Friday, January 20, 2006


A bunch of random notes
plunked out wildly on the keyboard.
I, IV, V
There's no set pattern,
no sheet music, no chords
no wrong notes.
The music races,
almost impossible to follow
but all you can do is
continue the melody,
as it rises and falls,
and enjoy the feeling of being
lost in the sounds.

Monday, January 16, 2006

The Truth and the Truthful

The Truth and the Truthful

If I were any closer
To the edge
I would fall off
Because I think too much
into things
Is the reason why I am so solitary
because I want to be
because I’ve changed myself
into this new person
depressed, lonely?
Do I wear foundation
Because I want to
Or because I need to
To convince myself I am acceptable
And in some way
falsely perfect?
And my blush
Is that the added touch?
To make me outstanding
or is it just more cover-up
disguised in a prettier package?
It is not that I want to be like this
I am not trying to be sensitive
or cause drama
I am not fishing for complements
to make me feel better for an instant
I am looking for an outlet
I want to tell
I want to talk about it
so maybe someone can see that
I am just hiding what is really wrong
In a prettier package
So when they all see
When I see
It will all just
Be okay
At least until the packaging rips apart
And the makeup wears off and fades away
Someday they will all see
but that’s okay

I think they already know.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Living Life on the Edge (Press)

The small shiny silver blades
carry us across the ice.
With each powerful stroke,
our blades carry us farther
from the surrounding wall
and closer to each other.
Days and memories pour
from us, laughing, sharing
as our legs push to
skim the ice faster.
Holidays, parties and huge
history exams are remembered
and then promptly forgotten
as other, deeper, less remembered
days and times trickle in:
the day I got up to speak in Spanish and
pronounced half the words wrong, the day
spent basking in the sun as we were serenaded
by the football and soccer games,
ongoing games where the score doesn't
mean much and the teams never
change, the day, years ago, we
crowded in the bathroom at
school amongst the smells of
costly perfumes and the sweat of
nervous girls preparing for their first dance.
These thoughts, memories really,
propel us around the rink
until at last we step off
of the rough, torn up ice and
back into present times once again.

modern haiku

The poetry of
the wind weaves in around me
robbing me of breath

Summer (Address)

Address: I feel like the ending of this poem is off-topic. Do you agree? Is it distracting? Should I change it, or leave it how it is?
A warm, balmy day.
School's out, and I wander
about the town.
A few cool breezes
pass me by as I
amble slowly with
no particular destination.
I smell spicy spaghetti sauce
mixed with
oily french fries and
hot green chili,
drifting in the wind.
Strangers pass me
and I gaze at their
faces with empty eyes.
I'm walking to nowhere
down the two-laned road,
not really noticing where I am.
I hear voices shouting,
Spanish, English, a mix of both.
Time passes slowly,
then faster, as the scents
change and I stop walking
as I look out across
the street at the stoplights
blinking yellow, green and red
as lines of cars, gleaming
in the sunlight
and then start again.
The crosswalk light flashes
and I cross the street to my house,
run up the slightly crooked front steps and
shut the heavy wooden door against the
afternoon heat.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

(no name) Address

Address-I would appreciate some ideas for a name for this peice.

The wind tossed around the snow
It teased me like an older sibling
The snow falls
In a million different ways and forms
Children run outside
To catch snowflakes on their tounges
While I sit by the fire
Reading the best book
I hear the winds mocking sound
I simply just ingnore it
After time the wind stops and just gives up
But yet
The snow continues to fall
To cover the world
In a white, cold blanket