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

Swallow

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.

Q&A

Look into a mirror and fall through. Empty coolness in expressions

like the time in the driveway you shook me,

“I still wanna be your friend!”

Or the time on the phone you said you didn’t love me.

Did you lie? Are you still lying?

Like the time you promised just because I was crying?

Pillow soaked reaching above for something to hold.

Am I going to die? I feel it running through me!

Shame! Resentment! Devastation! Revelation! Pain!

Why were you hiding? Where does the mask end and skin begin?

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.

Reenactment

I was sipping sweet sorrow
right through his broken arrow.

Silly thoughts of sometime last January:
We proclaimed our willingness to leave
our lovers in padded karaoke kissing booths–
Then, shared more than a glass or two
behind frosted windows.

I still see him whenever I please,
but his pillow hair is made of dreams.

Her Stormy Eyes

You update me from far away
my window pane is pounded
with a flash of hot rain.

What was that I wished on the star for?
I wanted you to call me back
to tell me what you wanted.

I hope this doesn’t shut off,
that I don’t blink out of existence, for you.

I’ve been waiting since our last
Indian Summer. Held up like a prisoner
pushing myself more morphine.

Dulling the pain with casual smiles
and imaginary stabs in her back.

Hear a few scratches outside the door?
Wonder for a moment if there will be more…

It’s sweet to think of a couple
kissing on a sidewalk
eating to contentment
sliding down their spirits…

Until you consider:
that was my wish
and those aren’t my eyes
staring back at you.

Happiness Kills

repost from blastedgoat

I was playing around with a few lines I found in an otherwise blank document. I was taking notes on a conversation I had with a poet friend of mine named David. All I typed was “poets listen to long playing records of words” and “happiness kills creativity.” Enjoy and look for some edits more than likely… I must like you all, you are seeing my first draft!

“Happiness kills creativity,” he claimed.
I never got the point of using said
when one wishes to be more specific,
be more specific.

Don’t get long-winded,
forgetting your point
in the first place.
Poets listen to long playing records
filled solely with words,
no notes, except
the long pauses.

Slithering s’s complement
that constant cadence
of c’s and k’s.
To say nothing of the nuance
of n’s softening her hard consonants.

She never said a word after that.
When you want to be more specific,
be more specific

She doesn’t utter a word,
but they flow from her clicking fingers, tonight.

based on a conversation quite a long time ago with DRC.

Slipped

Once that someone heard it
it belonged to him.
She could not take it back
or force it down her throat again…

REPOST from: blastedgoat

Capturing Parallels

Pretending nothing happened?
Telling lies for we must not tell the truth?
Every time you accidentally mention my name,
brush me off your shoulder, edge a little closer
on a floral couch…

When I rested my head on your shoulder
on the train I wished you were mine again.
Even if you were disguised behind
a handsome strangers eyes,
the softness of your shirt gave rise
to the silentest of cries.

I could not believe that this dream
was sure to leave. I look for you night
after night until I get your face just right.
It’s comforting, there is no ring.

Sometimes, these strangers speak what you cannot.
Sometimes I think: I think, you like him, I think he likes you.
Thanks, smiling foreign dude!

A butterscotch shot, you’ll feel it in your sleep
with no hint lingering on your waking kiss.

I roll out of bed and try to remember
if I was dreaming of now or September,
under oak and apple trees
while we run from cops, skin our knees.

If this were the last moment of my life,
I would be sad. Accepting that this moment,
aside from all the noise of machines in the distance and
the strange fellow with the grey hooded sweatshirt
that just walked by is perfect:

I am sitting in the shade. I hear the spinning spokes
of a ten speed bike as I want for the clock to strike
the afternoon with four loud booms.

Chimes that string the leaves together
only so they can grow weak and detach…

I am sitting in the shade I hear the spinning spokes
of a ten speed bike as I want for the clock to strike
the afternoon with four loud booms.

Chimes that string the leaves together
only so they can grow weak and detach.

Considering We’re ‘In Bloom’

Bruised fruit sliced so deep knife is hitting seed.

Separate pulpy lives from as seen on TV.

Mimic rock bands, don’t tell mom and dad

we stay up late, rot our teeth.

Bleed Through

Does it bleed right through from me to you? Are my thoughts placed flat or running like a racing rat? Do you notice the absence of incense or the abscess of stress that grows in a knot in your gut? Does it bleed through a white shirt? Gory tie dye design, screaming circles of deepest red. Finally spiraling out, flickering off, going to bed.

Maybe Strange

It’s so strange how
you pound in my head
when you’re not around.

Wish I could see you,
do you think more of me?

Just wait, think and wait.
Patience, I will sit and wait.

Every time I think it’s over
I come over and end up all over…

Laughing, touching, all that’s required is here,
in your face, smiling and unafraid.

Maybe this time.
Maybe this time.
Maybe this time.

Maybe this time

I’m ready this time…

All we are, moments tangled in time,

I only think of you.

Can’t get us off my mind,
how strange…

Pet Waste

A yellow-striped Tamagotchi toy cat
rests on a windowsill.
She does not move.
She does not sniff the cold metallic air…

Time to Start

This post gets a lot of hits, well compared to the rest on this arm of my tree-blog. I haven’t done much with this monochromejadethoughtsdreamwrathfully, and it is such a cool name for a blog if I do say so myself but, I won’t because even though I have been blogging since age 13 (I am now 24) I still think they are lame and no one wants to read them, except me!

Now, before you go yelling about me blasting blogs while I ramble on my own and accuse me of being a hypocrite you should know that the above observation only holds true for MY blogs.

It is true I talked ENDLESSLY about whatever guy I had a crush on or what movies I wanted to see or what I did that day in general. These serve as a permanent reminder of how nerdy I was but I don’t wish them any ill will, they have also served as a way for me to learn from myself.

Long before WordPress and YouTube, FaceBook or Myspace there were free site builders, yahoo pages, and a million cliques, webrings and even the first blogs.

Before the “like” button someone had to code HTML or someone had to sign up for a free Angelfire account to make their voice heard… or at least read.

I love reading blogs and now they seem more useful than ever. You can find a blog about anything and by judging the response in the comments and using your own common sense you can pick through this information and even run across brilliant writers and like-minded people in the process.

I don’t claim to have the best writing skills (that is funny, considering I majored in English) but I like to think each person has their own way of communicating and no one way is right or wrong. You could correct a person’s spelling or syntax but until you care more about the ideas behind the words and sentences you still won’t understand a thing.

I titled this as such because it was the first entry… (I think) of monochromejadethoughtsdreamwrathfully and I really do want to start something new…