Valentine (Press)

In love with you the murmured rain I fall.
The diamond droplets crash into your eyes;
I wake but drift away at Saturn's call -
The shrapnel of my soul wears your disguise.
In love with you the steely stars I stay.
They sweetly glint beneath night's velvet lash
as maidens, slumbrous, lovely in the day,
emerge to stud Diane's argentine sash.
In love with you a mermaid's hymn I die.
And Newland's thought for Ellen always knew
the gently whispered waves, the gleaming tide
bring with them lethal subtlety - it's you -
A neck adorned with broken shells is white;
Gold hair wreathèd with weed turns silver night.

No Body (Bless)

This is from an assignment in AP Lit and Comp. Having not written a poem for a long expanse of time, I wanted to make this one count for more than a grade.

I called you yesterday.

Down in Mort's shed,

we found what we needed to find

and did what we needed to do.

Yeah.

Drink up, drink it in.

There wasn't a flip-flap in your jim-jam

and the window was open.

Oh, dunderbill.

But no body.

I peered--

I poked my head outside.

I could smell the wind.

Dry, soft and warm.

Dirt.

But no body.

I saw where you laid.

It still held your shape,

where you laid

where we burned

ending a summer's night eve.

Tinged, Redding was tinged.

No, marked (opaque).

He had it marked down, pegged, even.

Ah, the meaning he had surmised.

Or was it fear?

No, fearful men never throw themselves.

Just the meaning, just the meaning.

He threw himself down

I wrote something on the wall.

Burned it, really.

There was smoke in the air.

I could taste it in the bottom of my throat.

Like heavy ashes

looming in my body

a heavy reminder of things past.

There will be no ashes for this one.

No coffins, either.

Only a marking.

For he's gone.

No signs of movement or anything else.

Only a marking where he lay.

I lost you.

Just disappeared.

No trace.

No solution.

Gone.

Slate (Press)

you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes
you are the one in my dark eyes

Autumn (Bless)

Autumn is the smell of pumpkins,
dry leaves, pies.
It's warm scarves and light jackets.
It's walking home instead,
going out of your way
to crunch that extra crackly leaf.
It's raking, and carving,
and ringing doorbells.
It's decorations, costumes,
and tables full of family,
warm food, long chilly nights,
and always, that little hint of
snow.

Magnetic Class Poem Fun (Bless)

(For those of you that forgot, these are the two poems we created in class at the beginning of the year. Enjoy!)
1
different music is love
whispers for you
we jump and fly believing
every dream is more
to wish by a special thought
at night always together family of friends

2
we are happy together boy and girl talk
blue music winds and butterfly love
always wants summer as a dream garden
different thoughts glow
you are home friend
believe magic wishes bring morning
I see all
but my lightest day is dark
and the moon she is a whisper to every bird
imagine
jump out yellow window

Stained Glass (Press)

I think
that afternoon
I shattered away
into luminous bits
some flew into your eyes
and glimmer there, shy
when I look at you
I thought I recognized
someone I knew
that night
it flashed within,
as lightning revealing
a tree's slight shadow
I knew
and instantly forgot
consciousness transcended, maybe
up through winking stars
when I glanced
at forgotten fragments
strung together
in your glassy gaze

Wither (Press)

inside me
lie things unresolved
things unconcluded

let my mind fall
into a forbidden place

land softly in memories
lie quietly on desires

shoved back so far
you cannot convey them to anyone
they prevent you from interacting properly
if you become engrossed in these
you will die

you'll lie there
waiting, wasting, withering away
for something that will never come

these are things you know
you're not supposed to think about
things you're not supposed to want
but they're there

and all you can do is write
meaningless and empty poems that don't come close to explaining anything
words to describe what happens there do not exist

and your frustration at all these dead ends
builds up into an intense fury
that amounts to nothing

all you can do is live your life
with those emotions existing covertly under the surface
constantly, constantly, always there

ripping, gnawing, biting at your soul

Sleep (Press)

Absence
begins to
cry in my
dead
ear, into which sounds
fall, a pit of
gravel, each
He a small note in the
I chord
jangles with
kicking violence
lets
meaning flow
nebulously
out like
platonic blood. The
question
resounds in cacophonous
song,
teetering on
unlawful
voice's
wistful precipice.
Xylophones pound
you out in a
zephyr fallen.

The Guardian

I see all that you see. I hear all that you hear. I feel all that you feel. I am the Guardian here to listen and aid you. Finding yourself through my guidance, becoming what you are meant to become.