April #27

Let's lie together under the stars
on top of blankets, to protect ourselves
from dewy grass
and hold hands
and tell each other stories
about the shapes those stars make.

Let's kiss together on bridges
and in cars, and planes, and what about
a bicycle
built for two
so that we can remember those kisses
when we are old and gray and faded.

Let's whisper together in the dark
hiding our secret future from everyone,
especially ourselves,
so in love
that we don't want to speak in loud voices,
lest the dream dissipate.

April #26

Love can be grown,
encouraged, started indoors
and then moved
after the heavy frosts,
a domestic plant
that couldn't survive the cold.
But love can also be the quailing violet
who arises after the first rain
early in the spring
and can be seen until
late fall.
But either one
can heal when injured
can recover from a wound.
Love is powerful
no matter how it starts.

April #25

let's surround ourselves
with beautiful things
and let our minds soak it in.
let's dive into worlds
rich in color and texture and feeling
giving us plenty to look at and to feel.
drown our ears in only the best music,
the classical, the greatest hits,
the wondrous awe-inspiring kind.
walk through museums
in silence and in awe
and yes, sometimes
in unimpressed pacing.
let's try to be educated,
aware of what has gone before.
throw away sad trash
and read the Brontes,
throw away ugly moderns,
and regard Picasso and Matisse and van Gogh
and then we'll throw away our culture
and return to real life.

but we'll be better for it,
won't we?

April #24

Springtime grows in tiny flowers,
little leaves and ivy bowers.
The air grows free and fresh and bright,
while lovers talk and walk in the night.
Bees will buzz, and birds will sing,
while schoolchildren run by whistling.
Then summer will come, drive us all indoors
enchanting or frightening with blowsy storms.
But while the season is here, let's make it last,
and spend all our time in the present, not in the past.

April #23

Isn't it awful when people
step out of being who they should,
and turn into feeling, thinking machines?
Instead of neatly fitting into the boxes we've made
they reach outside into the wild world
and traipse along by themselves,
forming their own reality,
utterly ignoring what we want theirs to be.
Parents are lovers,
and so are children -
something neither wants
to be true of the other.
When was the first time
you realized
your teacher didn't live at school?
Your mother had obligations
to others than you?
We are autonomous,
and it is hard to believe
that anyone else is.
But reality is skewed, and
none of us
can fit any one mold,
even should we try.
We must be careful,
not to upset others' visions
when we do it.

April #22

My father and I are unlike.
I believe in the greater good,
trust in humanity,
have changed from pessimistic views.
I will give second chances,
and third changes,
and possibly even fourth,
if I love deeply enough,
if I have not been wounded enough.
I will break my heart for the world,
and I will care too much.
My father wants to protect my precocious soul,
banning me from hurt
by banning me from people.
He loves me,
and so does not act out of active injury,
but in anticipation of future harm.
He believes that done once,
an action will repeat itself,
given the chance.
I love my father,
and all the more for his
sheltering arm
against heavy storms.
But I am young,
and I must hurt
and see all the world for me.
He knows this unknowingly,
and grudges but gives my peace.
I can love freely,
and for this I love him all the more.

April #21

She lies in his arms,

defenseless and unclothed,

and prays against the coming dawn.

He is warm and powerful against her,

and she can smell

his special sweat scent

all around her.

Please,

don't let it come,

she begs.

Let us stay in this haven,

this perfect perfection.

But dawn must come,

and so the day.

She must rise out of their nest

and go forth into the world,

and hope with everything she has

that he will still be there when she gets back.

April #20

Have I given up tough skin

in order to be a nice person?

I care too much

about certain other people

and should just shrug them off.

Perhaps

in my search for treating others

as I would be treated,

I have become vulnerable,

far too worried about self-image.

I am paralyzed with thoughts

of who is friends with whom,

and why not me -

worriment

why they don't like me?

What could I have done?

 When I used to shrug off these thoughts

with a simple social finger.

I feel that yes,

it is tied to wanting to please everyone

to treating them all kindly.

There is more than that

but the relationship

is definite. 

April #19

I get a little afraid

of saying too much,

holding too close,

loving too dear. 

You are my precious,

and my one,

and my only, 

but I fear that I will 

smother you in kisses

and hugs

and neediness.

I need you so much, you see.

Don't let me turn you off,

push you away

in my tormented tears

and hidden emotions.

Understand that I need a rock

as heavy and immovable

as your sleeping puppy,

as dependable and sturdy

as any ancient car

built when the building was worth it.

Be my rock,

my protection from the storm.

Just know

it may be a while

before I can trust you to be that steady

and in the meantime

you can help me 

just by being.

April #18

I have love now.

A true love,

a good love,

a love that can scare me.

I have time now,

lots of time,

even as I fill it up

with activities and jobs and works.

I will take this now,

and live in it,

and give it my all.

Perhaps I should stop this poem, then?

April #17

I talk about real life too much sometimes.

What's going to happen - after.

How I can't wait to leave

where I am,

in search for something more real,

more tangible,

more realistic.

I came across a quote today,

trite as it was,

and it sort of, 

well, 

revolutionized my thoughts a little.

Life is now. 

My life is

every moment.

It's not about after college,

or after work,

or when this project is done.

My time will not be saved

for after I finish whatever is ahead of me.

I have to cherish, and live,

and love the now.

So I vow to do it, 

silly and pointless

and sudden and revolutionary

as it may seem.

It's time for now.

It's time for real life.

My worries will waste each day.

Let my loves live them instead.

April #16

frustrated
tired
worried
angry
and
i don't want to be any of those

it would be such a relief
to let out my anger on her face
on her feelings
and to just purge it all

but i can't,
and i won't,
and i would never let myself anyway
you know that right?

no matter my big talk
she won't be hurt
at least not physically
unless she touches you
flirts with you

if i see her laugh
and look into your eyes
and give you a hug
that girl will be sprawled on the floor.

but as it is she is blameless, guiltless
so sometimes i must sit and stew
at the both of you
and make sick twisted plans
to come to nothing.

April #15

For one week
we've slept
through the world.
We should've known,
it wouldn't last,
we live with the past.

For one week
we've lived
all alone.
We should've known,
it wasn't real,
just how we feel.

For one week,
we've let
it fade away.
Now we've got to try,
to stay alive,
fight through the days.

April #14

P eople
E xpect to be
N oticed
S o when you
I gnore their
V estiges of
E vasion, they return.

April #13

julia wrote cookbooks

and mario stars on his own show.

alton discovers the scientific side

while nigella is merely celestial.

i am attracted to this world

of chemical reactions and

gastronomical wonders.

i want to make a success

of my idle dream

and spend too much time

ignoring class

to make the same lists,

over and over.

for now it is fun

but i have hope,

silly happy hope,

that there is more 

and i can reach it.

April #12

quiet

and soft

and tired

in evening sunlight

reminder of summer-to-be.

lying here

resting my head

on your lap

as you run your fingers through my hair.

this is peace,

my love.

this is peace.

April #11

springtime under new leaves
sitting on budding grass and
loving on the green.

April #10

Something witty,
something pretty,
something mild
and undefiled.
A little light,
a little dreamy,
teasing sight
of something seemly.
Give me flowers,
give me roses,
let's fill my hours
with little posies.
waste the time,
spent with me,
idle rhyme
and poetry.

April #9

Library



I sit here
in this dead zone
the constant hum
of copying papers
on the horizon.
I am surrounded
by open-mouthed zombies
slaves to machines
and technology
and I, no one better than them.
We are drones
consoled by the
siren song of printers
and internet cords
and bright-screen,
high-resolution monitors.
We are surrounded by jargon,
speak it,
live it. It is our first words,
our constant companion,
our preoccupation with which
we pass too much precious time.
Let us walk in green meadows
under dark skies
and revel in the shining of the night,
the stars that light our life
and give each unknown adventure
the edge to pulse our hearts faster.
We drown in cords and power surges.
Let us suffocate in open air instead

April #8

I will be.
I will not torture myself
with thoughts
of how I am inferior.
There are so many things
that I can do,
and that I can do well, too -
damn it! -
that she cannot.
I have loved
and I have knit
and I have been there
through long nights
and hard days.
And I have been there
to laugh
and to love
in bright gardens
in empty houses
in hot tubs
and sushi restaurants.
This is not
a comparison contest.
She might speak better French,
but I knit a better hat.
Oh, to even continue this list
would make me sick.
Funnier?
She can't be.
I won't let her be.
I need to
let go
of these insecurities
and just fall
renewed
into those open arms.
I'm almost
sick of myself.

April #7

She worries
sometimes, a lot.
She chews on her nails,
sometimes biting them off.
She tries to make it better,
cuddles up close,
wraps his arms around her.
It doesn't always help.
At times he sleeps
so she can't ask him
those questions -
are you happy?
do you love me?
Those silly questions
that will get annoying
with repetition.
So she waits, and thinks,
and worries and tries to stop it.
But he has given her good memories,
told her good things,
talked about his future
with her
even after this.
If she can just remember that,
how he won't let her wear a ring on that finger,
and how he bought her a flower
that she will love,
and how
sometimes
they talk of houses and babies and what she thinks of as
The Real World,
or Life After,
then she can smile,
and for the moment,
be completely reassured.

April #6

Practiced today,
for the first time in what could have been centuries.
The flute was familiar as always,
but I worried about ultimate rejection.
The metal was not as cold as I expected,
and when I played
of course my absence had been noted,
but it was forgiven.
There was peace in it,
and work, of course,
and I foresee frustrating hours
regaining what I have lost.
But in those weeks I have lost
and regained much more.
I can spend time in practice with ease.

April #5

Do you think
are you trying to say
that I'm manipulative?
It seems like you are,
in this conversation which
is like so many others of ours,
where we cannot talk directly
and only
indicate things with
metaphors
what-ifs
pretend statements.
It would be so much simpler,
refreshing, even,
if we could step outside of this web
where you and I are polite,
and just bitch each other out,
if that's what you're looking for.

I don't know.
I might have been manipulative,
but I was in love.
I am in love.
I don't think
I could manipulate truly
someone who I love,
but instead I would stumble in the process,
realize what I was doing,
and stop.
Because I believe in choice,
and I won't be the girl
who wished for love
then spent the rest of her life
wondering if it was real -
or if it was only because of her wish.
Things come at their own pace,
and perhaps
I encourage them.
But
I think
it was not manipulation.
I reminded him of what I was,
what I could be,
and he missed me.

Can it be so very simple?
Or are these more lies?

April #4

I write poetry,
and I don't know why.
I'm not some pretentious wit,
I keep it to myself,
and I don't know if I'm any good -
though practice does improve.

Sometimes I have those
flashes
those spontaneous outflows of feeling
that Wordsworth loved.
But it's not just that.
It's just,
perhaps,
the beauty of words themselves.

April #3

Looking back
at all these things I've done,
I flip pages
in photo albums
which I realize I am now thankful
for keeping.
I read old poems
that I wrote years before,
most of it
mediocre at best.
But still I must appreciate it,
its inherent value,
as a record of who
and what and where
I was in life.
Oh, how we change, how we are all
so mutable with time and love and life.

I have one prayer, and that is for you,
my constant, my rock.
Let you not change from me.

April #2

ne regrette jamais
that's what it comes down to,
isn't it?

don't ever look back.
don't ever let yourself think
about those other mistakes.

don't let them be mistakes,
let them be - ha -
learning experiences.

make everything a positive because
if you like who you are,
then it has to be a positive.

because theoretically,
you learned, you grew.

can't you ever
in your perfection
admit to an error?

you fucked up, messed up,
ruined it all.
don't tell me je ne regrette jamais,
don't fool yourself.

otherwise
you would sleep at night.

April #1

for three weeks
she slept
through the rain.

he had to try
to keep her dry

but he ran out of ways.

for three weeks
she hid
from the stars

he had to try
to keep her by

all in a night.

for three weeks
she cried
every day

he had to try
to dry her eyes

had to find out the way.

it's been
three weeks
she wakes up
looks at the sky
opens her heart.