I Don't Know What To Do

I Don't Know What To Do

Listen to me.
I'm going to be honest.
I don't want to be here.
I don't want to visit you.
I don't know what to do.
I'm an actress.
Not a teacher.
I can't force him to do his work
Any more than you can.
I'm lost.
I don't understand.
I did my homework.
I came home and got it done.
I wasn't allowed to do
Anything until it was.
I knew what I had to do
And I did it.
He has the same rules.
We've taken everything away.
I ask what he needs to do.
He says he's done.
What more can I say?
We lecture.
We yell.
We threaten.
We swear.
I don't know
How meeting like this
Is going to change anything,
Or even help in any way.
I don't want to be here.
I don't know what to do.

(December 2, 2014)

It's Poetry, Darling

It's Poetry, Darling

It's poetry, darling.
So just let it enter your soul.
Let it into your mind,
And your heart,
And reach down to your bones.
Let it pull something out of you
You didn't know was even there.
Listen
And let it tell you something new.
Let it fill your brain with ideas
So strange and divergent
You find you want to hide
And never come outside.
It's poetry, darling.
So just let it into your soul
And allow yourself to feel.

(August 19, 2014)

Bad Blood

So I heard this song, and I really like it.  But as I was listening to it, it made me think about how I would respond if someone came to me with the same request.  This is what I came up with.

Bad Blood

There is bad blood here.
No one is denying that.
There is bad blood.

You asked me to let it dry.
But friend, this isn't my claret spot.
My heart was stitched long ago.

I said my goodbyes.
And I walked away.
Relieved when it was done.

Now you want to dig up the dead?
Opening wounds long scarred over.
Like that would make things better.

No, I have not forgotten how I felt.
But I have left that anger behind me.
I will not drown for them.

So yes, there is bad blood here.
But I let it dry years ago.
Perhaps someone else should let it go.

(June 26, 2014)

Here's the song:

For You

For You

When I wake up tomorrow,
You will be gone.
I am melancholy
Because I can't follow.
We have different paths
This time.
When we meet again
I know I will have missed
Your smile.
But not realized
Just how much.
So tonight I will
Play my best for you
And I will dedicate
My last show to you.

(May 5, 2014)

Follow

Follow

I know you love me.
I know you care.
I'd follow you anywhere.
But when I asked
You to follow me,
You were angry.
Confusion swallowed my judgement.
What had I done?
I thought you were the one.
I know you are.
But when my dreams
Mean nothing to you
I don't want your love.

(May 3, 2014)

Used To Be

Used To Be

You told me

You used to be an asshole.

Your words.

Then you told me I was pretty.

You followed up with

But you would be gorgeous

If you lost 30 pounds.

You said you used to be

An asshole.

You lied.

(May 2, 2014)

Just Another

Just Another

I realize now
I hardly knew you
And there were things
I was afraid to say out loud.
Things that I held close
To my heart.
And when I finally shared
You did exactly what
I thought you would.
You were just another
Trying to set fire to my dreams.

(May 2, 2014)

Frozen

Frozen

Last night I dreamt

You were running away.

You packed your suitcase

And yelled you'd had enough.

You slammed it shut

And turned to leave the room.

I couldn't move.

Frozen to the spot for a minute or two.

I heard the sound of

Our front door crack

And before tears slid down my cheek,

You were no longer mine.

(April 26, 2014)

This Is Why

So I should have posted this one yesterday, and yesterday's today because of the dates, but here is the poem I wrote in February when I started this whole blog.  I wrote it so that I could have something to put on my other blog that people could click on to get here.  So I found a picture my sister took while we were visiting her in Minnesota a few years ago.  I felt it fit perfectly.

Wish

Wish

I’d like to wake up with you

Early in the morning,

Or stay up late just playing

Records on your phonograph.

I think I’d like spending

Lazy days in your arms

Under the maple tree in the park

And discovering your dreams.

I know I’d like the feel

Of our fingers locked

As we walk barefoot

On the beach at sunset.

Then snuggle close on our backs

As we gaze at the stars

Arms touching, toes brushing

And listen to the ocean tide.

Maybe one would fall

And this wish would be right.

(March 27, 2014)

Ode To My Hair Dryer

Ode To My Hair Dryer

Hair dryer, my Quiet Styler

I shall miss your warm air

Blowing through my hair.

It's admirable, really.

The way you held on so long

You fought hard to stay on.

Fought till the end.

You were such a good friend.

Winters would be cold with out you.

You gave me warmth,

And took away the wet.

So, you have my vote.

If there is a hair dryer heaven,

You'll get in, I bet.

(March 2, 2011)

Over You

Over You

Ever since you left this world

I seem to cry so easily.

I'm still not over you.

I know I will see you someday

But right now I miss you

And so many things have changed

There is a hole in my heart

And I'm still not over you.

Day to day, I feel alright.

Once in awhile, unexpectedly,

You come to my mind.

The feeling of that day

Rushes back to me

And I'm still not over you.

I thought I was fine

But I'm still not over you.

My mind screams I have to stop

I have to think of something else!

Because it hurts!

It hurts to miss you

It hurts to know you're gone.

It gets harder to breathe

I'm glad your pain has left you

But I'm still not over you.

(January 19, 2011)

The Fantasy Is Gone

The Fantasy Is Gone

You keep asking me if ever I will forget.

But I can't forget how it felt

To stand in front of you naked

And you looked the other way.

So this storm ends.

But I don't see you the way I once did.

I found a piece of me on the floor

And knew I was no longer whole.

When I tried to put it back,

It didn't quite fit the same.

Because we are not the same

Maybe it means we can change.

I don't want us to be over.

I don't want to our dreams to die.

The fantasy is gone

And sometimes it's hard to try.

When I'm alone

I can't help but wonder

How things would be different

If we had never been together.

The hurt and anger is hard to let go of.

It seems to be the place I live.

I am waiting for the spring's thaw

To break through the surface.

Your light warms my skin

And I start to melt.

I turn my face toward the sun

And soak in your heat.

I'm hanging over the edge of the cliff

And I'm holding on to you for dear life

Please don't let me go

Just don't let me go

It takes time to freeze,

So I will need time as well

Time to remember what's so great

About me.

(April 26, 2010)

Slipping

Slipping

Careful, dear, you're slipping.

I hear myself thinking things.

Things I don't like,

But my mind wonders.

What happened to us?

I know the moment it all began.

But I can't take it back

I wouldn't - even if I could.

I was where I belonged.

I knew.

Because my heart did.

But you didn't need to make it hurt.

Sometimes I wish it was years ago.

Then I could be the one to say no.

Careful, dear, you're slipping.

Slipping.

(September 8, 2009)

Death of A Dishwasher

Death of A Dishwasher

You came into my life a short two years ago.
I knew then, you were not in your youth.
I knew one day we would have to part.
You came into my life, when I needed you so.

Five years I went without.
Five years I washed by hand.
Dirty bowls and spoons would haunt my dreams.
I would look at the sink and scream.

We searched for the perfect home.
With a dishwasher of our own.
We found you and all our dreams came true.
I'm so blue.

I've tried many time to revive you.
Scraping away the hard water deposits.
You groan and protest,
Creating such a mess.

I shall miss you my dear friend.
I shall remember our good times.
When I didn't have to triple rinse.
When I could stack the dishes high.

How I shall miss, the days
When I pulled out a bowl
And there was still a haze.
Scraping bits of food away.

I would scream, why didn't you rinse these!
The youngling would cry, oh, but I tried!
So tonight, I say my goodbyes.
To the dishwasher who finally died.

(June 17, 2009)

More Time

More Time

I knew it wouldn't be long now,

But I thought I had more time.

I wanted to have more time.

A month or maybe two.

Death isn't something new,

But it's still hard to loose you.

It was always nice to know

That there was somewhere I could go

Where the sight of me

Would light somebody's eyes.

(February 1, 2008)

Brown and Green Eyes

Brown and Green Eyes

I have brown and green eyes,

But in them is a sadness that won't be denied.

I can go through my day

And everything is just the way it always is

When suddenly tears stream down my face

Then, quickly as they came, I am fine again

I guess I'm about to fall apart

Sorrow isn't a stranger to this place

But I thought I could keep him away.

Not today. No, not today.

(February 1, 2008)

The World Wasn't Really Simple

This one is terrible.  It's non-congruous and pretty much word vomit.  But I know who it's about.  I just can't really figure out why I was thinking about this person at this time.  I joined Facebook in 2008.  Maybe that's it.  I had caved.  I didn't really see the point of it, but now I guess I do.  Maybe I had sent them a friend request and I was nervous about whether or not they would accept it.  They did.

The World Wasn't Really Simple

I'm looking to the sky

Trying to just breathe the air,

But it's hard not to choke

Because there are so many tears

Remember when we were kids?

The world wasn't really simple.

I loved you then.

You didn't.

I know I dreamt of our life together.

It didn't turn out that way.

I wonder what you are doing now.

Do you ever think of me?

But I am happy.

I hope you are, too.

(January 7, 2008)

Kaleb's Song

I think I like Kaleb's song the best.  I'm not really sure why.  Probably because it talks about living your dreams.  I needed to hear the things I was singing to him more than he did.  Although, I was and still am well aware of the double meaning in that second to last line. ;)

Kaleb's Song

My beautiful Kaleb,

It's that time again.

Time for bed;

Time to rest your head.

You are such a happy boy,

And your smile gives such joy.

Everyday you grow smarter,

And sometimes I forget

You're still so little.

Give in to your dreams,

My sweet, happy Kaleb.

(2005)

Riley's Song

Riley was still a baby when I wrote his song, and his personality was still emerging.  I often lamented that I should have waited to write his until I got to know him better, but he says that he loves his song, so it's all good I suppose.

Riley's Song

My sweet Riley,

My little boy,

I can't believe how fast you grow.

It's wonderful to know

You are my special one.

Sleep tonight.

You're always so peaceful then.

I love to watch you dream.

It's so wonderful to know,

You are my special one,

My sweet little Riley.

(2003)

Zachary's Song

A long time ago, when my kids were babies and I don't think Kaleb (my youngest), was even born yet, I was watching Oprah.  Yeah.  I used to watch Oprah.  I stopped in like 2006 though.  I think.  Any way, she had a guest on who wrote her kids their own song.  I thought that was amazing.  I wish I could do that.  Then I thought.  Well, I write poetry.  Why can't I just make up a little tune to sing them when they go to sleep? They aren't long.  They're very simple and very sweet.
Here's Zachary's.  He's 13 now and once in a great while, he still wants to hear it.

Zachary's Song

My little Zachary,

I often think of who you'll be.

You are so sweet,

And you are so kind.

So as you go to sleep tonight,

Remember I love you.

I always do.

You are my sweetheart.

You always will be.

So sleep and dream of happy things.

My special Zachary.

(2003)

How Much More

How Much More

I used to think that you were the one I’d spend forever with. 

I used to feel that you’d never hurt me in anyway.

But now you seem to think that everything I say has something cold behind it.

Biting back is your way of saying it’s true.

I feel like you don’t want me around.

You seem to have forgotten that much of the time,

I’m simply tired.

I was just asking.  I just wanted to know.

Our child needs you, or I’d just go.

A fact you all too often take for granted.

I want to be your girl, but when all you make me feel is mean,

I can’t help wondering how much more we can take.

(May 9, 2002)

Haunting

Haunting

Who do you dream of when the nights are cold?

Who do you dream of when you feel so alone?

Who do you want to call your own?

Who do you dream of when you feel oh, so old?

Does anybody dream of you?

Does anybody love you, too?

Why do I feel so sad when I think of what we had?

Now you're gone and I am oh, so glad.

But rejection from you never hurt this bad.

I wish I could turn around

And find the memory of you gone.

But you're haunting me.

And I wish you would just leave me alone.

(No date.  Best guess is 1997 or 1998,

but updated May 13, 2014)

When the World Is Over

I found this one among all my poems from 1999, but it seems I wrote this one in 1995.  At least, the last digit looks a lot like a 5.  We can just think of it as a little bit of time traveling.  Wait.  We have been living in the past this whole time! ;)  I have about five more poems from before this year.  One more from 1999.  Maybe two.  I can't decide if the one I am looking at right now is one or two.  I'm leaning towards one, though.  And after finding this one from 1995, I'm not even sure if it is from 1999.  There isn't a date, so I will just say it is.  Any way.  Enjoy the poem.

When the World Is Over

Shadows forming in the night
Illuminating over the pale street light.
The poor young boy runs through the town
Until, with a longing cry, he tumbles down.
When the world is over
She shall lie down in fields of clover.
Green and fresh, her world so new.
The boy took wing and flew.
Falling to her knees, she mourns her loss.
But she never felt cross.
He, mocking her pain,
Began to scorn and humiliate her name.
When the world is over,
She will lie down in soft clover.
Green and fresh, her world will be.
And the boy will fall to his knees
Begging for mercy and pleading to be let in.
She only laughs at his tears - he'll never win.
The more he begs, the more she'll bruise his knees.
But she knows everything will change with the leaves.
Winter chills her to the bone.
Freezing all the seeds she's sewn.
When the world is over
She'll lie down in green clover.
Green and fresh her world will be
The see it all so clearly.
And, together, they'll play in ecstasy.

(September 21, 1995)

Family Ties

Family Ties

I used to know
What to do when you cried.
I used to know
How to make you smile.
But suddenly, I can't.
You don't come to me
When you just can't grin.
Anymore.
You won't let me be there.
So I don't know what to do.
You won't tell me what's the matter.
So I can't know what to do.
You seem to believe I don't love you.
Anymore.
It isn't true.
Don't believe such lies.
There's nothing stronger
Than family ties.

(April 13, 1999)

Your Girl

Your Girl

It's hard, sometimes, to be
Your girl.
The longing for you never dies.
I wish to hold you
When the day ends,
And kiss you
As the day begins.

(1999)

I Loved You

I Loved You

I loved you before I knew it.
But when realization came,
I was afraid, confused, bewildered.
Why you?  Why not?
It was nice, you know.
To realize you loved me.
To know someone could care.

(1999)

Today Is Thursday

Today Is Thursday

Today is Thursday
But it feels like Friday.
So I'm wondering
Why I'm sitting here
Discussing ethics with you.
Shouldn't I be somewhere else?
Am I just fatigued
Or is it normal
For my head to hurt?
Am I listening to the instructor
Or is he
Going in one ear
And out the other?
It is my belief that
The only reason I'm still awake
Is the chewing gum
Rolling on my tongue.

(January 28, 1999)

Pixies and Fairy Kings

Pixies and Fairy Kings

As I sit and watch the moon tonight
My thoughts are wandering
Down a dusty lane.
This country road winds and turns.
Trees, flowers, and shadows dance
And I long to know you.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
I dream of pixies and fairy kings.
All sighing at my sight.
They bless and sing me praises
I could accept their proposals.
They could adorn me in immortality,
But it's with you, I'd rather be.

(Late 1998 or Early 1999)

Longing

Longing

She is crying
But she doesn't know why.
It isn't her lover.
He's safe at home.
But tonight
He can't hold her
But tonight she feels alone
Even though this isn't so.
She's her own work to do
She understands
And cries no more
Tonight.

(December 15, 1998)

New Love

New Love

I want to escape

So I run from you.

Why?

When I should be running to you!

What am I afraid of?

Perhaps it's just I wasn't 

Expecting this.

It's so strange

It's not what I'd planned.

But it's rare

When life goes

According to plan.

I've fallen in love with you.

And I think you love me, too.

But this lack of communication

Between us

Leads me to wonder.

What's going on inside of you?

(November 14, 1998)

Just so you know, this poem is about my husband.  

It has to be because it was written the night we went on our first date.

How cute.

I've Given Up On You

I've Given Up On You

I'd like to speak my thoughts aloud

But, it seems, you will only listen

When I'm on paper.

I still love you.

But I am no longer in love with you.

I've given up the chase.

You ran and I couldn't catch you.

I didn't even come close.

And yes, it hurts.

But life goes on.

I've settled my eyes on another.

Someone who lets me win.

You say women only want money

But it's only green paper.

Rather insignificant if you'd asked me.

You never let me finish making my point.

Disregarding it before I've even begun.

I felt I had to prove I'm more mature than you think.

But I won't do that any more.

I don't need your approval of my maturity.

Simply because I am your younger.

It doesn't matter.

We're all the same age in Heaven anyway.

It's the one place we're finally equals

And you can no longer say

Men are more important than women.

(November 11, 1998)

Happier

Happier

It's true.
When I first met you,
I didn't like you at all.
Knowing who I was
When we'd never met
Threw me for a loop.
Who the hell were you?
And I could tell
Something was fake about your smile.
Honestly, if you'd be you,
You'd be a whole lot happier.

(October 1998)

Before We've Even Begun

Before We've Even Begun

The nightmare of not having you

Is too close within my grasp.

And I blindly reach for you

For I do not want to be near that fear.

Yet you are that terror.

If I lent you my affections

And you cast them aside;

If I gave you my heart 

And you tore it apart;

You'd be just like the last four.

You be just like them.

So don't tell me I'm not afraid.

Don't think I'm not petrified.

Don't imagine I know nothing

Of your pain.

But I'm willing to risk

A heartache.

I don't want to give up

Before we've even begun.

(October 1, 1998)

Pain

Pain

It is useless to love you
Isn't it?
It's useless to try.
Isn't it?

The salty rivers streaming
From my eyes
Are mingling with the hard rain.
I can't dam them tonight.

"You're so beautiful
It hurts to look at you."
And I
Know Pain.

(October 1, 1998)

You

You

As I sit and gaze at the moon tonight

(As I often do),

My thoughts are turning this way and that.

They focus on nothing in particular

Until they fall on you.

A smile traces my lips for just a moment

As I recall your own,

And I swim in the deep blue seas that are your eyes.

The stars reflecting off the surface

Blur my vision for an instant.

You are warm to the touch,

And your laughter lights up a room.

(September 23, 1998)

Fragile Dreams

Fragile Dreams

I have a dream,
And I've had many.
Some have died
Some crushed like eggshells
Others burned out
Like the embers of a campfire
But many are alive.
Several are sick;
Tired of waiting to be a reality.
The only thriving dream
Is not as healthy as it seems.
The dream I have of
Holding you in my arms
And rocking you to sleep at night.

(October 7, 1998)

My Turn

My Turn

"Your time will come."

Words which come to comfort me

As tears flow freely in streams.

I know.

I know.

But it seems so far away.

So close, yet so far away.

When will it be my turn?

When will I get the chance

To say, "I do."

And then, "It's a boy!"

And after that hear the words

"Don't talk to your mother like that."

When is it my turn to love?

(October 7, 1998)

Something So Rare

Something So Rare

My head feels like 

The accident that caused

A major traffic jam

In downtown Manhattan.

And I'm getting this

Claustrophobic urge

To run as

Far away from here

As I possibly can.

One passion keeps me 

From fleeing this life.

He is my only escape;

My solitary dream.

I could go on and on

Raving of his wonderment.

I could continue with

His features - so fine!

I won't bore you with such details.

I cherish his adoration,

Loving glances, sweet billet-doux

We have something

So rare.

(October 5, 1998)

Apparently, I have not put these pages in order.

A Night Out

A Night Out

The night approaches

And the lovers cling tighter to each other.

As the chill settles around them,

Together they hear

Two raincapped shadows pass

And as they huddle in the darkness

They sing to pass the time.

(Spring 1998)

This Strange Emotion

This Strange Emotion

The night I realized I liked you,

Your smile glittered in the moonlight.

And this strange emotion walked in

Intrudingly - without bothering to knock.

Uncharacteristic, spontaneous, and right

I rushed into your arms.

Perhaps I ran too quickly.

But I was captivated by your charms

The day I knew I was in love with you

I cried.

Because of one thing I always knew.

This strange emotion lingered and grew.

Confusion knocked, but didn't bother to wait.

He burst through the with some exciting old news:

You saw me as a child - small and innocent.

I had so much to learn.

But I've seen my share of devils

And then some.

Finally, I though, this time.

The reality sunk in.

Even still,

This strange emotion won't go.

He dines nightly by my side

And we slow dance to the light of the moon.

(October 7, 1998)

First Love

First Love

As I curl up into a ball

The tears splash

On the back of my hand

And stay there.

Yesterday, I was reminded

Of your love

Your arms wrapped so lovingly around me.

You stirred in me passions

I never knew existed.

I know I don't want you back

But the memory is painful.

And I've tried to forget.

Everytime I think I have

Memories come flooding back.

I'm exhausted of your haunting

Will I ever know

How to love again?

Will I ever consign you to oblivion

Then, from nowhere it seems,

The power of these words engulf me

"You never forget your first love

No matter how hard you try."

(October 7, 1998)

Lovable

Lovable

I've been alone my whole life.
I was happy, too.
But suddenly, I feel I need
Somebody to be complete
What is that?

I don't need anybody but myself
I convinced myself of its truth
All those lies - for protection
What else?
But there is one thing I've found.

I need to know I am lovable.

(October 7, 1998)

What Do I Do Now?

What Do I Do Now?

I've always had to love someone.
Infatuously.*
I've always needed to say
I'm going to marry him someday.

So what do I do now?
You were always that one,
But suddenly I know
We're just not meant to be.

What do I do now?
Who will take your place
And fill this empty space in my heart?
What do I do now?

Do I keep on dreaming
Do I keep on hoping
That someday you'll come around?

(Late Summer 1998)

*Yes.  Yes, I did make up a word.  Let's all use it and make it a real thing like "ginormous".

The Cupid's Arrow

This poem is dumb.  I don't like it.  Okay.  Well.  I like parts of it, and some of the words in it.  But I don't like all of it.

The Cupid's Arrow

Thrice has the cupid's arrow struck my heart.

One can't tell if fate had a hand

Or if cupid's got some devious plan

I don't know who to choose

The tall one with a sweet smile

Or the short one with his own style

And then there's the one who seems out of reach

What's a girl to do with herself

When Cupid's taken her heart off the shelf?

(1998)

Lonely

Lonely

Sometimes the world seems black
And you feel as though no one cares.
Sometimes you wonder why
You're the one who's always alone.
You wonder if you'll ever
Find him or her.
But sometimes you don't care.
Sometimes being alone
Is where it's at.
The freedom to be and see
Whoever you want
Is it better this way?

(1998)

HD8/100

HD8/100

Well worn and often played

Recordings of favorite songs

The wheels turn round and round

Making a grating sound

Which is drown out

By the volume of the stereo

Pumping and Pulsing

The speakers vibrate

Bringing emotions of happiness.

(No date - 1998)

Oh, nostalgia.  The mixed tape. :)

Unfinished Poem

A chill runs down my spine
I hear the sound of the wind blowing
Through the trees
I look out my window to see
And all is still.

(March 1998)

I'm debating if I should add more to this.  I think I should.  Seriously.  I'm coming back to this later.

Another Dateless Friday Night

This poem is embarrassing.  I hope you get a laugh out of it.

Another Dateless Friday Night

I want to talk to Shawn
But I really like Justin.
I find Matt very attractive.
Christian is sweet and unreliable.
Eric is just a friend.
I'm too shy to call Brody.
I don't have Mike's number.
Spencer and Dallas are leaving
And Nate has a girlfriend - I think.
Victor thinks I talk too much.
Jason never calls me anymore
Both of them.
Scott moved.
The other Matt's busy trying to be successful.
Ed's too old and so is Victor.
Another Matt's in another world.
And Doug's trying not to be interested in girls.
Yes, tonight looks like
Another dateless Friday night.

(Spring 1998)

Fatigue

Well, I haven't gone to bed yet, so it's still Friday, March 28th in my book.  ;)
Any way.  Some poems need to be seen.  This is one of them.  It doesn't have a title, but I'm going to give it one.  I think I just don't like things not tied up in their neat little bows or something.  But alas, this means you will get to see all of my spelling errors, too.  :/  Ah well.  Rough drafts usually have a spelling error or two in them, right?  No date either, so this is just my best guess.  Sometime in April or March of 1998.

Fatigue

Wish

I found the beginning of this poem all scratched out on my page and I thought it was a pretty good start.  I wonder why I stopped writing.  It was two sentences and the second one, I felt, belongs in another poem perhaps.  So I decided to give it mouth-to-mouth and revive it.  You know. Give it the life it deserves.

Wish

I’d like to wake up with you

Early in the morning,

Or stay up late just playing

Records on your phonograph.

I think I’d like spending

Lazy days in your arms

Under the maple tree in the park

And discovering your dreams.

I know I’d like the feel

Of our fingers locked

As we walk barefoot

On the beach at sunset.

Then snuggle close on our backs

As we gaze at the stars

Arms touching, toes brushing

And listen to the ocean tide.

Maybe one would fall

And this wish would be right.

(March 27, 2014)

Happy Birthday, Brother

Happy Birthday, Brother

Sometimes all you need
Is someone's smile
To brighten your day.

Sometimes you need a little more.
But life goes on and on,
In spite of your sorrow.

Tomorrow never comes,
But tomorrow never dies.
It's nice to have consistency.

The day of your birth
And the day you will die
Aren't remembered as you'd like

But I remember you
I know who you are
Happy birthday, brother.

(March 13, 1998)

Out Of Control

Out Of Control

Mick Jagger's rather skinny

And although I'll never

Make a saint of him,

I'd like to see him grow up.

His shiny silver jacket

Doesn't impress me tonight

And his pouting

As he cries, "I'm out of control!"

Bothers me for an unknown reason

And as I watch him sing

I think to myself

Yes. He is. Out of control.

But only during the chorus

He's getting a lot of anger out

I wish I could do that.

(March 13, 1998)

Jungle

Jungle

I love America

It's full of pride

And free love.

At night I watch the television

And dream of New York

And green apples.

Two sweethearts live in Hawaii

Even though, Colorado is their home town

And nothing brings them more joy than hot dogs

I mean, what's more American than hot dogs?

Made in meat factories where nothing is regulated.

Man, it's a jungle out there.

(March 12, 1998)

Adulthood

Adulthood

I'd like to climb a tree today.

But I don't have the time.

And I'd like to ride my bike around without a care

But I have to work.

I'd like to color and draw and play

I'd like to do what I want to do

Even if it's nothing.

And I'd like to just lie in the grass

On a warm summer's day

Just staring at the clouds dancing before my eyes

But I've got too much to do

And there aren't enough hours in the day.

Because legally, I'm an adult now.

(March 17, 1998)

Space Junk

Space Junk

Looking pretty for no one on a Friday night.
I'm alone, but I don't mind.
At least not tonight.
I can complain.
I haven't had a date
Since January 16, 1998.
And I asked that guy out.

My radio keeps me from getting lonely.
Sometimes.
But it's no longer cold out
So I don't feel the loneliness
Tonight.
I've had a different feeling
Today.

I've got a paper to write
But my mind's not on it.
Space junk is no longer interesting
But it's still dangerous.
Yeah, I'm looking pretty for no one
This Friday night
And I don't mind - not this time.

(March 1998)

The Parts That Can Be Seen

This poem is really silly.  It feels like I took a bunch of random things that I saw in my textbooks and mixed it up with a few of my own thoughts.  I really can't remember now, though.  So I tweeked it a little. I gave it a title and changed the word "Personally" to "Personality" on the last line.  This one wasn't submitted into my portfolio either, so I feel I can do that.  Actually, I can do whatever I want.  These are my poems after all. ;)

The Parts That Can Be Seen

The parts that can be seen
I shall be too late!
Beginning, then, with the first
Of the qualities above noticed
He has removed the white bishop's pawn,
Which was guarding White's Bishop
O world! O life! O time!
Mucor is called the pin mold also.
The outline of an economy of signification!
Praise God and God's mother
For if this is what you desire,
I am ready to melt you into one.
Tropical nests which may be attacked
By snakes and monkeys are often covered.
Venus of Willendorf is all body,
Nefertiti all head.
Personality, often unnecessary.

(Started in March 1998/Revised March 21, 2014)

A Sign Of A Bad Relationship

A Sign Of A Bad Relationship

I could compare our love

To a summer's day.

But it's overdone,

And I'd be wrong.

No, I think fall

Better describes the way we love.

With cool mornings,

Warm afternoons,

And even colder nights.

(January 29, 1998)

Trapped In A Mirror

Trapped In A Mirror

I saw a girl
Who looked like me.
She had eyes like me
And her hair was the
Same color as mine.
She smiled when I smiled
She laughed when I laughed
She even moved as I moved
I wondered why she wanted
To be just like me.
Why she wanted to
Be me.
Can't she be herself?
Or someone else?
Then I realized her life.
Trapped in a mirror.
Not knowing what it's like to be free.
I smiled
She smiled
Understanding, I turned
As she turned to go
Simultaneously, we walked away
But what is her perspective?
What are her thoughts of me?
Living her life in mirror
Her world is different than mine?
Or is it the same?
Do I see her
As she sees me?
Am I the one
Trapped in a mirror?
Is she the one who's free?

(January 20, 1998)

My Window

My Window

The view from my window

Has been obscured

By the tree,

But I can still see.

People

Walking, talking.

Enjoying a smoke

Scraping the mud off their

Shoes on the steps.

Sky

The sunset.

The moonrise

Stars twinkling

During the night.

The view from my window

Has been obscured

By the tree,

But I can still see.

(March 1998)

The view from my dorm room window.

Untitled List Poem

Here is another list poem.  This one didn't make the cut for the final portfolio.  I probably wrote a few to get things flowing, but it's...well, I don't know.  Just read it and you decide.  ;)

America
Pride
Love
Utah
Idaho
Hawaii
Aunt Cathy
Joy
Jovial
Sweethearts
Candy
Television
Baseball
Hot dogs
Meat factories
Murder
New York
Apples

(1998)

Osculate Wildly

As I was going through my final portfolio for my Creative Writing class, I noticed some of the poems in this folder were refined and polished.  Excellent.  Here's another poem that I posted before, but this one has a few slight changes.  Here's the final draft of Distraction.  It's not really called Distraction after all.

Osculate Wildly

As I dip my foot in the paint
And streak the canvas with my big toe
You touch me.
You touch my shoulder
Sending a thrill throughout my body.
I continue to create with my feet;
You kiss my throat.
I wonder how long this will take.
My feet are soiled with hues of blue and red.
You don't seem to care
And your lips touch mine.
My feet cease for the moment.
But let me finish my art.
As I resume painting
You continue osculating my shoulders and back.
You just can't stop.
I've never done this before.
This is an experiment I've been longing to try.
Finally it's complete.
You lift me off the floor and carry me,
So as not to dirty the carpet,
To where you'll wash away the colors
And restore my toes to their original state.
But kissing me is still on your mind
And when you set me on the tub's edge
I shouldn't be surprised to find your mouth on mine.

(January 20, 1998)

Tender Angels Fulfill My Burning Desire (Again!)

I created a portfolio for my Creative Writing class, and I changed up some of the poems I have posted already.  This is the final draft of Tender Angels Fulfill My Burning Desire.  The Sestina.  Remember?  This one is less crappy, and quite silly actually.

Tender Angels Fulfill My Burning Desire

Today, I want my meat tender,

And I'll draw pictures of frogs.

Tonight will be a full moon

And I have a burning desire

To see God's angels

Reading a Seventeen magazine.

Instead, I find I'm the one reading a magazine.

Good Housekeeping's stories aren't so tender,

And the Angels

Won the world series without the help of Budweiser's frogs.

Tonight my burning desire

Is to share Daiquiris with you underneath the moon.

My obsession with the moon

Keeps me from reading my magazines.

It's no problem when my burning desire

Refers to men who are quite tender.

I've danced to the music of the frogs,

But I've never met any angels.

Never did the Angels

Let the series go to their heads; but under the moon

One night, while listening to the bull frogs

Call to each other, we read horoscopes from old Seventeen magazines.

They were all so sweet and tender

And they fulfilled my burning desire.

Never again will I let my burning desire

Be known to an angel.

I'll just stick with having my meat tender;

And I'll look to the man in the moon

For company while reading my magazines

And listening to the music of the frogs.

Because when I listen to the frogs,

I can't help my burning desire

To read these stupid Seventeen magazines.

I ask God's angels 

To watch over me as I slumber 'neath the light of the moon

And to please be sweet and tender.

Tender sing the frogs

While under the moon my burning desire

For the Angels is stilled by Seventeen magazine.

(March 12, 1998)

Another List Poem

list poem

generosity

human

judge judy

cameraman

herds

peace

swings

stings

nothing

new

all

brand

stains

grass

flowers

dirty

hands

dancing

water

solid

waste

(March 12, 1998)

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day

It's pathetic!

Gag Kiss Yuck Ick Hug Ew

The more I see of cupid's arrows

The more I want to break them in two

I've never thought much of this holiday

But happy Valentine's day anyway

(February 10, 1998)

To Dance In Harmony

To Dance In Harmony

In my world of dreams,

The night engulfs me.

Stars twinkle and the moon is full;

We sit together watching them.

Creatures that never were

Cautiously approach us.

As though they think,

Possibly could we be friends?

Their eyes show us their nervousness,

And our bodies sense the awkwardness.

But together we learn

To dance in harmony.

(February 26, 1998)

Pink Carnations

Pink Carnations

Pink carnations remind me of my father
This heart-shaped box is filled with memories
Painful memories which eat at my conscience
But to burn this box is to burn my past
The past that makes me...me.
Tears well up in my eyes when I remember years ago
I often wonder why I ever let you go
A brainless act of weakness
Fear of attachment, of passion for you
There's no escaping
Thoughts of you emigrate from the hidden drawers of my mind
And I understand how it feels to lose something you love.

(February 15, 1998)

Writing Exercise 10

This week's poem comes from a writing exercise we did for my creative writing class in college.  You take a random book and open it to a random page.  Then photo copy it and black out words to create a poem out of the words that are left on the page.  There is no date, but I'm guessing February 10, 1998.

 You should try it.

Tender Angels Fulfill My Burning Desire

This one didn't have a date!  So I'm just going to guess on it.  But it is called a Sestina.  My professor didn't like it.  She felt it was going in a different direction and I took it the wrong way.  That's a really dumb critique in, my opinion, because how does she know what direction I was going?  I probably didn't even know myself.  That being said, I don't really think this one is all that great either.  It's just weird and after the first stanza it just kind of all goes down hill.  I think the visual of the first stanza is pretty awesome, though.

Tender Angels Fulfill My Burning Desire

Today I want my meat tender
And I'll draw a picture of frogs.
Tonight will be a full moon
And I have a burning desire
To see one of God's angels
Reading a Seventeen magazine.

Instead I find I'm the one reading a magazine.
Good Housekeeping's stories aren't so tender.
And the Angels
Won the World Series without the help of Budwieser's frogs.
Tonight my burning desire
Is to see the cow jump over the moon.

My obsession with the moon
Keeps me from reading my magazines.
It's no problem when my burning desire
Refers to men who are quite tender.
I've danced to the music of the frogs
But I've never met the angels.

Never did the Angels
Let the series go to their heads, but under the moon,
On night while listening to the bull frogs
Call to each other, we read horoscopes from old Seventeen magazines.
They were all so sweet and tender.
And they fulfilled my most burning desire.

Never again will I let my burning desire
Be known to an angel.
I;ll just stick with having my meat tender.
And I'll look to the man in the moon
For company while reading my magazines
And listening to the music of the frogs.

Because when I listen to those frogs
I can't help my burning desire
To read these stupid Seventeen magazines
I ask for God's angels
To watch over me as I slumber 'neath the light of the moon.
And please be sweet and tender.

But the tenderness of frogs
Under the male moon still my burning desire
For the Angels and Seventeen magazine.

(February 7, 1998)

List Poem

Poem #4 from the Waldman Exercise is a list poem:

Gold
Red
Brown
Leaves
Twisting
Turning
In the wind
Falling
Dancing
To the cold
Damp
Freezing
Ground

(February 5, 1998)

Rain

This is poem #3 of my Waldman Exercises:

Rain

Rain falls

Rain falls down

Rain falls down on me.

Rain falls down on my head.

Rain splashes

Rain splashes down

Rain splashes down on me.

Rain splashes down on my eyelashes.

Rain pours

Rain pours down

Rain pours down on me.

Rain pours and I am wet.

(February 5, 1998)

Too Much

Poem #2 from the Waldman Exercise:

Too Much

He knows too much.
He knows too much to live.
Joseph found the world was cold.
Too cold.
And he knows too much to live.
Sarah fell.
Sarah fell on the rocks.
He's a witness to this crime.
He's a witness.
And he knows too much to live.

(February 5, 1998)

Prove It!

This writing exercise says, "Write as Waldman suggests."  Now, I don't remember what that means any more.  But the next four poems are what I produced.
Poem #1 from the Waldman Exercise:

Prove It!

He ripped it.                                         

Go to bed.                  

                                   It was a terrible sight.

Throw down your clothes.          

Hot shot plus.

                                             Summer days.

Get better.              Sit by me.

Read me a story.

You're the accusation.                            

                                   Don't give up the screen.

I put my name on - Sharp.      

               All that, and I get paid too.

(February 5, 1998)

Bob

Writing Exercise #8:  Choose an item from your repertoire.  Write a history.

Bob

Electric blue
And glows-in-the-dark.
Rib bit, rib bit.
Hop, hop.
A broken toe
And a cracked eye.
He holds the keys.

My object is my key chain. His name is Bob.

(February 3, 1998)

Catagories

For this writing exercise, I was given the categories People, Places, and Things.

People:

Mother

Woman. Babies cry and crawl all over her.  Singing soothes them. Bouncing. Bouncing on knees.  Hug.  Kiss. Wave good-bye.

Places:

Home

Rumble, jumble. Scream. Shout.  It's mine!  Music blaring:  Bauhaus, Peter Murphy, and the Pixies. Don't forget the Ramones.

Things:

Buttons

Thread and needle. In out. In out.  Make a knot.

(January 29, 1998)

Improvisations and Commentary

These next few are from my writing exercise called "Improvisations and Commentary".  I wasn't really sure if the commentary part was what my professor really wanted, but that's what she got.

Improvs:

Oh, what a perfect day this would be if you were only gone.  It isn't how we play the game - it's whether or not we win.  But who cares? Nothing is in vain.  It's all for a good cause.

Cameras take pictures and take away your soul. Joey's mother's pocket has grown too small. Hop away. Tomorrow always comes for someone.  Distress is finalizing your wrinkled state of mind.  Please forgive my thoughtlessness.

School's open so come teach me something new. Exciting adventures lie around every corner.  I want to share them with you, even though your eyes are purple and say things you don't mean.  Come, join the party.

Improving, twisting, turning. Shake, dog, shake.  It's all wrong.  It's all right.  Negative emotions fill this room. Kill them with a spoon.  It's never enough for caterpillars at noon.

Commentary:

Judging others come so naturally to the human, but sometimes we are blinded by the stereotypes which mean nothing.  Keeping this in mind:  I hate you because you listen to stupid music.

(January 27, 1998)

The Field

The Field

A calm, moonlit night
A giant field with no one for miles
We run to the middle
Lie in the grass
Side by side
Look up at the stars
There are more than I thought.
Damned city hides them with its light
We smile at on another
I bite my lip
Wondering what you feel
Hoping it's what I feel
You hold my hand
I shift my body closer to yours
The sky is clear
The moon is full
I lay my head on your chest
You and I in silence
The night is young
I rise to my feet
You follow
And take my hand
We dance like lovers
To the music of the night.

(January 20, 1998)

Distraction

Distraction

As I dip my foot in the paint
And streak the canvas with my big toe,
I see you.
You touch my shoulder
Sending a thrill throughout my body
I continue to create with my feet
You kiss my throat
I wonder how long this will take
My feet are soiled with hues of blue and red
You don't seem to care
And your lips touch mine
My feet cease for the moment
Let me finish my art.
As I resume painting
You continue osculating my shoulders and back
You just can't stop
I've never done this before
This is an experiment I've been longing to try
Finally it is complete.
You lift me off the floor and carry me,
So as not to dirty the carpet,
To where I'll wash away the colors
And restore my toes to their original state
But kissing me is still on your mind
And when you set me on the tub's edge
I am surprised to find your mouth on mine
I close my eyes and realize
I could get used to this.

(January 20, 1998)

I would say this poem is more about how sexual desires get in the way of doing the things you really want to do rather than giving in.  She makes her lover wait until her piece is finished.  The line "This is an experiment I've been longing to try" refers to her art work, not the make out session.  Love can be a distraction and we have to figure out how to balance both in our lives.

Starburst

The instructions for this writing exercise say, "Take a really busy walk or ride."  And I may have written this after watching Face/Off.  Not really sure, but I think the second to last line comes from that movie.

Starburst

Get ready
John Travolta's come back.
Post-modern architecture might be nice
If you like looking at that sort of thing.
My belly itches
But at least they keep the streets clean.
As I pull my window shut,
I see my reflection and glare.
Ain't love grand?
You people are pretty quick.
My underwear is riding
And soon I'll hear,
"Bite me, you fruity-looking geek."
I actually understand the game now:
Just replace the ball boy
With an over caffeinated monkey.
But I'm still having fun,
Like a starburst.
For everything else there's
A drunk Marlin Brandol guessing your weight.
It's very important to remember that.
There's nothing like having your
Face cut off in the middle of your sleep.
And the party never ends.

(January 15, 1998)

The Wink

The Wink

He winked at me
But I can't believe he meant anything by it
So don't get all excited
Don't get all worked up
Sure he's the most gorgeous guy you've ever seen
But it doesn't mean a thing
He's probably the biggest player you'll ever know
Just say, "Hello.."
Yes, he just wants to say, "Hello."
So go introduce yourself
There's nothing wrong with being friends.

(January 15, 1998)

enjoy

This next poem is a writing exercise for my Intro to Creative Writing class.  I'm not exactly sure what the assignment was, but from what I can gather, I was supposed to take a poem (or a song) and create my own version of it.  I chose Bjork's Enjoy.

Here is the original by Bjork:

enjoy

I wish:  I want to stay here
I wish:  this is enough
I wish:  I only love you
I wish:  simplicity

look at the speed out there
it magnetizes me to it
and I have no fear
I'm only in this to

enjoy

I wish I'd only look
and didn't want to touch
I wish I'd only smell this
and didn't have to taste

how can I ignore?
this is sex without touching
I'm going to explode
I'm only in this to

enjoy

And now my version:

enjoy

I know:  I want to stay here
I know:  it's not enough
I know:  I only love you
I know: simplicity

look at the love out there
it makes me desire you more
still I hide my fear
I'm not only in this to

enjoy

I wish I didn't just look
and had courage to touch
I wish I didn't just smell this
and had courage to taste

What do I ignore?
What is sex without touching?
I'm afraid to explore
I'm not only in this to

enjoy

(January 13, 1998)

I'm really not sure what the assignment was and I think it is waaaay too close to the original.  But my professor said she liked it.

The War

The War

After the snowfall,
All is quiet.
The only sound is
Snow crunching under my feet
The wintry white land strikes
Awe and wonder into my sight
And I enjoy the solitude.

Until splat!
I discover I am not alone
A powdery ball of snow has
Struck my cheek
I quickly turn to learn
Who the culprit of such a cruel
Act of terrorism happens to be.

Seeing him, swiftly, I bend down
Grabbing at the soft, white floor.
I pick up a handful, mold it
And catapult the ball through the air

Ha! Ha!
A perfect, direct hit!
I slyly smile
A smile is returned
The war has begun

Laughter shatters the silence
Arms hurl snow furiously
The two of us
Advancing upon one another

Until crash!
I am forced down
Into the snow
And, as I fall,
I take him with me

White-washing commences
And the laughter continues
Until, exhausted we run out of breath
The war is over
But the laughter remains.

(January 13, 1998)

My professor suggested I remove that last stanza.  She wrote, "Nice!  Consider what would happen if you ended here - that line 'I take him with me' is very nuanced, but it gets pushed aside by the last stanza."  I like what it does to end it there, but I also think perhaps it denotes something a little too romantic in nature going on and that was not the intent of this poem.  I do write a lot of romantic poetry.  I just love romance, but this time I wanted to keep the innocence.  Boys and girls can be just friends.  It's really sexist to think otherwise, actually.  What do you think?

Make-Up

Make-Up

It's not easy to get it just right
And it's harder to make it look good
Under bright lights.
Professionals know what they're doing
But when you're not getting paid,
When you're spilling your guts for free,
You do it yourself.
And your director better like how it's done
Because doing it over is really no fun.

(January 8, 1998)

Forget Him

Forget Him

What can I do?
What can I say?
My head says, "Forget him."
But my heart just won't let go.

I know I should
Trust in my instincts
They don't tell lies
But they say, "Follow your heart."

It isn't fair
Or is it?
All's fair in love and war
At least, that's what I'm told.

But what about me?
Everything they say is good
But it doesn't help me.
It doesn't feel like it.

(January 6, 1998)

What Matters

So I can't find much from 1997.  That was my Senior year of high school and I was in AP English.  I don't think we did much poetry writing.  But then I went to college in the fall of 1997.  Good times.  Most of this poetry is dated, but some isn't, and most of what is dated is dated 1998.  So by now I am 18, living on my own for the first time, and I loved it!  I had a poetry class, and so I started to write a lot of poetry and it was starting to evolve into stuff that really wasn't half bad.  But this next poem, isn't really one of those.  Ha ha!  It didn't have a date or a title, so I am going to call it:

What Matters

Look at her.

Is she lovely?  Is she beauty?

Look at her.

Every dream she's ever dreamed

Every hope she's ever hoped.

Smashed on the rocks of acquiescence.

All she ever truly wanted

Was to feel loved.

But nobody wanted to love her.

I suppose they found her to be

Unworthy of love.

But she deemed herself worthy.

And that's what matters...

Jenny the Rebel

So this poem is just dumb.  I'm not going to lie.  It's like I was trying to write a country song or something. And I hate country.   Well, not all of it, but please.  That's a whole entire blog post in and of itself and has no place here.  There was not title, but it needs one.  Let's call it:

Jenny the Rebel

There's a place in every young girl's heart
A place where only daddy can be.
This place can never be filled by anybody else.
This place is reserved only for he.

Daddy's loosing his little girl.
Daddy doesn't understand.
He wonders how he'll ever learn to let go.
But Daddy don't you know
Jenny still loves you so?

Jenny knows exactly what's happening.
Jenny knows of Daddy's jealousy.
But Jenny can't understand
And the contention builds higher.

Daddy's loosing his little girl.
Daddy doesn't understand.
He wonders how he'll ever learn to let go.
But Daddy don't you know
Jenny still loves you so?

Jenny is a rebel now.
She's never known this kind of life.
But Nick is her one true love
And she's not gonna give him up without a fight.

Daddy's loosing his little girl.
Daddy doesn't understand.
He wonders how he'll ever learn to let go.
But Daddy don't you know
Jenny still loves you so?

Come

Come

"Are you crazy?" You scream
Breaking the cool night air.
"Yes!" I cry and jump in the stream.
Come with me!
Come and finally care!

Swimming through the rocks and moss
I come up to breathe.
I turn to see you,
But the bank is empty.
Where are you now?

Your hand sneaks up from behind
And dunks my head under.
I come up laughing.
"Come on!" I call again.
And dive to swim.

You are swimming by my side.
You hold my hand tight.
Never let it go.
You look into my eyes.
And gently, we kiss.

(written in 1996)

How

Apparently, I didn't like the title of this one because it is crossed out, but never replaced with a new one.

How

How can you dream

When you know you can't sleep?

How can you sing

When you can't even speak?

How can you die

When you've never lived?

How can you think

When you're hooked to a machine?

How can you smile

When you've never seen a frown?

How can you cry

When you've never heard a laugh?

How can you read

When you don't know how to write?

(Written sometime in 1996)

Innocence

Sometimes, as I have read these poems, I wonder if they are finished.  I skipped over one that I knew wasn't, but this one I'm not sure about.

Innocence

Somewhere deep inside
I know I've got nothing to hide.
I know it's okay to let go
And to let my feelings show.

Someday I shall find
A new way to find peace of mind.
And when we listen we will hear
The music ringing so clear.

(Sometime in 1996)

Not This Time Around

Not This Time Around

You think you love me
But you're not sure.
You want to make it show
But I'm not ready.
"Will you ever?" you ask.
Maybe.  But not this time around.

You want to love me
To make it pure.
You think our love will grow.
My voice is steady.
"Don't you love me?" you ask.
Maybe.  But not this time around.

(I think it was 1996 when this one was written.)

Untitled or You're Wonderful

I'm calling this one "Untitled" because there is not title at the top of the page.  I'd probably call it "You're Wonderful" now, though.

Untitled

Why are you so insecure?
When you know exactly what you're worth?
When you could have any girl?
Why do you shrug and think it's a lie?
When you are so happy?
Why do you think you're just ugly?
You're so beautiful to me.
You're wonderful.

(Sometime in 1996 or 1997.  I'm just not sure any more!)

Grown Ups Are Stupid Because...

Sometimes when I am typing these up, I want to tweek things here and there and change the original poem.  I really wanted to change the word "untold" to "unknown" tonight, but I didn't.  I might change punctuation and make it more correct (hopefully), but I really am doing a very good job of resisting the temptation to change these poems and I am keeping them the way they were written at the time.

Grown Ups Are Stupid Because...

They make you take baths.
They make you go to bed at eight.
They make you clean your plate.
They never want to play.
They don't understand you when you cry.
They hate it when you ask why.
They always tell you what to do.
And when to do it.
They make you clean your room.
Even though you like it that way.
They always say, "I told you so!"
They can't admit when you're right.
They get mad when you come in late.
But won't buy you a watch
Even though you can tell time.
They're always too busy to play.
They think they know everything.'
They always say, "When I was your age..."
They don't listen to you.
And get mad when you don't listen.
They yell at you for untold reasons.

(Written in 1996 sometime.)

When You're So Old and Grey

When You're So Old and Grey

There is no reason for your sorrow.
There is no reason to be sad.
The summer is gone so far way
But you're still alive
And you're still young.
And there's always time for play.

Don't tell me you've too much to do
Don't think I don't know better.
There's always time to clean the house
But your children never stay.
Before you know it, they're gone
And you'll miss them more each day.

Just think about the days you've spent
And the memories you weave.
It's no fun to think about when your toilet was
     squeaky clean
But the time you spent with little Tim
Playing and swinging in the park
Is something to look back upon when you're
     so old and grey.

(Sometime in 1996)

Kids Are Stupid Because...

Kids Are Stupid Because...

They say they hate to bathe
But when they do they don't want out.
They always want to stay up late
And then take naps in the day.
They don't eat what we fix.
They don't understand the value of work.
They don't make sense when they cry.
They're constantly asking why.
They never do what we ask
When we ask.
They never clean their room
And then complain when it's a mess.
They're never right.
They won't come home on time.
They always ask us to play
When we're tired or busy.
They think we know everything.
They expect us to hear two things at once.
They don't know why we're mad at them
Even though it's what they've just done.

(Written sometime in 1996)

Don't worry.  I have one about grown ups, too.  ;)