I would not choose to be a fish,

always staring with jelly-globe eyes.

True, glittering scales are one consolation,

but always the threat of being eaten,

and always (excuse my vanity) that stupid, gaping mouth.

I would not choose to be a frog,

gulping air by the barrel-full each day,

and always the threat–

if I keep my current sense of direction– of

dessication, because I leaped

far away from a blue crystal pond,

and ended up far from any body of water.

I would not choose to be a bird,

for if the human sense remains,

I would never soar too far off the ground, and

would wind up tangled in a telephone wire,

because I have to wonder if both my and a bird’s attention

spans are about the same short length…

a mouthful of orange peel with watered down gin

and a lemon wedge is the ultimate hangover cure

my friend says

sometimes pronouncing love is like tying a knot

with a cherry stem

a grapefruit is a sun

my mother spends hours on vacation

digging in wild thorny bushes for berries-

ephemeral gems

cranberry sauce is a constant at my family’s thanksgiving

as people come and go but the red jelly is always present

someone takes a bite from an apple and suddenly it’s his property

blueberries aren’t used to barter

in this country they’re ubiquitous

durians may soon be used in chemical warfare

people like me eat

words like grapes

So I survived my first year away at college. *deep sigh of relief*

I know its kind of a lame excuse, but I was busy a lot of the times, or just focused on other things, that’s why I haven’t posted on this blog in about six months.

Now that it’s summer I plan to fix that.

You’ll be seeing some new poetry soon, although I can’t promise I’ll be able to churn it out daily. But stayed tuned anyway!

If a minute were longer then so,

long enough to wonder

if my decisions will be transparent

or if they will last and people will know.

And long enough to wander

through the dark streets at dawn,

through the narrow streets accompanied

by a body of yellow fog,

and walk until the morning yawns into existence,

and then proceed through the halls I have come to know,

but with each step

I continue to grow, as all people do,

in that unseen way.

 

And who am I to leave something

more than ephemeral

on an otherwise simple scene, on an otherwise

simple day? Is it right

for me to ask for a bit of permanence,

to ask for more than a footprint

in the snow or in the sand?

Is it right for me to deny something grand?

Is it right for me to ask

for nothing more than the seemingly infinite warmth

in the clasp of a hand?

For, in a minute, what I announce

will be read, forgotten,

or- perhaps- renounced.

 

8

Posted: November 17, 2014 in Poetry
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An Eye of Blue is like a Dream-

a Sea is that One’s Soul!

A Field Aflame in Eye of Green,

and Brown will calm or enthrall.

 

My eyes are Amalgamations,

a collision of two Souls;

three Colors combat and Glow-

My mind, it always reels.

 

written 22 October, 2014

edited 16 November, 2014

Last night I had an anxiety attack.

I fell asleep at eleven,

woke up at 2,

and couldn’t go back to sleep.

I was hung up on

schoolwork, relationships, my place

in life. Not so much wondering

as letting it all spiral into chaos within my head.

At lunch I felt depression settle in-

the feeling of Not Feeling.

I told myself that I wasn’t going to wallow,

that I was going to feel things

because I was better than this,

but my body barely listened.

And all I want is for a friend to listen.

I may be in a new place,

but I want to keep my old, good friends.

I don’t want to feel ignored,

isolated,

alone.

Here’s a plank to think.

A response to an oral: an assembly.

Assemble quickly,

silently, or not so.

Better to think than preach, so they say.

So they say there’s a way. Even in.

An even you don’t. You catch.

An assault of lights.

A wink. A thousand brights. Yellow globes of strobe.

Yellow burning white.

Little planets.

Comets. Of whirring and flash

there is no worry.

And so to stick to mind.

And so stick a tongue, so stick a lip;

there are worse, and there are white lights.

And there are purses, there are people.

Where there are purses, there are people.

Mind not the blinding, the light

from up.

Think aloud.

“So they say.”

You say.

And there’s applause.

“I felt a Funeral, in my Brain…” -Emily Dickinson

I felt a funeral, in my Mind,

like the slow decension

of the Sun clearing way for Dusk.

And- it seemed- the Procession

carried Reason in the polished Casket.

And the Dirge began to play,

Mourners faces remained Stoic,

the absence of Sagacity

weighed heavy on my head.

No riveting Ecstasy

as the cathedral opened up,

releasing a Necessity unto Heaven.

written 14 November, 2014

I haven’t been posting a lot these past few months because I have moved to a University, and have been busy not only settling but also with schoolwork and extracurricular activities.

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me in spite of the lack of content being regularly posted.

2

Posted: October 27, 2014 in Love Poems, Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

I can love with a Promised heart.

Disclose to me what you believe.

I will show you evidence- Proof-

that I belong to me, but can remain True.

written 22 October, 2014