan sees his little brother’s best friend 
embracing the sister of his pregnant girlfriend. 
Another tear sprints down his cheek 
but he quickly wipes it away.
A few houses down 
Mrs. Manson runs sporadically 
out her front door
followed closely by Mr. Manson 
who is wielding a leather belt.

His bus turns the corner 
and pulls up to the lovely house
on Carvington Hill.
No problems.