Anger never fixed anything
but it makes you feel better
feels good to watch the glass
break into tiny pieces
watch the world around you
shatter.
and crumble to your feet
Crumbling till there's nothing left
no buildings.
no support.
no one there
to witness.
To witness your break down
witness the salty water
drain from your face
pouring.
pouring.
creating the Sea of Agony
you now live in.
You half way hope
(and three quarters don't)
that someone will notice
will see you drowning
in your own sea
But you know that they won't
because on the surface
the seas are too calm.
the waves are too composed.
for anyone to suspect
Emotions never fix anything
so maybe
it's better to be an empty shell
drifting for eternity
in the sea
of your creation
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
a failed exercise in stoicism.
her mind is a blur,
possibly because her hands
are unsteady, with their slight
shaking, and
her eyes don’t focus as well as they should
in the early morning.
possibly because her hands
are unsteady, with their slight
shaking, and
her eyes don’t focus as well as they should
in the early morning.
she repeats the same sayings,
the same jokes, like mantras, so as to
give her body the rhythm it so
dreadfully lacks
the same jokes, like mantras, so as to
give her body the rhythm it so
dreadfully lacks
she dresses
and faithfully turns down the sleeves
of her blouse
piecing herself together by
breaking herself apart –
is believing in something so
darkly insignificant a crime?
and faithfully turns down the sleeves
of her blouse
piecing herself together by
breaking herself apart –
is believing in something so
darkly insignificant a crime?
the promises she makes are hard
and shiny like tumbled stones
yet their jagged qualities can’t be
tumbled away.
they remain brittle.
and shiny like tumbled stones
yet their jagged qualities can’t be
tumbled away.
they remain brittle.
she practices printing, then
script in fine red ink,
trailing her y’s and making the
sharpest of v’s
mostly she wishes her facial features were
phonetic
so she could pronounce her emotions
instead of puncturing them.
script in fine red ink,
trailing her y’s and making the
sharpest of v’s
mostly she wishes her facial features were
phonetic
so she could pronounce her emotions
instead of puncturing them.
she is a weaver, and with orchid-scented
palms she hooks and threads and
nimbly orchestrates the digits at the end
of her weakening arms.
these tapestries of elaborate
hope are nothing more than gossamer,
light and fleeting,
and she uses them in defense, allowing
them to settle over those who would rescue her
to comfort, and cover, and fool.
palms she hooks and threads and
nimbly orchestrates the digits at the end
of her weakening arms.
these tapestries of elaborate
hope are nothing more than gossamer,
light and fleeting,
and she uses them in defense, allowing
them to settle over those who would rescue her
to comfort, and cover, and fool.
there are lies, which she
harmoniously practices at the jewelry
counter, or the river, or on those she loves.
for when she tells the truth,
it tastes like plastic.
harmoniously practices at the jewelry
counter, or the river, or on those she loves.
for when she tells the truth,
it tastes like plastic.
and comfort is better than worry and truth;
they may have grown, but she can
still shield them
from the harsher aspects
of the world –
how no one ever really “gets
better”
and we’re all just survivors
of our own personalities
they may have grown, but she can
still shield them
from the harsher aspects
of the world –
how no one ever really “gets
better”
and we’re all just survivors
of our own personalities
she’ll continue surviving
unless she doesn’t
but the more they try to silence her ramblings
and still her unrelenting hands
the less they’ll remember of how
they thought they solved her
in the first place.
unless she doesn’t
but the more they try to silence her ramblings
and still her unrelenting hands
the less they’ll remember of how
they thought they solved her
in the first place.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
River
Did you cross the river on your journey to this town?
For there lies a no-man's land of spirits,
and fates from which no souls could return.
No sunlight shines on the riverbed of murk.
The souls slipped from the graveyard: from the soil to the stream,
and haunted both the bridges and the water.
Are you still alive or are you now broken
by the things you've seen that made your skin grow pale?
When you walk these cursed fields, you call Death upon yourself.
There's not a soul who can save you, and no chance that you'll survive.
The Reaper accepts no pleading, breaks no contract with the curse;
All wars that have been waged here still burn beneath the rot.
Friday, August 26, 2011
The baby prompt thing
[Sorry I didn't read it out loud, I just didn't know how to say it without sounding weird... Yeah, I'm not making much sense, never mind hahaha]
You know when
you're in one of those moods where
your words don't sound right,
things refuse to fall into place,
no one seems to be around,
(even if you're in a crowded room)
and all you can think of
are baby shoes?
Or maybe it's not that.
Perhaps you recall
forgotten toys,
broken record players,
or anything else
that is abandoned
like you.
It seems awful then,
when your mind is closing in on you
and all that you want to do
is write sad poems
about dead baby shoes.
But there is always a light,
always a toy rediscovered
a record player rewired,
people found when there
once were none
and there is always
another child born
to fit it's wriggly feet
into a pair of new shoes.
You know when
you're in one of those moods where
your words don't sound right,
things refuse to fall into place,
no one seems to be around,
(even if you're in a crowded room)
and all you can think of
are baby shoes?
Or maybe it's not that.
Perhaps you recall
forgotten toys,
broken record players,
or anything else
that is abandoned
like you.
It seems awful then,
when your mind is closing in on you
and all that you want to do
is write sad poems
about dead baby shoes.
But there is always a light,
always a toy rediscovered
a record player rewired,
people found when there
once were none
and there is always
another child born
to fit it's wriggly feet
into a pair of new shoes.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Aug. 13th Meeting for RiversideYoungWriters!!!!!!!
I've missed you all--I have secured a guest speaker to talk about song writing--I'm excited--come see me I miss you all. Dust off your songs--and bring them with you.
I received the following message from our guest speaker--Feel free to point the teens to this example of some WORKING outreach I did in Orange a few years back. The 9ONE1 to 4ONE1 track is available on i-Tunes and Amazon but here's a link to the video. I was tapping into my rock days, as you can see : )
In lieu of payment, maybe you can enourage buying the cheap downloads at Amazon and hitting the youTube site to drum up interest.
Good for the guys that are now heading to college. ; ) I won't see any money but they might.......
Thanks much!
Best regards,
Michelle O'Hearn
(aka MiCKi)
I'm REALY excited!!!!! I'll see you there. Mrs. F (with snacks!)
I'm REALY excited!!!!! I'll see you there. Mrs. F (with snacks!)
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Daddy's little girl
Dad bought
a $200 painting
to hang on a wall
in the house of stone
that he built
on a hill
the picture is simple
in a simple frame
a girl dressed in gray
a sky riddled with clouds
a house of stone
on a hill
she looks sad
but I like her dress
it looks like my dress
the one I hung up
in my room
on the door
where I can see it
so I don’t forget the night
I felt like a little princess
my father dropped
my blue writing desk
that all my friends had signed
and left tiny messages upon
to remember them by
now the corner is chipped
and the paint peels
little love letters
little broken hearts
just crumble away
It’s blue
like the wide open skies
in the painting
and my dress
it’s a beautiful dress
my blue and black dress
with tiny sequences and needle work
and little bits of lace
I love that dress
He took it down from the door
said it was damaging the paint
denting the door frame
my dress lay piled on the floor
in a heap
I love that dress
If you look at it closely
that is, the door
you’ll find no dent or chip
no scratch in the paint
but my dress is torn at the hem
you stepped on it on the way out
and my little blue desk
is chipped
Your painting will look
lovely on your perfect wall
I hope it covers up
all the baby hand prints I left there
long ago
so you wouldn’t forget me
no matter how hard you scrubbed
and rubbed
and tried to wipe the mess away
I finished cleaning your floor
it shines like silver
I made sure not to leave a smudge
you can see your face
reflected back like water
on the smooth wood
you walked across it
in your shiny shoes
and left perfect mud tracks
from door to door
I’ll clean it again.
No worries.
And then I’ll help you hang
that picture on the wall
with a level
to make sure
it’s exactly straight
And when I fall asleep on my bed
and forget to take off my shoes
or to take out the trash
perhaps you’ll hesitate
to roll my filthy shoes away
lest I dirty the bed…
to toss me out with the rubbish
to drop me on the polished floor
like my little writing desk
and my blue dress
I chip too
********************
[ I'll always be daddy's little girl... but there was a time, when without warning, he became Dad. I don't know where my daddy went, but I'll always love him... I'll always be his little girl. my daddy bought me the little blue desk. my daddy picked out that dress. ....Dad loves this house. ...It's a great house. He built it, out of stone, you know, on a hill... ]
a $200 painting
to hang on a wall
in the house of stone
that he built
on a hill
the picture is simple
in a simple frame
a girl dressed in gray
a sky riddled with clouds
a house of stone
on a hill
she looks sad
but I like her dress
it looks like my dress
the one I hung up
in my room
on the door
where I can see it
so I don’t forget the night
I felt like a little princess
my father dropped
my blue writing desk
that all my friends had signed
and left tiny messages upon
to remember them by
now the corner is chipped
and the paint peels
little love letters
little broken hearts
just crumble away
It’s blue
like the wide open skies
in the painting
and my dress
it’s a beautiful dress
my blue and black dress
with tiny sequences and needle work
and little bits of lace
I love that dress
He took it down from the door
said it was damaging the paint
denting the door frame
my dress lay piled on the floor
in a heap
I love that dress
If you look at it closely
that is, the door
you’ll find no dent or chip
no scratch in the paint
but my dress is torn at the hem
you stepped on it on the way out
and my little blue desk
is chipped
Your painting will look
lovely on your perfect wall
I hope it covers up
all the baby hand prints I left there
long ago
so you wouldn’t forget me
no matter how hard you scrubbed
and rubbed
and tried to wipe the mess away
I finished cleaning your floor
it shines like silver
I made sure not to leave a smudge
you can see your face
reflected back like water
on the smooth wood
you walked across it
in your shiny shoes
and left perfect mud tracks
from door to door
I’ll clean it again.
No worries.
And then I’ll help you hang
that picture on the wall
with a level
to make sure
it’s exactly straight
And when I fall asleep on my bed
and forget to take off my shoes
or to take out the trash
perhaps you’ll hesitate
to roll my filthy shoes away
lest I dirty the bed…
to toss me out with the rubbish
to drop me on the polished floor
like my little writing desk
and my blue dress
I chip too
********************
[ I'll always be daddy's little girl... but there was a time, when without warning, he became Dad. I don't know where my daddy went, but I'll always love him... I'll always be his little girl. my daddy bought me the little blue desk. my daddy picked out that dress. ....Dad loves this house. ...It's a great house. He built it, out of stone, you know, on a hill... ]
Monday, July 11, 2011
number of.
this is the list thing I wrote on Saturday at the library.
lakes peacefully viewed: 1
therapists seen: 2
kittens fostered: 13
kennels slept in: 1
assignments not turned in: 7
English assignments not turned in: 0
rings: 3
painted fingernails: 9
pairs of broken shoes: 1
breaths just breathed: 4
number of scratches: 85
number of freckles: 32
hours slept last night: 8
hours slept the night before: 3
brothers: 1
blue marks: 14
cookies devoured: 731
boyfriends: 1
trolls kissed: 1
times I’ve been wrong:
something serious: 2
not so serious: 493,026
tomatoes in a basket: 12
times swimming this summer: 1
distance to closest pool from home: 10 feet
fish dead: 16
squares on the ceiling of the kitchen in my first house: 351
phone calls:
made: 89
received: 54
missed: 109
bracelets: 2
shoes under the table: 10
letters in my name: 17
birthdays had: 16
birthdays celebrated: 4
posters: 11
relatives it takes to break the sound barrier: 4
pills taken: 147
pills not taken: 167
countries visited: 8
photographs taken: 36,794
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