Sep 20
wondering about rain's picture

An ode to the perfect poem

Oh velvet black keyboard
you span my mind for miles,
rolling up and down waves
of imagination, you ride that
perfect endless sea.
Oh not quite good enough
half crumpled paper you have
the inner cogs laid out ready to 
click click, and assemble.
Don't bother with that pink 

pencil end you, are immaculate.
Slip on that sonnet and dance
under a sky I made for you,
maybe tomorrow you will 
pull on your best rondeau just
for me. Finally let your wild
spider spun hair flow free and
tear off your iron shoes nobody
really liked that much anyway. 
Those headphones,

Confidently they tell you the
story of The Cure and XTC as
your fingers skate their way across
letters, making magic like
a pianist makes magic, like a 
magician makes magic. 
No one can dare say that
moonlit pond no one
even understands how it
got there, was anything less
Sep 20
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Villanelle for the human condition

Some things, thought to long about, find
themselves lost along weary worn trails.
Dove in droves down a hole, but I do not mind

the constant relapse of existential crisis. Tied
down is not in my dictionary, don’t sweat the details,
somethings are thought to long about. Find

a too bright star burning the sky behind
you, stare endlessly and let it fill your sails
to dive in droves down a hole, do not mind

the gap. I could not stand to be blind,
trapped behind black to watch the constant wails
of somethings thought to long about. I find

I fear the abyss, the constant grind
of the unknown at work, it prevails.
She dove in droves down a hole but, I do not mind,

she was crazy anyway, always she eyed
the stars but tripped head over tails.
Somethings thought to long about find
they dive in droves down a hole, but I do not mind.
 
Sep 13
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The Kitchen


She stares into the lit flame
that peeks out under
a metal prison.
Behind bars only a quiet roar.

Does it remind her of
the flickering candles she
lights for those she loves
or, does it reflect
what shines in her own eyes,
contained by her own
fabricated cage.

A woman's place,
by the flame tending the
beast only fitting
because she oh like a raging
fire feels the kinship best felt
by the stove, a secret
love affair.

The kitchen she makes
into her own jungle,
the slash of a vibrant plant
always peeking out somewhere.

It's empty now, the candles
have been blown out
and the caged fire unfed.
A man walks in and sits in
the empty chair, only
to stare at the
stove and wilted plant
no one ever had
the heart to move.
 
Sep 10
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Pavement's Heat

Cheek pressed against the
cool grass I see.
The heat of Southern
California summer coming off
of the sun bleached pavement 
in waves,

waves goodbye
to cool breezes and
the sweet taste of 
Persephone's spring.
A slow beetle crawling its 
way across the lined
palm of a leaf stops to
wave its legs to and fro.
A silent sermon, to
what?

The sweet tsunami of flavor
from the pineapple that
adorns a fancy drink.
Bliss is the cool that 
comes from the fridges 
open arms on a wednesday
muggy morning while the
house still sleeps.

3 am and the shadow of the
sun not yet kissing the
horizon,
when you look into the 
dark blue and all lost 
balloons are, indeed,
lost.

6 am and the slight 
clink of a students
bike chain sets the
cities tone, and
my shirt, still sticking
to my back from 
Sep 10
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The fruit seller

Seeking out the spectacular,
I have wandered,
down philidelphia streets and
exotic night views, to see
it all would be sin.
The fruit seller smiled as
he held out an avacado but 
I, with not the heart to
tell him it was out of place,
passed by with little a 
joyful thought.
Walking into that grapefruit 
sky that shines like
hellfire, I know,
spectacular is this moment,
is this life.
Only with the wish to
have your hand in mine,
raining on my parade.

7 minute type poem 
words required to use: grapefruit, avacado, joy, thought, night, spectacular, philidelphia, hellfire
Sep 10
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breaking free

The clocks are weird today.
Off by a minute, missed by a mile.
The leering face of the minute hand 
staring down at seats meant
to mold the mind
in perfect concentric circles,
a target waiting to be shot with,
what? A gun.
Trying to land a hit, a bullseye 
if your succsesful. That perfectly
​molded mind.
Painted cement only a thick 
disguise to cover the jailers office,
trying to make the uninviting 
somehow just a little more attractive.
Tortured by the hour hand,
we wait, one year, the next.
To dream of endless cook outs 
and fourth of July freedoms,
when you, finally, break away 
from the clock.




 
Sep 04
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The dark of an unlit candle

All the flowers in the world
wouldn't have been enough,
not nearly.
Not enough to cover the gentle
valleys of your heart or the
bed of candles lit as prayers
and silent whisperings to something
bigger than you. 
All the time in the world won't
erase the ever present
smell of the kicthen as you,
small but a force of nature,
worked through out it.
The quiet shuffle at 5 am
as you awoke to a day as I am sure
had been done your whole life.
Wisely crafted from years past
I felt you always saw
right through people.
"Oh Mija I have missed you".
I have missed you too but now
the words are spoken
to an empty chair and the 
quiet flickering of candle light.




 
Aug 27
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In the right mind

When the wind blows I imagine the world
is speaking to me, guiding me into a secret place,
a place only my heart will see.
I used to see ghosts
that came out of the floor boards
and talk to strage fairies that lived in flower condos.
Late at night I would stare at the moon
and sing a siren song of lament
about a life not known to human kind.
Planets circled my head
in a world of day dreams.
Trees leaned in to listen
to my plights and the shadows under my dresser
held mischief and strange demons with
glowing red eyes.
The lapping of waves on the shore
was the lake saying hello and how was your day?
In the bed of the old truck was a polite ghost
who enjoyed our car ride chats.
Elephants on a wall tapestry danced
before my eyes in the dark and came to life 
in my dreams, only to be still come the morning
but every so often shift
like we shared a secret.
Aug 27
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Judgment day

I don't know why but I don't like my neighbors hedge.
Stupid bushes cut to sheer perfection, 
every time I pass it by I feel distaste.
Something about the way they keep those stupid
plants in line, a neatly kept barrier
against the neighbor hoods comings and goings.

I dont know why but I didn't like it when other girls,
wore short shorts or revealing clothing.
Faces painted to perfecection, to me, 
just screamed, "I am insecure" and it
irked me to no end.
A short dress was like a big,
"I need attention" sign.

I have made so many judgements.
Shame is what I feel for every time 
I didn't try to understand or see my own 
reflection in the people I judged.
i'm sorry for every person I have spoken ill
about or even just talked about behind their back.
i am sorry for every secret I did not keep
and every secret I created.
Don't be afraid. Don't turn away now.
May 09
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The Storm

I want to be a storm.
Feel that roiling in the air
and electricity on my finger tips,
holding the balance.

Make me a goddess of the sky,
feel my fury strong and true,
I will reign down upon you.
Let loose the icy tendrils and feel
them reach down
to where I stand,
say screw it to logic and here I
am.
In a field.

Waiting for that glorious 
laughter that shakes the world
to consume me.
That electric pop pop
connecting to ground 
from sky, through heart,
through me.

See that flash in the sky and run
for the cover of your
boxy hole in the cement jungle.
I echo deafeningly off your city streets
just to show, you can't hide
from natures roar.

Everything shrinks before a
storm. Only the trees daring to
stand tall and proud, bending
with the windy tirade singing 
their groaning song,
as if they summoned me.

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