More poetry

Broken Glass and Wings

Walking on shards of glass
God forbid I offend
God forbid I upset the already
Tipped balance within this place
You call home
But I call bottled purgatory

Trapped I
Run out of air
The energy fades
I start to give in
To the idea that I’ll never be strong enough
To break out; to take that breath of
Fresh air and say,
“I’m free”

I’m more than tired of
Repenting for sins I didn’t commit;
Containing ones I feel like committing
In my frustration, anger,
Pushed-to-the-edge brokenness

The butterfly is in the net
The color is fading
Wings are curling inward as they
Find themselves useless

Broken glass and wings never worked together anyway

1. Object Poem Using Metaphors
Paintbrush

The paintbrush is a witch’s broom
Its bristles are like hair in need of a cut
The hair is as fine as rabbit fur
The handle is a skinny torpedo
It explodes in my hand as I hold it
And I am a masterpiece maker

2. A Fable
FM

She sings a song as he listens.
Something about it doesn’t feel right
Yet everyone swears it’s the best.
To him, the notes are sour,
The words are false.
He tries to change his attitude
But the music becomes unnerving.
Left with no other choices,
He changes the station.

3. The Dream Metaphor
School Nights

Where am I?
These faces are familiar
But I don’t really know who they belong to.
I know this place but I
Have a feeling that it’s not the same.
Somehow I know I’m expected here
But I never wanted this.
I am lost in a labyrinth of hallways.
Rooms are shifting; stairs are becoming
Steeper until I’m climbing a ladder.
I left this school years ago,
What am I doing here?
Please God, don’t make me
Go through this again…I can’t.
Doors are slamming shut.
I can’t get out.

WAKE UP!

4. Apocryphilia
Rapunzel

Her tower was traded for a
Doublewide in the trailer park.
Why let down your hair
When you can let down
Your whole family?
Her prince, with newfound sight,
Used it to look for an old flame.
Oh, the things fairy tales are made of.

5. A family snapshot
Nita

This is my aunt.
She looks glamorous with the
Cigarette and sable hair,
Like a movie star of the 50’s.
Her pink fluffy boa
And Elizabeth Taylor eyes
Make me wonder how the photos
On Grandma’s wall are real.
These people are too beautiful
To be aunts and uncles.

How could this star of silver screen
Develop cancer?
Death becomes so real
When you see it in print.
I remember the phone call
When she was dying
And my hand grabbing a suitcase
As if by reflex.
I remember her worrying about the
Contact lens that she took out shortly
Before it happened.
What a negative way to end
A positive life.

6. Apocryphilia (#2)
Peter Piper

Where’s the peck of pickled peppers?
Probably prone to be not be found
Because Peter Piper switched purposely
To the metric system
When he placed the package of
Jalapeno poppers on a plane
To Paris.
“The peck is profoundly outdated,” he said.
“It’s liters and meters and kilos and such
With Parisian party people.
It’s possible you’ll never pass
A peck again.”
People promise to peruse the area,
But Peter Piper put his peppers
Where no ‘standard’ person’s paw could find.

A little poetry

Ok, so I haven't posted much personal stuff lately. I'm in a sharing,writing, artistic, vocal mood so I thought I'd post some of my original poetry. (All rights reserved--please don't share/copy/etc)


“A Warrior’s Weapon”
2003

In a land not far away
A land where evil rises
And steals the light of day
With help from its disguises
A force is felt inside
And longs to be let go
A force with truth and pride
A light that yearns to show

And in these darkened times
When fools so strongly rule
A hero in his prime
Hunts the wicked and the cruel
His body like a fortress
His message like a song
A sword his mighty torturess
To the vile and the wrong

A hero with a presence
That none have known before
And faith his very essence
To win at every war
This soldier in the battle
Has a purpose and a will
That no act of hate could rattle
No force of terror thrill

What is this force within
That keeps the warrior going
And brings back light again
The rays that now are showing?
It’s a force he gives to all
Of those who sob and mope
To strengthen spirits small
The force, by name, is hope


“Lost”
2004

I stand in front of my
parked car, overlooking
the Missouri River
as I contemplate my purpose.
I feel like the bridge;
holding on to two worlds
and not sure which one I belong to.
At least the water knows which way it’s going.

"At the Sea"
2004
Here I kneel by the cold and vacant sea
as the one I love is sailing away.
I yell out, "Your broken boat's starting to sway",
but she just rows on, taking in the deep.
Our passion once flamed so effortlessly
and the darkest of night was just as day.
What changed her mind and left me here at bay
with heart in hand as it fatally bleeds?

Come back my love and live joyous again!
Whatever I did, I'll fix it for you!
Don't leave me sobbing, alone in cold rain.
Come back to the love that you know is true.
I'm beating the shores with fists full of pain.
The sands will cry out of me losing you.

Quizzes

You are a person who observes and values conventions. You prefer your life to be organized and you do not like surprises. Whereas predictability and certitude wear down some people, they form the very foundation of your world. Practical and straightforward, you enjoy simplicity more than you appreciate romanticism.

You are of the conventional type of people who, in learning about and dealing with the world, would start with things small and specific, and then expand to the large and general. The desire is directed toward what is lying beyond one's immediate horizon.

You come to grips more frequently and thoroughly with yourself and your environment than do most people. You detest superficiality; you'd rather be alone than have to suffer through small talk. But your relationships with your friends are very strong, which gives you the inner tranquility and harmony that you require. You do not mind being alone for extended periods of time; you rarely become bored.