Category Archives: poems

Hell

Hell is empty; there’s no one there
No breeze to stir the stagnant air
No tempest tempting something sweet
No pain or change to senses’ treat
A place where only regrets may dwell
Forever motionless, that is my hell

Perfect Man

One day I thought I’d try my hand
At writing up the Perfect Man
I wrote him kind, I wrote him keen
I wrote him the best you’ve ever seen
He pleased me ’cause he loved me so
T’was I who wrote him, so I should know
He brought me flowers, he sang me songs
We talked for hours, he was never wrong
He kissed my tears, was kind to my friends
Listened with a patience that never ends
But he had no thoughts that were his own
He never used an impassioned tone
He never challenged a thing I said
He repeated only what he’d been fed
I realized I wrote him so
So I wrote him a door and let him go
I wrote him away so he could be free
For Perfect Man can’t belong to me

The Pumpkin

My daughter asked me to write about a pumpkin, so here goes.

Giant pumpkin
burning bright
in the suburbs
of the night
your ghoulish grin
and hollow eyes
brought to life
by sharpened knives
your guts ripped out
a fire within
your head comes off
to let it in
silently
you stand guard
o’er goblins and ladies
who trek thru your yard
the last dark hope
of autumn’s time
you laugh and rot
into the long
winter’s
night

Stupid Heart

For all the things we should have said…
If you only knew what’s in my head
Would you embrace me or instead
Run away in trembling dread?

I’m full of stupid love, you see
For each face of humanity
Every smile a sky of joy to me
And every frown a travesty

I’m not naive; I am a fool
Inside me rage of endless duel
The choice: to stay and fight and hurt
Or hide away ’til one day… dirt.

For all the things I should have said
I beg forgiveness, heart in my head
I tried to be you, but instead
I let you wither until dead.

Tattoo

I was going to get
a tattoo
But realized
I don’t need it
Between the
Birth marks
Stretch marks
Freckles
And scars
Life has already
marked me.

Gamble

Should we share ourselves
Or hide away?
Clemens or Dickinson, eh?
I don’t owe the world
Or do I?
It’s done so much for me
People say the rewards are great
But the costs are high
I don’t like to gamble
Do I have to play?

Roses For Me

Every day when I walk to work

I walk past roses

some wild, some more domestic

some with a powerful fragrance

some with the bloom half gone

but every day there are new roses, blooming

Sometimes I’m in a bad mood

and I forget to see them

but the roses are still there

Recently I thought

you know

one day I’ll be so angry

I’ll feel like I want to scream and run away

but there will still be roses

Maybe some time I’ll feel resentful

of all the things I have to do

of everything everyone expects of me

angry but mad at myself too

It doesn’t matter

there will still be roses

There will be a day when something so bad will happen

that I’ll wonder how I’m going to make it through

or even why I try

but there will still be roses

there will be days when I feel so lonely

like every piece of my life is a lie

and myself the biggest lie of all

but there will still be roses

there will be good days too

I’m sure

and days hardly worth remembering

days where the minutes crawl by

and I long for some excitement

and days where I regret

not enjoying those quiet moments

there will be days when I question

whether it was all worthwhile

what the point of it was

but damnit

there will still be roses

there will be a day

finally

when the end of me has come

when my whole life narrows to a pin prick

and everything is about me

everything

except the roses

they will be there, for me

Hello World

Hello world
You’re still here!
I bet you wonder
where I’ve been

I was busy
and distracted
doing dances
’round the bend

My head was
firmly nestled
in my belly-button
again

But I see
that you’ve been busy
doing your thing
now and then

Hello world
Did you miss me?
I was here
but not awake

I was swept
up in my story
yada, yada
something-heartache

Hello world
It’s been nice
catching up
you are swell

But I must
get back to it
my own story
I must tell

Hello world
will you be here
when I lift my head
again?

Goodbye world
Nice to see you
We’ll catch up
in the end.

Crude Matter

When I was 14 years old, I took a poetry class over the Summer with my mom. It was a blast; I learned a lot and wrote a lot. I was going through a… let’s call it a philosophical stage. Thus the context of the following poem.

Recently I was reminded of this poem. It seems like people are forever bashing life and mortality. Why can’t they just appreciate what they have? It is so amazing. I wrote this poem 19 years ago, but I still regard life with the same awe and wonder that I did then.

Crude Matter

I speak now of a wonder
Which has often been cast down by the poets
They say the soul is the true being
and the body it’s prison
Only in death may you find peace
I say “bah!” to this theory
It is old and tiresome
Created long ago by those who have no
wisdom or eyes for beauty
For all they see
when they look at the human body
is a piece of organic matter.

Mortality is a cruel joke they cry
Life on Earth is filled with sin
Only when you have passed on to heaven
will your soul be content
and at peace.
It is true, I agree
that death is quite peaceful and tranquil
But please, I beg of you,
hear my story through
For it is a fool who sees no more
than crude matter.

It is not just a shell surrounding your soul
but a living and breathing miracle
As all things which live should be
held in respect
so should the human body.
It is beautiful and amazing
It breathes, it moves, it lives.
Look at your hands, I pray
Watch how they move
Marvel at their strength and their beauty.
And think not your soul trapped
but merely extended
to a plain of existence
of movement, of feeling.
And remember, my friend
enjoy it for as long as you can
for mortality is always upon us.