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)