School Days Ages Solitude Inspire Me! Form and Balance Isn't It Ironic?
Sonnet After Shakespeare and Sidney (1/25/95)
My affections for thee,
Are fathomless as the sea.
My eternal adoration brings
To me a gentleness only found
In April's time, in racing springs,
brought by rains too heavy for the ground.
Ephemeral loves, as ghostlike as their name,
Are but petals, and whither fast,
Ever upon heartstrings playing their game,
These Hellish harpists, minstrels of misery,
Enchanting the fools and darlings of years past.
But, not my fool will you be,
For I will gaze at thee, from afar,
As an Astrophil looks upon a Star.
Soliloquy After Shakespeare (2/16/96)
To love, or not to love -- that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to pine away
In silence, or to stare into the eyes of Fate
And proclaim it to him. . .but in so doing
You face the ultimate rejection.
To dream of love, to love the idea of love --
Ah, but there's the hurt -- for in loving love's ideal,
The One upon whom you have bestowed this honor
Becomes more real in your fantasy than if he had
Returned your favor.
And if he rejects it, what have you then?
His disdain pierces your heart as if 'twere
A lance, and you only hope to escape
This humiliation through a torrent of tearful musings.
But, if 'tis indeed so noxious, as I have seeming proved,
Why do we look to love, knowing full well the
Heartbreak it so often brings?
'Tis for the ecstacy of drowning in
Th' affections of another, whose adoration
Is nonpareil. The journey to this "rediscovered country",
In love, through love, by love, if but to fondly look upon't
At some later date, makes this pain worthwhile.
But, of this love requited, I cannot tell,
'Tis that unreturn'd I know too well.
Here and Now (10/29/96)
I am no stranger to heartbreak.
I've seen my share of disappointments
I'm not sure if love exists for me,
But it doesn't matter anymore.
If I think too hard,
My thoughts get in the way.
If I look too hard,
I am frightened by what I might see.
I've had my share of heartbreak
I've grown a lot since the first
And, reaching into the corners of my mem'ry,
That first heartbreak will always be the worst.
I've had my share of heartbreak
But I'm not broken down just yet. . .
I'm still hoping for the love I haven't met.
Contemplations (10/29/96)
What does he want of me?
This line sung by a whore
Of the lunatic who treated her as a lady,
Fits my feelings to a tee.
In terms uncertain, I think of him
And know he isn't free.
But that's not what bothers me.
What bothers me is what does he want
If he doesn't want an "us"?
I really have no problem with a relationship for fun,
But I'm confused as Hell because he's with someone.
And if I should speak of this to him,
What words am I to choose?
If they're wrong, both lover and friend I'll lose.
How can I find out what I need to know,
When I can't see for myself why it matters so?
Modern Romance (rev.:12/13/96)
"Chivalry is dead". . .or so I've often heard
From fuming females whose gripes are quite absurd:
"He didn't pay for my dinner."
('Twas she who'd asked HIM out, the man is no sinner)
"He made a pass at me!"
(Well, of course, you dumbkopf, it was date thirty-three)
"He wouldn't hold my purse"
(Now that's just the worst!)
These lists, I fear, go on and on,
Because these women ne'er express
Exactly what they want;
They leave it to their dates to guess --
Now who's the least gallant?
My Poem About Cows (That Really Isn't) (12/13/96)
At first, I couldn't understand what it was
About cows that made all the girls at school go
Ga-ga for them. . .
As for me, I felt that cows were more trouble
than they're worth.
But, now that I think of it,
Cows have good qualities
And it may be worth it to keep a few around,
Even if it is just for milk. . .
Leaps of Faith (4/10/97)
Introduce yourself to me,
Give your face a name.
I'd like to get to know you. . .
Get to know me. . .
Earn my trust.
Believe that I trust you;
You have taken the first step.
Believe that I love you;
You have made a leap of faith.
Know that I trust you:
Do not betray me.
Know that I love you:
I am yours forever.
To "D.L." (5/18/97)
Have you ever known someone too well?
Have you ever loved someone too long to
remember its having been any other way?
Over my lifetime, I thought I never would. . .
But I thought too soon.
I have met him; he fascinated me.
He possessed my heart and soul,
Even though he would not accept them.
I know him too well to hold him too tightly
but
I have loved him too long to remember how to let go.
Wasted Moonlight (7/4/97)
I went to the window yesterday. . .
Alone. . .
And watched the world outside --
Cool and silvery --
Bathed in the moonlight. . .
I stepped outside and stood there. . .
Alone. . .
Wishing; hoping; praying. . .
Thinking how
I was alone on such a night. . .
alone is such a waste of moonlight.
Ophelia (9/23/97)
I'm in love with a boy who don' love me,
This truth, that scars and burns,
Is acid blistering my soul.
Into the blackest vortex, all the light disappears,
That light was my hope. . .
It has been drowned in my tears;
Washed into oblivion;
Eroded by the acidity of despair. . .
And despair (or is it desperation?)
is all that remains
At the base of the dammed (am I sure it's not "damned"?)
Lake of emotion,
I plunge into the depths, clutching my pansies,
Violets and rue. . .
On my lips is a barely whispered phrase --
"I love you" --
And I sink to join my sister-nymphs
beneath the glassy waters of Eternity.
Chalkdust(June, 1994)
The stale odor of a classroom is produced thusly --
By carefully erasing the chalkboard fussily,
Then pounding out the erased articles,
In clouds of pulverized particles,
Which cover desks and students mustily.
"The instructor said
Go home and write
A page tonight.
And let that page come out of you --
Then, it will be true." (Langston Hughes, "Theme for English B")
What can I say?
A cynical optimist doesn't fit,
Neither does a humble braggart --
An insightful ignoramus?
No. That's not me. . .
But it is. . .
A lucky loser?
A clear-thinking scatterbrain?
Could it be that I'm more contradictory
than an oxymoron like "freezer-burn"?
Or is it just that there aren't any words to describe me?
As complex as a crazy quilt,
As simple as bathroom tile,
As readable as large print,
Yet as muddled as a Victorian novel --
I'm as unique as a snowflake,
But identical as a clone. . .
I'm just making it up as I stumble along,
bewildered and bespectacled,
Into the all-too-close realm of adulthood.
September, 1995
Acrostic (10/29/96)
Generalization is a crime
Overly specifying is just as bad. . .
I'd love to be vague,
Nebulous or make unclear and
Generic statements in my papers, but
In college, one needs to be so terribly
Specific that it can
Almost drive one totally
Nuts and you'd
Eventually be taken away!
Limerick (9/24/97)
Oh what a loathsome subject is Calculus!
And how I managed to pass is miraculous:
My brains were fried
And of my grades, I cried;
"It's good enough; now I'm done with this!"
Socks(Rev.:12/13/96)
Upon climbing down from my top bunk,
One frosty winter's morining,
I discovered that
My floor was so cold it had frozen to the rugs.
Rapidly, lest my feet should freeze,
I dashed to my dresser drawer
And, cautiously, robber-like, drew out my treasure --
The soft woollen gold-toe Argyle socks
I had hidden there, to keep them safe from my brother.
As I pulled them onto my icy feet,
I sighed happily as I caught a whiff
Of hot pancakes and sausage. . .
The Little Things. . .(Feb., 1994)
The hardest things to do in life
seem to be the smallest:
Taking advice, accepting things --
saying "I'm sorry",
Stepping down from your high horse
and admitting you were wrong
Is definitely
easier said than done.
Ella Se Murio(Rev.:12/13/96)
When you first hear it,
You are shocked. . .then amazed.
"It can't happen here. Nothing happens here"
You hear yourself chanting, as if it were a rosary. . .
Then, amidst the sobs,
You angrily ask "ehy?"
You know she wants to explain,
But your answer is only Silence.
Goodnight(Feb., 1994)
When a young child,
Tucked into his bed,
Listening to the soothing lullabies of the crickets,
Counts the stars,
He and his teddy bear
Never seem to finish
Before drifting off to dreamland
While the moon tells her faerie tales
to the patches in the quilt.
Alone (Nov., 1993)
Amongst the pines
I wend my lonesome way
With cloudy skies
And varying shades of grey. . .
The dark forbidding wood's
Death-like silence
Dampens my spirits
Chilling me to the bone
While the crying of the wind overhead
numbs my soul.
Gloom (11/17/93)
Darkness is everywhere
It's not just the weather.
It is not a day for light spirits.
My soul is leaden and chains me to the earth
Clouds, blocking the light of the sun,
intensify the gloom.
Those black and grey sheep,
driven by the wind,
Charge across the face of the heavens,
colliding into a hideous expression
On the face of the sky.
The rain, streaming to the earth,
hides my tears.
The sky knows my sorrow,
She weeps with me.
Introvert (12/6/94)
please, don't read mine out loud,
especially within this crowd
Their eyes are boring holes through
My confidence. All those who
stare and turn around
Seem to feel they have found
the one to take most of their jokes. . .
but, easy does it, hold on folks. . .
Do you see the tear-stained face?
lost behind years of tortured disgrace,
rejecting largely the world, and school,
Condemning both, as a general rule.
surely she has a tale to tell,
Yet she'd sooner be in Hell --
lost in depths, fathomless; Abysmal
deep in shadows, saddened; Dismal
Workshop Poem - "A Last Time" (3/21/96)
When did I last smile at the rain?
When did the first crystal raindrop last send me
Running gleefully outside to splash about
In the puddles?
But now,
Rain makes me cry. It chills my heart,
Freezing the clouds clustered in my mind,
Shielding, yet confining,
Blocking the light from my eyes. . .
Covering my face in shadows.
I can't smile at the rain.
it makes me so cold
As I shiver in my navy blue vinyl raincoat,
Looking for the shiny yellow galoshes
That I can only vaguely remember.
Brainstorm (Rev.:12/13/96)
Elusive allusory images,
Like phantom ribbons of silver smoke
They meander through the grey. . .
Suddenly --
One condenses and the lightning shatters the darkness;
Thunder tears the storm cloud asunder
Flooding the mind
With rainbow fragments
Of moonlight genius.
My Song (12/13/96)
The impenetrable silver mist has finally lifted --
As the first golden beams of sunlight dance across my mind,
I see my dreams clearly in the rainbow castles in the air;
THis newfound radiance frees my soul,
Mirroring the fire within,
Gleaming strong and true
From beneath the veil of my past.
A Blessing for My Baby Cousin (12/13/96)
Welcome to the world, little lark.
Sing your song loudly for us;
Soar on the Gulf Stream; ride the cresting winds
Never let them clip your wings.
Welcome to the world, little lark,
Fly straight; fly true,
Ignore the ravens and always be you.
Storm (March, 1986)
Pouring, pouring, pouring rain.
Thunder and lightning going,
Going again and again
In the summer's rain.
A Verse (Spring, '94)
Muse
Beauty, Creativity
Laughing, Singing, Generating
Thalia, Melpomene, Terpischore, Polyhymnia
Invoking, Writing, Drawing
Music, Artistry
Inspiration
Riddle After the Anglo-Saxons (9/23/94)
Heroes, long dead,
Live again.
The glory of
Battle rings through the air.
Grendel's screams
Once again are heard
In the Night,
And the chanting
Of Beowulf's followers
Echoes through Herot.
I've known few wars,
Yet know of many dead
Much glory to the king.
Riddle 2 (9/23/94)
As famed as Beowulf am I,
Worthy of praise as he --
Together we bring
Glory to Higlac,
King of the Geats.
War is my proving ground --
The battles are the great tests
Of my strength. When
Held by a warrior, I protect him
I gain him more days to
Bring more glory
To his king.
Progress (12/13/96)
Are we truly that different from the first fire-builders in the caves?
Picture them, gathered against the dark and cold;
Huddled around the flickering light; sharing stories. . .
Or are you picturing your own family, huddled around the television set?
To Kenneth (You KNOW Who You Are) (12/13/96)
He's not reading this simply because I wrote it.
In his mind, that's victory enough.
But, poor boy, that's how the small mind works. . .
And, poor boy, he's only got half his small mind.
Distractions (12/13/96)
Shifting levels of consciousness,
(BOO!HISS!GOSSIP!CHATTER!)
Divert your train of thought,
(CRASH!BANG!BOOM!CRUNCH)
Causing you to forget
What it was you were actually doing in the first place.
Disgust (4/16/97)
I have no further patience
For angst-ridden poetic diatribes
At open mic's.
(But, of course, that's all I ever wanted
in the first place. . .)
Requiem (7/7/97)
Elevator music should stay in the elevator. . .
There are always things in this life that
ought to stay buried. . .
Like your Debbie Gibson tapes and New Kids poster.
Or your punk earrings. . .
Or the mohawk haircut that drove your parents nuts. . .
especially when you dyed it blue. . .
Maybe Boy George (and his dress) and Wacky Wall-Walkers. . .
They've all gone the way of the twist and the hula hoop. . .
But they always return in nightmares, to haunt you.
Empty Glass in Hand, I Told Him:
I don't drink anymore.
(But sometimes I could really go for
a beer or a scotch on the rocks
or a vodka martini - shaken, not stirred.)
I don't drink anymore.
It's a whispered phrase -
A ritualistic chant:
The mantra to save my liver,
my brain cells, the lining of my stomach. . .
I don't drink anymore.
(Not only because I'm not legal.)
I don't drink anymore-
I think I'm safer that way.
I don't drink anymore.
I won't drink anymore.
I can't drink any more because I feel
so dizzy I can barely stand -
And so sleepy I can hardly write.
November 8, 1997; 12:35 a.m.
Love School Days Ages Solitude Inspire. . . Ironic Form
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