This House

I got this house from my old woman, broke

And beaten, life to her was just a joke.

I got this house-- the walls were crumbling down,

The paint was chipped and off-white turned to brown.

The faucet dripped, a never-ending sound,

Like lies she told and blows she beat me round.

I learned from her the best the way to kill

A house, a home, a love, a mind, a will.

With scorn and hate I would have made her proud,

And drowned my fears with music screaming loud.

I watched the house dissolve before my eyes,

The termites eating all I did despise.

Before we razed the house it was a joy

And happy times she had there with a boy.

But God is cruel, she said, she said, she said,

And sent that boy to war and now he's dead.  

Revenge was wrought upon the house that bore

The memories, and the scars for her I wore. 

I wore them like a badge bequeathed to me,

A medal for the person I had come to be.

I wear them still as, walking, I perceive

The ashes of the house and her I grieve.

I sit and wait for death to come for me;

At least I know the terror dies with me.

Let's all talk in poetry

Dude

let's all talk in poetry

Idd be frickin' awesome!

We'd say all these

tight 

words

like trembling and devouring

And we'd describe

like

everything

in all these

crazy

details

And we could 

say

we're talking about

flowers n' nature n' stuff

but really

we're talking about

sex or death or

something like that

Yup

Idd be pretty sweet

Directions to Me

Take Innocence all the way to High School and make a left.

Push right on through the stops at Awkward, Shy, and Rebellious.

You're going to completely pass Popular and Extraordinary.

Take a right at College,

Which goes over a few crazy bumps,

Then turns into Acceptance and Maturity.

You'll make a dead stop at Soul Mate,

And don't be afraid to hop on Married Highway

Till you reach Settled.

Take a left at Children.

I'm past Struggling,

In a nice little neighborhood called Happy Enough.

If you hit the light at Perfect,

You've gone (way) too far.

Mac & Cheese

I've reached that age--that independent age,

When knuckles turn white from clutching freedom so hard.

Finally, freedom!  Beautiful freedom.  Funny--

It looks like mac and cheese in this light.

Tomorrow I'm going to the doctor all alone,

And I don't know my insurance information,

Or even my doctor's name, for that matter.

The car's on empty--maybe I just won't go.

But mac and cheese sucks when you're sick and tired.

My roommate's too busy and healthy to give me a hug.

I'd kill for one of Mom's backrubs.

You crazy tyrants--why did you give me what I wanted?

From a Reader to Her Love

My dear, I don’t wish to torment you;

Don’t lose sleep about the moments I do.

My fleeting affairs with impossible heroes

All end the same way: a close.

They crept in my mind while you, unknowing, slumbered.

But rest; my pages with them are numbered.

 

I hope I often enough confess my love

To banish your doubts with a sure shove.

 My heart is only yours, unmoved by their touch.

Please, do not think this lady doth protest too much.

But my actions have prompted your unwilling accusation,

And I am grieved by your frustration.

So because the evidence I cannot deny,

Here I lay this chapter open to your doleful eye.

 

My first intrigue was Romeo, blinded by his sun,

Proclaiming her beauty even before their love had begun.

In his unrepentant devotion I was lost,

And I, too, became star-crossed.

Yet I am no Juliet; on him I waste no prayer.

I know his cries can move not even air.

 

Then as I went on with my life,

I met a man who I didn’t know already had a wife.

His aloofness held for me a mystery;

I couldn’t help but be drawn out of curiosity,

For behind his crude insults I occasionally saw

A greater virtue far surpassing any flaw.

Mr. Rochester’s eye had been sharpened by fate’s blows,

And for every slander a new praise later rose.

But to his secret love I am no more chained,

A fresh view of reality I soon regained.

 

For my next dalliance I cannot be wholly blamed,

Though the scalawag could not be shamed,

Till when, forsaking all appearance of a knave,

Rhett stood a father true beside the grave.

But Rhett himself cannot be found,

And so our love remains page-bound.

 

There have been many others to whom my thoughts have drifted,

Merely fiction, and the mask of fantasy has been lifted.

Now as I write my own, real story,

Only one character has the glory.

Let the cover confirm my devotion anew

Look at the title, love: it’s you.

In the Blink of an Eye

Oh, God, give me no more than a passing thought,

Let my plight pass but fleetingly through Your mind,

And I will be healed.

In Your love, my Lord,

Your thoughts for me outnumber the grains of sand on the beach

And I trust I will be healed.

My physical pain is temporary,

Healed and long forgotten in a blink of Your kind eye.

I beg you, God, but blink!

And Lord, as I wait for Your eye to open,

Turn Your attention to the needs of my heart,

And for them blink again.

PA St.

Remember Pennsylvania St.,

The places that you walked,

The people that you chanced to meet.

Recall the colors and the scents,

Then vivid and gleaming,

Which, hazy, memory now presents.

Replay the sounds in wiser ear,

The conversations held,

And forget gossip you did hear.

Judge anew decisions made young

With hollow omniscience.

Repent anew your hasty tongue.

Allow time to soften and blur

The anger in your heart

So repatched friendship may occur.

See in your life the blessed themes

And strive to imitate

Those who, unasked, made your dreams.

The Plight of a Poor Man

Falling, shimmering stars from under bright orbs

Ringed with blackness,

Her tears capture another heart.

It selflessly beats to protect her,

To fill her seemingly empty life,

To end her assumed misery.

He offers the sun and moon—

Who only obey the One

That established their place in the sky,

And who do not stray from those

Trails which Providence blazed—

For he does not own the earth.

Yet the only treasure

Which would replace the shine on her cheeks

Can be found nowhere but deep within

That which he does not own;

That is, the sparkle of a diamond.

Lorena

Sitting on a church pew

Before the Yamaha keyboard;

Even in the dusty Romanian air,

I engaged in music.

Turns out I wasn't alone;

A little chick skipped up.

She perched right next to me 

And gabbered unintelligably.

I frowned and played again,

But she pushed away my hand.

She hit the keys herself 

And spoke just with her eyes.

The message clicked,

But where to begin?

"A, B, C, D,

E, F, G."

"Ah, beh, che, de,

Euh, fe, ghe."

On up the pitches,

One more octave;

Now speaking a language

We both understood.