April Twenty-Sixth

For years you’ve been packing those emotions in tiny plastic boxes. What are you afraid of? You can’t confront it. Instead you run upstairs and slam the door, escaping imaginary beasts below.

Does it come from a dream? Some long forgotten dream? Seeded deep in your mind is a metal fan catching fire, Bigfoot stomping down Broadway and boys and girls that float up and down knobby apple trees.

Where did those years go? How many boxes surround you now? What happens when all you love is lost? Then, you’re left with just the boxes. Boxes that carry the sweat and blood of your memories into the next life.

But where is that?

Secret Identities

True lovers. Really true lovers, the kinds of fae tales. They may be unrealistic. Heroes and Heroines rarely, if ever, stand up against evil, at least the greatest ones. They also usually don’t possess from birth (or bite, ingestion, injection or hex) super human abilities or mutations that aid them in their fights. They also don’t cover their freakish identities with silly human costumes, secret identities. These lines written here have been utter nonsense. Things I probably heard at some point in my life in some rearranged order that I have dictated here to you, here today, in two-thousand-and-fucking-eleven… God, I even begin to forget what year it is… the comfort and expectation of those ever climbing and yet familiar nine-teen-nighties… seven, eight, nine… and then I was in high school. Looking for a love, a tale of woe, a sad, sad, weepy story. I found one. I found a few. Yet, I’m still proving to be most unrealistic.

It’s Never Too Late to Start National Poetry Writing Month! (NaPoWriMo)

April is National Poetry Month and it was a hard decision to forgo NaPoWriMo but I just couldn’t make it work with trying to find a job. Now I’ve had my interview and will be hired once I pass a pre-employment sandwich formula test…

I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun I just had to write some poems… Now, I’m feverish thinking I should just write the full 30! I may add in a few revisions here and there but I have a small start already…

Ageless Plastic People

I never could fit

in the plastic mold.

Thoughts run like a nose

in a circumstance of constant cold.

I unwrinkle the winks and smiles

that once indicated youth.

As the lines and frowns return

I learn to love the process of growing old.

Until, I too am resigned to the back shelf

flaking off next to greening cheese.

Throbbing, bobbing eyeballs popping

masked by the sound of knees cracking,

back breaking, body hurling toward the ground.

More to come in the next few days. Hopefully I can make it to 30!

Revised High School/Pre College Poetry with Images


I swallow the sky, taste stars and breathe out. Watch as galaxies glow in their iridescent emptiness. Worlds are cast in meaningless darkness until her eyes shine on them.

Night Song

Sweet and gentle night where are you hid away?

Imagine a cold breeze whistle through dark trees.

Long for the moment when winds grow silent

to be held in darkness, hiding from secrets.

Light is far too hot and bright, burns scratched up eyes.

I need to see the moon tucked in its velvet sky.

Birds are far too noisy for sleep.

Days so sad they make me weep.

Yet, in memories of gentle nights I find, you.

Nice to dream when stars start to gleam.

Never forget the comforting song

of time spent all alone in the dark.

Our World

Waltzing in a whirl wondering when I will feel the warmth again. Dancing in circles desperate for more, a deeper feeling, more meaning of being.

Lost and alone, you stand there, but where is our world? I can’t find you so lost in mine, in and out of consciousness, barely aware, mind confined, to the place hide in.

So scared you’re not here. Have we have grown apart and lost it? I hunger for the love we had, I want you in my bed, I want to know us again.