Free Form

Poems are how I express myself when I only have a little bit of time.

Nonsense: A Poem

Books and snails in the netherworld,
and snips of bits and lips unfurled.
A bigger bottle rips the screen
and levels nowhere in a scream.
The triple tryst of untold lore
from fancy pants in the before.
And now forever was today
but there are blankets in the bay.

“When the moment comes, take the last one from the left.”

Who am I to ignore the prodding
of the all knowing fortune cookie
gods? This has become my
mantra, the one thing I consult
before any given choice needs made.
At the bookstore, instead of
reading covers, I simply look left
and go pay. Walking into a
bar or club, I no longer scan
the crowd for a possible date.
I look immediately to the far side
of the room (or the last bar stool),
and I go over and tell the
person that we have been
decided by the hands
of fate, and that they must buy
me a drink. Although it is not always
the most ideal outcome,
I refuse to spit in the face, of such
a glorious gift, and I follow the orders
given to me on that strip of paper.
It’s the answer to all life’s questions,
and a way to never
make a single decision again.

Angry Birds (For Jenna)

Two little birdies
sitting on a wire.
Along comes a piggy
that rouses their ire.

Two little birdies
make a slingshot.
Piggy tries to hide
but he’ll soon be got.

Two little birdies
ready, aim, fire!
Piggy builds a house
from wood and iron.

Two little birdies
flying through the air
Piggy has a smug face
looking at the pair

Two little birdies
their aim was true.
Piggy seems a little bruised
then he goes *poof*!

Those awkward teenage years…

betwixt the margins of old and young
the lines of decrepit and new
there lurks a moment of wild desire
of relentlessly restless youth

a supervillain is born

“Who the hell am I?” she asked.
“To stand out in a crowd,
to request attention
not taking flack
and to speak my mind aloud?”

Her venomous thoughts were spat
cruelly to the wind,
the words fell flat
on nearby ears,
too quiet to sink in.

She paused a moment shedding her fear
waiting for her time
Her heartbeat hammered in her ears
voracious with desire
blood running hot with wine.

In that moment, without regret
she set the evil free
Her appetite for her own madness whet
she crowed,
“The world will belong to me!”

The rain, the rain
it falls on the pane,
it splashes on sidewalks,
and wets down terrain.
The rain, the rain
it waters my head,
it soaks through my shoes,
when through it I tread.
The rain, the rain
it plops down from the sky,
it makes mockery of,
those who wish to stay dry!

New Regime

Flimsy,
falling apart the way paper falls apart in the rain.
Some may call them feelings,
but that doesn’t seem like enough,
doesn’t seem factual. It’s more like reality,
or unreality,
or some type of existence.
Ubiquitous in nature and form; present,
however, not accurate.
The lie bleeds onto perception,
altering truth, leaving stunned silence
in its wake. Organized chaos
follows as nature adjusts to the bend in time,
to the alteration of love,
and hate,
and nothing,
and everything.
Suddenly clarity
seems unattainable, satisfaction
seems foreign. No way to escape, but also
no desire to flee.

(Poems inspired by the musical styling of Gotye)

But you didn’t have to cut me off…
It was over but I didn’t get
just how over. That is, until
you canceled my credit cards,
and changed the locks.

Felt so lonely in your company…
Walking out of the bathroom,
wrapped in a towel, I forgot
that you still lived here. But then
I sat on the couch, only, it
wasn’t the couch, and I remembered
that you exist. At least you do corporeally.

You can be addicted to a certain kind of sadness…
Drips of crimson falling down
my arm. Yesterday the sun
was shining, but I was in here,
in the dark. this is far
more real, far better than
a life out there, than a life
full of laughter and smiles.

Now you’re just somebody that I used to know…
I passed you on the street. You had your
hands on her ass, and she had her
tongue down your throat. It was never
like that for us, but it doesn’t matter now.
In another time or dimension, I would have
called her out and gone home with bruised
knuckles and a sense of satisfaction.
Instead, this time, I moved on
without a word.

Eternal Anne

Sweet mocking jay in the bush outside,
stealing songs to make your disguise,
you sing my end, you sing my demise:
with every note my time does fly.

As I sit on this cold stone floor
I wait for fate to open the door;
daily I wait each one like before–
time is uncertain, but fate is sure.

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