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Seeing as I'm taking a poetry class this semester, I am likely to be writing a number of poems. This is where I will post them. Feel free to comment! biggrin

“What do I do”

-I like the way this one came out, but I feel it could use some touch up-

I step outside of my apartment, both chill and warmth wash over me, winter in California with blue sky bright sun overhead; heading towards class, gentle tap-tap tap-tap of my tennis shoes, others milling around this way and that, talking on cell phones or to buddies- in a rush- hurry class

Sometimes I think, walking, seeing color, deep in thought lost, heading where I know I’m going, time slipping past- the silence calm relaxing

I listen, from the bathroom door slid closed, his shaver- I can feel the soft curve of his cheek on my fingertips, already there, framed between soft brown fuzz

I hear the heater come on, rattling as it coughs to life, choking up heat from deep in its belly- standing in front of its warm vents, soaking in heat before I bundle up and trundle outside

I stand in the kitchen staring, down at the sink filled with dishes, cups and plates and bowls and cups, half filled with murky water, waiting patiently, holding their breath- I hold mine

Music plays on loop, once twice thrice, again and again over, speakers breathing, I can hear the music, but it fades away on loop, mind unfocusing- my fingers gliding over white keyboard, words and sentences and no more, I feel concern for my friends I know so far away, worried for their sake

Staring down at my wedding ring, sparkles in the sunlight, I like to position it in the light, sun beaming down, so the diamond scatters and reflects the light on the white walls of the apartment, speckled with colors of paint, sponged on the wall- the dots of colored light dancing as I move the ring, smiling

I pull on the same old clothes, a t-shirt from the closet, preferably black if nothing else to wear, hanger back in its place, the pants I wore just yesterday and the day before and maybe a few more, thick warm long socks ignoring the lint between my toes, the same sweatshirt- a new one for my birthday my favorite band- the one that plays on loop- zipping up the front, ziiiiiiip, slipping on my Mickey Mouse watch, Sonic the Hedgehog wristband- I’m like a walking advertisement

I hate the TV, sometimes when he turns it on, kick the CRT in, pull the plug, but I don’t

I hear the neighbor’s upstairs, my imagination depicts a rhino married to a buffalo- clomp clomp thump thud smack rattle clomp thud- I don’t know what they do up there

Holding hands wherever I go, soft palm in mine, walking in step the same rhythm, smiling for the whole world to see,- no one can keep us two down, together strong and brave- sometimes chatting laughing mimicking singing, sometimes discussing planning fretting challenging

I feel his flesh when we make love, soft and always warm, taste a little sweat, smiling eyes with a loving caress, moments spent of desire, then calm again in one another’s arms

I taste the sweat of life, thinking of past memories, hardships endured now laid to rest, tackling homework stress moving through the present to get at where the future lies- I pass through the doorway from the bedroom, through the wavy blue bead curtain, shimmering casting its little blue flecks around the room as I disturb it, jingling as the beads touch one another, holding it open for him to step through- vice versa

every day one at a time

"Burning Passion"

-I like this one, you can't tell if the wife murdered the husband or if the husband murdered the wife!

If you had ever felt that way,
you would have done the same thing,
standing in a pool of hardening
blood, dripping like candle wax

Down the legs of the cherry wood table,
the varnish wearing off in spots
the way you wore off me,
this skin just doesn’t fit anymore

Grown too thick, dipped once too many
times, layers I didn’t know existed.
This was not how I intended it at first
but that’s all I can remember in

This heat that consumed me, now
drifting away like wisps and curls of
smoke, your hair falls over the tabletop
with a sheen, eyes glossed over, flesh like wax

I wonder now if I’ll miss you, already the
knife feels heavy in my hands like
some part of me knew from a memory
or dream, I’d snuff you out this way.

What’s done is done, I light the
match to the drapes of our two-story home.
This life is extinguished, time is up, understand now?
I have to start a new wick.

"Lost in My Maize"

I know it's a little corny, but it's still awesome!

Rows of corn rise up around me,
engulfed by this treacherous maze
that grows taller than my head;
above me skies are blue with clouds
that dot and speckle the earth with shade,
lingering, one almost feels stalked
by the ears, listening as I breathe,
“Get moving.”

Here and there I see between
the rows where someone has pushed
through, the corn stalks lie
like broken limbs
on the ground in massacre;
I do not tred in the same footsteps,
but follow the paths where they lead me.
There’s no hurry.

Forward, forward, never back,
only back-tracking if I must,
the hard ground underneath
my feet, so dry it peels away
from itself, yawning, as if sleepy
on this hot summer day–
where’s my ice cold lemonade?
Pale yellow and touched
with that silky fan stuck at the top,
sweet and tart.

The twists and turns, labyrinthine,
the stagnant heat,
the humid, acrid air
itching at the pores of my skin,
sticky beads of salted sweat
popping up like kernals
on this outer covering,
this husk that is me.

The scarecrow grins his candid smile
his arms outstretched
in how-do-you-do? I wave
in passing, knowing we’ll
not meet again,
paths can only cross
for so long before I move on
to different pastures.

I see the end now, emerging
lackadaisically,
I see my family sitting down
on a old hay bale.
My brother wears that impatient look,
my dad’s eyes wander to and fro.
My mom laughs,
“What took you so long?”

“Nothing. I was only dreaming.”

Needs Title

I’m shovelling chicken manure
on my father’s chicken ranch,
the Southern California sun beats
down on my pasty-white back
as I work in the heat, the manure
smelling riper and riper as I
dig, an acrid taste on my tongue.
Instead I try to remember the aroma
of the cheese omlet I
had for breakfast with
a cup of warm milk in
a tall slender glass.
From here I can hear my
mother yelling at my big brother,
he’s always got mom and pops
on his back, I prefer to stay
out of trouble. Mexican men work
between shouts of “me amigo” and
“chingaso!” and all around
the clucking coops of a million
chickens, squacking here
and there you know
another light brown egg
has tumbled down the hatch and
shute, falling into their collection
bins, the mexican women hurrying
to keep up with their baskets full
of the smooth ovaluar moons,
by the dozens borne for
cartons.

"Break"

not as in sustaining an injury, involving
the fracture of a bone, nor opening
forcefully, or suceed in dechiphering
a code or puzzle, not lessening
the harshness or serverity of a fall.
not the violence of the start of a
storm, nor bad news given to
a good friend, or to cause the
inoperativity of a machine or device.
not a gap or an opening, or an
exchange of currency into smaller
denominations, but a period of
time taken out of one’s professional
activity in order to have a pause or
vacation, a time to relax and
recooperate, get lost in a place
that is unordinary or different.

"Lake"

a large body of water, fresh
or salty, surrounded by land on
all sides; a pool of liquid, a
scenic pond in a park, a place
to row boats, to fish, to swim.
oars dipping down into the
surface, gliding sails skimming
across, buoys bouncing up
and down gleefully on
hidden waves, fish scattering
dancing under the glitter,
clouds and blue sky reflect
ed by the surface, mountain
tops and evergreens,
painted not with pigment
but by nature’s brush.

"Wake"

not in referrence to emerging
from slumber or a state of sleep,
no vigil of the dead, filled with
ghosts, the consequences of
disaster in aftermath, broken
limbs of trees lying sadly
on the ground, the stirring
of life and energy inside, but
the trail left behind by a boat
of disturbed water becoming
waves in the sea.

"Three Haikus"


Up high in the clouds
forming precipates, wash like rain, then fall
little glass beads of ice



Dancing ribbons of vibrant light
spectrum heavy with illumination on the gentle
canvas of a blue sky



Fried golden brown taters lying
on asphault in the sun baking as
seagulls stoop getting their share

“Her Pendleton Panda”

as blue as a panda in a bamboo tree
he’s a lonely sort
with not much going for him
other than those patchy spots
of his long-sleeved Pendleton coat.
tip-toeing down street corners
that weary and worn smile he gives
pretty young strangers with bouncing blonde curls
they regard him curtly
he’s as common as the penny left waiting
in the street for someone to pick him up
but no one ever does.
he’d be better off munching
on the eucalyptus
in a far off land down-under
at least they’d understand those
thick-rimmed glasses and big wide eyes
searching for somewhere to get lost.
alighting up and down the steps
of bunker 51
to his old office with paperwork piled high
laughing down at him like
scarlet macaws against a vibrant
green jungle sky.
this is the day he meets her
her eyes brown as drab puddled mud
the leftover wash of some rain storm
in a Kansas suburb frought
with all manner of tornado
he’s the whirlwind she’s been waiting for.
he marries her in a tiny church
of no note-worthy importance
a cake with the typical three-tiers
she smiles and whispers in his ear,
“you’re as exotic as stale rye.”