No google necessary

I heard that God gave one sisters,

instead of big blisters,

so that one could grow strong,

knowing you're always wrong.

I know that God gave me sisters,

instead of fat misters,

so I could have angels around,

when I go into the ground.

no title

I love you.

Simple words that could fly like a kite over to you.  But I have to keep my kite anchored and secured, otherwise it will fall.  So I keep it tight, and slowly raise it, and raise it, and raise it.  Holding the line close to my heart.  Hoping that it will rise high enough so that you can see it from where you are.  And maybe you'll catch a glimpse of it one day, and you'll think of me.

meh......

Straight ahead I see
Another building facing me.
And out on the left
A woman bereft.

The water lady
Screams her call.
No longer shady
Trees have succumbed to fall.

Trolley buses come
With their familiar hum.
They stall and wait
To pick up their freight.

The woman I cannot see
Collects everyone's fee.
Later I will stand
Holding the bar with my hand.

bike ride

let's go

you're all invited

handhold

Climb
Boulder
Start down squat
Keep arms relaxed
Let your legs work
Search 'round for holds

You wish for a handhold
And how

Scrape
your hands countless times over rocks
Blister
your fingers
Attempt
to maintain a grip

Thrill and
Exhilaration
Build with
Each
Problem
Solved

Done for the day
Problems on the wall solved
Problems in the head still squirm
What now

All you want now
All you need now

Someone else's hand
A handhold for two

It won't break open your skin
It won't leave you hanging

As long as you hold on

at least it's something, eh?

"You see,
I don't believe that libraries

should be drab places where

people sit in silence,
and that's been the main reason
for our policy
of employing wild animals
as librarians...."
-Monty Python

Don't Go Far Off: Pablo Neruda

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?



I adore this poem, ah! Thought I'd share.

an old story from the boy who's coming home and me

Andrew's writing is blue. Mine is green. We wrote this during church, if I recall correctly, sometime in 2007. We could only see the third line of what the other had written and would then add on our own three lines.

Saving Leeches
His helmet shone brightly through the
night sky. It was a beacon of hope
to all who saw it. It created a feeling of
euphoria and everyone was seized with a desire
to strip off their socks and raise them
like flags to the sun. They took off their socks
and wiggled their toes in the sand
and then they lifted them above
their heads swinging them in a
fit of frenzy. Then they began to
run around in circles proclaiming their
intense hatred of the VP. They chanted
spells and brewed potions. Their
schooling at Hogwarts had definitely
paid off. They knew that
nothing could ever be the same. They
proceeded to sit down indian-style
(how racist is that?) on the grass to
the yellow brick road. They
called it that because it led to
China. (How racist is that?) It led them
to the great wall where they marched
for miles until their feet bled. They
mourned for their socks and wiped the blood
from the rocks. Their goal was
to collect enough blood to help save
the most endangered species of leeches.
They gathered the blood and performed the
necessary transfusions. The leeches smiled with life.

Sestina!

I wrote a poem that has form. And it's 39 lines. See if you can figure out the pattern.

Hold your breath and dive into the water,
Feel the saltiness whirl around your mouth.
The ocean and the sky merge into one,
The hot sand warms in the cold winter.
The scents from Puerto Rican cuisine burns
Your nose as you try to remember home.

You’re remembering the place called home,
As you drink Gatorade instead of water.
The pang of loneliness burns
Your heart which is stuck in your mouth.
You guess at “how many” snowflakes this winter,
While you’re stuck under a sun of one.

You’re trying to guess which one
Number you should phone to home.
Your heart seems full of winter;
It will not melt with the warm ocean water.
Words twist inside and curl in your mouth,
As they wait on your tongue and burn.

The hot humid air outside burns,
As you sit at a table for one.
You lift warm cinnamon buns into your mouth,
Like Aunt Corrine’s with raisins back at home.
You look out at the aquamarine water,
Wishing that spring would absolve winter.

Here in this gorgeous place it is not really winter
As shown by your shoulders that are burned.
Swimming in a pool of clean pure water
You feel as if this place and you are one.
You almost wish to call it home,
But the word gets caught between your tongue and mouth.

The hot liquid you pour on your lips and mouth,
And the snowflakes from previous winter’s,
Seem to coil around the mention of home.
All your memories seem to churn and burn,
Until they are melded into one,
Like the ebb and flow of two ocean’s waters.

The ache of home seems to tighten your mouth,
Until you get back to pool water in Provo winter.
Then the burn of Puerto Rico bends your heart in one.

once and now

Once I crashed my bike.
Now I have a scar.

Once I conversed in Russian every day.
Now I fear I'm forgetting a bit of it every day.

Once I didn't like tomatoes.
Now I love them.

Once I climbed Squaw Peak with Sierra.
Now she's in New York.

Once I picked huckleberries.
Now they rest in the freezer.

Once I got a scary phone call in the night.
Now I hope to never get one again.

Once I held baby Josh.
Now he will still cuddle-bug, but he's no baby.

Once I threw an apple through a window.
Now I laugh at that me.

Once I was.
Now I am.
Soon I will be.

zephyr

Sketch of a bird.

Snatch of conversation.

A broken button.

You turn the pages.

Pencil captured the bird.

Mind remembered words.

Tape holds down the three pieces.

The feathers remind you of a rainy morning.

Clouds hindered the sun as you looked out the window.

You held your cup of tea and upped Neil Young’s volume.

The assumed dialogue becomes a soliloquy.

A man and his dementia battle it out.

One voice. Two tones.

The three uneven pieces beg you to finger their crags.

One hole remains intact.

Makes you ponder your own heart’s shape.

This is really rough. Wrote in less than 10 minutes. Nat, don't be befuddled if you don't find any meaning because I don't always write meaningfully. These words just came out. I like some of the lines. Maybe I'll come back and work with it one day. For now, it's just been nice to have a little lunchtime diversion.

don't ask me what it means, it's late, you're all great

Why am I listening to Christmas music on Halloween?

Is it like when I eat oatmeal plain with cold milk?
Or is it like wearing a tide kick shirt?

Maybe it's like shanksing my loved ones?
Or is it the calming sound of living in a city of immigrants?

Am i a blue elephant who can't make up his mind?
Or am i the bright red leaf who doesn't dare fall?

And maybe i'm just like you
and you're just like me.

I want to
runrunrunrunbikebikebike
away
and
far
away.

leave my heart behind
in the dust of my body's sweat.

but I always come back to this--
my heart.

it cannot be left behind.

and, blessedly so, I suppose.
for it helps me in so many other ways.

I feel love from above,

love all around,

love on the ground.

in the mood for Stephen Crane

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter - bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”

Shadows

I had to write a poem for my Creative Writing. Here is my offering.

I never saw a velvet sky until tonight—
Walking onto campus to take my science test.
While molecules of information,
Whirled in my mind like Brownian motion.

Students were dark shadowy figures creeping quietly.
Someone whistled briefly-then quickly stopped.
Apparently afraid to break the silence
Or that shadows would break into unsettled violence.

My own steps were tentative and scared,
Like each one was increasing the entropy of earth.
My own shadow swung onto my left side
While the girl’s ahead of me was on her right stride.

The trees limbs were spider legs on the ground,
Crawling slowly to the edges of my sneakers.
The testing center was painted dungeon black,
From the shadows of the other building’s backs.

Before I stepped into the gloomy dark,
I looked up and caught my breath.
Purple stars pressed against the dusky blue sky,
Their own shadows totally invisible.

you

you once drank the dregs of your former self.
they didn't taste as bitter as you thought they would.
of course, you didn't swallow with a smile,
but you weren't exactly choking them down either.
they settled inside your stomach
and didn't raise a roaring fight to come back up.

you once hated that you.
but you have always been you.
the you that has been is and will be.
you.

preserved

put me in a bottle
with lots of alcohol
then I'll be preserved
and you'll have killed me

A Very Badly Written Poem!

When the shadows depart,
Where are our hearts?
When insecurity dies,
Who are we inside?

Stronger,
Braver
No longer afraid
Of what people think.
Living life
To the fullest

Or

Weaker,
Cowardly
False bravado gone.
Quiet minds become
More aware
Of the hurt inside others.

So who are you,
Stripped of your false
Covers?
Naked to the world
Your true self shines
Or dims.

this i believe

I believe in new days, in climbing out of bed to know that a whole, new, clean day stretches before me.

I believe in family. In laughing, talking, eating, and playing with them.

I believe in holding babies. Their new hearts jumpstart mine into living more fully. I believe in looking deep into their eyes. I believe they're heaven-sent.

I believe in gardens. I believe in digging, sowing, weeding, watering, and harvesting. I believe squatting in the dirt and working makes me alive.


Just a few thoughts on this October morning. I love the "This I Believe" Series on NPR and here's a snippet from an 1950's essay by Hugo Haas. His dad and brother perished in Nazi gas chambers. He's Czech and escaped to the U.S.

I believe in friendship as something given by God to make our lives worthwhile, warm and less lonesome. And I believe in love with all the consequences of joy, sorrow and sacrifices. For love is the strongest element that in the final analysis fulfills our lives. It is the strongest impression left to the end of our days and all the dear faces connected to these feelings: father and mother, brothers and sisters, wife and children, stay with us in our memories to the very last moments of our consciousness.

Jackson Browne

You old man that my dad listens to.
How long have I been drifting
alone through the night?
But your soothing voice
brings a calm to my soul.
In the shape of a heart and
pages turning,
and the hope that one day,
to be like the
rebel Jesus.