Food of the dead
like dreams of the living
Songs in my head
like riddles in space
I once was in bed
with a guy
that said people don’t give in
at the place where he’s from
and I didn’t believe him
then he mentioned he was an alien
and I got curious.
Nerves slid down my spine
like a snowfall in winter
I asked him some questions
and he answered like a prisoner.
We floated to his planet
high on life in another dimension
songs in our head, solving riddles in space.
May 29, 2012
May 23, 2012
One of my poems, Ah, the City, just won the WragsInk Philly poetry contest :) See page 6 of my blog if you want to check it out!!!!
May 18, 2012
Old Soul
An old soul some say
looking back on my life like an old lady
rocking in a wooden chair and hitting the wall with my elbow
as I ponder fast happenings, flocking mistakes,
charming fellows I used to date
then I slap my hand on my knee, maybe
as smiles dawn upon my face slowly
like through the dark hours when morning breaks
uncanny how it seems
and when thoughts of oneself are just as good as anything else,
then is when you know your life is complete
at least for now…
May 16, 2012
If the woods could talk
right next to the school
they would complain like I do
sometimes about you, and
rude kids and bad weather,
chirping some resentment
that’s natural
I think once I heard them
whispering about happiness in summer
I can’t remember
after I sat up too fast today
and got a real rush of air
drugged in hopefulness and marijuana
pretty sure the trees told me
they’d take a walk if they could
away from their spots planted
like I once took a stroll
away from the darkest corner
of shade in the forest
with my pen in hand
and a compass pinned to my jacket.
-Inspired by a good walk taken with a dear friend
May 15, 2012
(Source: whiteflower-lover)
May 13, 2012
Free
Freud, like many others
said dreams are where to be, if you want to fly
but I say, absolutely not
Stay here and choose reality, the greatest flight of all.
With this philosophy in mind, I made a bullseye right before summer
some people call it full-circle, what have you
A round-about way of remembering this one time,
as a child
my Dad said he didn’t want me to get dirty,
but I already have.
Maybe someday soon, everybody will appreciate
my relative humanity, but I doubt it.
I am…
so fucking free, finally
and that is all that matters.
May 7, 2012
The clouds, do what they do
hang like velvet curtains over the city
My thoughts, they hang in the sky too,
but weigh heavy.
Philadelphia is a clam shell
all the innards and dirt
the musky smell inside
it all reminds me of you
Or maybe me?
Myself in a different time and place
Yourself in a space of another person’s company,
female or male, it doesn’t matter.
What I say is real,
but you pretend not to hear
over the traffic beeps and bus engines, trains spewing loud sound in your favor,
inside a clam shell that’s flavored with stoned brick and masses.
May 6, 2012
See Me
They see this innocent face
The years go by, but it never appears graced with age
At this place, they can’t place me
They say I look like a baby
So cute, childlike, young and sprung unlike their
dark, old fantasies
Box me in, why?
They think that makes it easy
Not that I am new, you see
I say open your minds
Call me naive, maybe
When it’s really experience beyond belief, talking
Stealing, fucking, guilty, heated, sulking
Seen it all, but they don’t understand me
They stay, simply stuck,
in their undone, dark fantasies.
May 3, 2012
Perhaps, it is all a trap
to go down that old path
when I imagined I already
had turned back.
Lacking in clarity
but not really wanting any
From the looks of those same old trees,
that dirt, those leaves
everything is the same,
nothing is the same,
and the path under wraps looks tidy.
April 26, 2012
Baggage
The fireflies, they get to me at night
The sun in the day streaks my hair
Amber waves in my mane
Like American times in the summer
Bright, rough, no worse for the wear
Tear through that day like it’s destiny
You want to move freely like dust?
Then get some wanderlust with me
Let’s make love to the new day
Travel far and wide to some stone uncovered
Whatever you do, take some baggage
we can unpack it all
then burn it.
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Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
-
to remain
still and not breath
is what is done
when I sleep at
night- to die again
alone waiting for
the touch of dawn
to hit my old grey eyes -
“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that...”
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the distance
between my heart
and yours is unbearably far -
