Sunday, March 26, 2006

Crazy Lady (press)

Why are you doing this
Oh why are you doing this
You cause me pain with this crazy scheme

All the changes make me want to scream
Why must everything be so clean
Oh I hope I don’t loose my spleen

You make me want to throw cream
Oh yes you make me want to throw cream
To you everything must gleam

Not everything looks as it seems
You made me make up a word like leams
And even a word like cleams

So why don’t you stop being so mean
Oh why don’t you stop being so mean
Maybe you could be more lean

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Untitled (Press/Address)

Address: Title ideas? I had a title, but when I went through and rewrote this poem, the title no longer fit. Any suggestions?

Stubby green grass pokes up warily through the
weather-beaten pieces of my headstone.
These fragments lay mixed with the dry, brittle remnants of
one or two long stem roses, rustling carelessly in a cool breeze.
You lovingly left them in a crystal vase,
originally attached carefully to the side of the stone,
fastened there to reflect every last bit of light until the sun set,
now lying shattered on the ground, still reflecting
tiny shards of the ever-changing light.
These fractured shreds of stone and glass
lay testimony to the fury of that storm, a month or two ago,
and the impact of that 100 year old oak falling recklessly onto my tombstone,
seperating it along the tiny, yet deep cracks formed throughout the years.
They removed the tree weeks ago, but never really bothered
to tidy up the mess. It's your job, they said.
But you haven't come yet, and just as I begin to worry that,
maybe you'd finally forgotten me or were just too wrapped up
in your own pain and sorrow to visit me,
I hear soft footsteps crunching in the gravel
and you slowly come into view,
wearing your nice, although slightly scuffed, black dress shoes
and your one really comfortable old gray suit,
the same one you've worn on every visit, beginning with
the day I first came here.
You're walking deliberatly on that gravel, as if to
preserve the silence, invariably and inevitably present.
This time, you bring not one but
three dozen beautiful white roses, and stop
reverently at the two headstones next to mine,
saying silent prayers and paying your respect
to two of my closest friends, gone such
a short time, only two months, to my ten years,
the dirt on their graves still partially bare of grass.
Then you move on to mine, and begin to
pick up the broken glass, putting the pieces carefully into
an empty plastic grocery bag you pulled from your pocket.
Finally, you kneel in the grass, laying that final bunch of
roses down in front of you, mindful not to dislodge any petals.
I hear you whisper something softly, something about fixing this up,
before you close your eyes slowly, painfully, and
sink down until your head touches the largest fragment,
bearing my name in large badly worn letters,
and I feel your tears lightly strike the stone
and slide off into the growing grass as you mourn
your loss, still as great as that first day, that first time
you sat in front of me, not noticing that I was still there,
if only in spirit, and cried as you do now.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Silence is golden (press)

Preposterous, I say.
The witty fellow who
first spoke these is a
fool. None can truly
know the quality of silence;
for silence only descends
on deaf ears,
those that take
it for granted

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Sweet Dreams My Love

You are all around me,
Every where I go.
Your beautiful picture
Haunts me. The beautiful
Eyes following me, where
Ever I go. I see me
And I used to look
So happy but in the mirror it is different.
I’m angry, cold, and alone.

I love you, for being the best thing that
Has ever happened to me.
I hate you for being my only love; forever.

I wish I could kiss you but the poisonous touch of your skin, will kill
Me inside and out.

I cry tears tonight and
Forever more. I will always
Wait for you to love me again.

I am happy in the dark
, and angry, oh so angry, in
The sun. I will always
Be forever the lone wolf
In the night; crying to
The moon.

I hang my head, lifted high.
I cry only when I’m alive.
Depression and love are splitting me
Over and over, into a million
Pieces. Pieces that I use, to cut
out the pain in my arm. Where I show myself to you on
my sleeve.

So steel my heart and put it on
a silver platter. Hang my heart over
a cliff and toss it into the water
to be drowned by the public interruptions.

Kiss me goodnight. For now it is
time truly for my mind to leave
my warm heart, and sink into
my own dark corner, where I am invisible.
Your memory hugs my body, sweetly till I die.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Sad and Cold (press)

It’s cold and gray outside!
That’s just the way I feel inside!
I fight back those tears I’m trying to hide.
I try to smile to hide the way I feel inside.
It’s hard to do to myself.
I lye to myself and don’t ask for help.
I cry all night and wait it out.
I hate this feeling I want to die.
It’s time I call out for some help.
I talk to her, she’s my friend.
It’s better now time to end .

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Removing Mascara (Press)

Black tears
slide down my cheeks
as my false identity
drips into the sink.

A Lifeguard moment (press)

Splish splash the children are playing,
In the pool someone is drowning,
A scream is heard a wistle blows,
My heart is racing its going to blow,
I jump right on in to stop the show,
I hear the cry the plea for help,
I'm not to late to help her out,
It's over now the stories done,
The people are gone and I am shunned.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Branching Out

Check out these opportunities for teen writers at local area libraries. Click on the library link that's closest to your house and look for poetry clubs, writers' workshops and much more. Most of the events are free, and it's a great way to meet and share your work with other teen writers.

Mamie D. Eisenhower Library Teen Zone in Broomfield

Lafayette Public Library Teen Zone

Boulder Public Library Teen Zone

Time (Press)

Time runs its own path
Here and there
Every day every second time runs its allotted course

Entire civilizations crumble under its pressure
Language is forgotten
Emerging with new ideas
Merging from what was
Every new world flourishes for a time
Not earth, wind, water, nor fire matter
Triumph is but momentary
Seclusion is the key.



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Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Winter Magic (press)

Winter Magic

I look at the glistening snow
Oh how it beckons me so
It cries a wonderful song
To have me come join along
As it crunches beneath my feet
Oh how I wish it was heat
I fall down and look around
Then make a snow angel on the ground
I whisper into the snow
"I wish all could know
The joys of being outside
In natures mysterious tide"