All poetry by Angie is protected by law from false representation, plagiarism and tampering. Use of these works without the written permission from the author is prohibited.


Color
for my daughter

Color an ocean of cobalt blue
Scratch in a fish, to make it come true.
Obscure the sky by using your thumb
To blend the colors that border the sun.
I have tried so many ways to color my soul something other than blue,
For you, to make it plain for you,
That your life need not be duller
Than a box of dead markers, little soldiers who lost their caps
I drew bright colors into groups,
Took a razor and scratched out a star.
For you.
Hundreds of lines revealed a little color,
But certainly not brilliant, or even bright,
Working in a basement, halogened from night.
My life was not dull. I made sure of it.
And even now, even if I have recoiled into some amiable, unsoiled mother,
I am capable of stirring new turmoil.
Oh yes, I will keep experimenting,
You will keep witnessing my mistakes and victories
You'll get all the breaks.
Your life will be filled with unrelenting triumph and peace of mind
For I will wash away all questions and fill you in with "incredibly smooth" colors
Keep your eye on what I'm drawing,
keep your eye on the I.

Metaphor
--Magnetic Poetry

Passion is color;
Raw music
He paints my silhouette on the blank canvas
Of my mind
Which bleeds electric white
Which eats through all my junk
He paints my silhouette
Experiments with words
His model my drug
To balance the time with fear of different shades
The manner of his art
The hue of mystery
In which he's painted me
--for Chris

For Fear

When I talk to you
I can see your soul.
But I only get a glance
Because I'm too afraid to stare.
For fear that I've fallen in love with something I can't have.
For fear I'll lose myself over a love I can't control.
For fear I'll lose the sense that's dear to me over a love fated in the stars.
The risks are worth the joy.

Well

This bucket of tears is overflowing
Washing the pain from the face she knows well...
Somebody tell him his heaven is showing
And she's looking closer at her own hell.
Picture the faces that she can remember
And throw this one into the pile of fails
Discover him later and realize it's over
You've filled up the buckets. Now work on the wells.
--for Shannon

Unfinished

I keep finding that half written poem
You know the one I mean
The one I used as a coaster for coffee
With the hopes of one day ending it
Could never find that last line
Could never find the perfect word to rhyme
With "habitual lovemaking"
Could never feel content at its completion
Like so many little projects and simple tasks
I've left unfinished.

Eternal

And again I come out looking like the fool
A motley version of my former self
The only cross I bear: a pen.
My only crown of thorns: the many stamps I've wasted
Trying to get through to you.
My penance a hundred shudders every time the phone rings.
My epitaph: a silly poem written in purple vengeance--
A poem you will never read
I know that if I die today
Tomorrow you will find another whore
To keep my burdens alive with
And you will let her raise our daughter
Until she, too breaks.
Because of this I wish myself immortal.

Mind of my Mind
Inspired by Octavia E. Butler

You hold me on your mental leash
To shield and make me feel secure.
I had the feeling I had almost fallen--
You could have warned me.
But you let me drift away
Making me feel like I was important once
Now I wonder bitterly
Could you in fact be right in saying
I'm the one to blame?
The one with all the mental garbage on my back
Intensive session of psychotherapy:
Listening to you ramble on--
Slurred "I love you"s "Please forgive me"s
Drifting closer to me, grinning
Causing me to call your mother
And ask the secret remedy to heartbreak.
There must be some chant
Or some silly plant
To grind up and sprinkle
On my broken heart.

As I Watch Her Sleep

I imagine her life a year from now and wonder if you will ever open your eyes
to see how beautiful creation can be
As I watch her sleep
I let her fingers reflexively curl around mine and whisper to her that her daddy loves her
trying to convince myself it's true
As I watch her sleep.
I realize that she isn't bothered by all this-- That it will be a while before she knows
she's supposed to have a father
As I watch her sleep.
I try to think of what it is I've done--
why 24 million children grow up in a home without their fathers and I see my baby has become a statistic
As I watch her sleep.
I promise her that none of it is her fault
and I promise her that she will be loved with all the capacity my heart can give
As I watch her sleep.
This is the only time I can cry for her
because she shouldn't have to witness so much pain
so here I sit and let the tears attempt to take the hurt away
As I watch her sleep.

Great American Poetry
--a montage of all of my favorite poems

That was when hope was a temple bell, a bleeding eye,
I withdraw from myself into myself to provide a space and occasion for all creaation.
At long last to impersonate that river--
I'm not sure how we arrived at this point,
See I've got bends beyond these beliefs:
It's morning. It's night. It's noon.
The visiting light, it's unwanted complication;
God save the two of us, supernova!
(Such layerings of shade)
I am on guard for perversion, I am hunting the lessons of death.
We make to make the body yield up the body...
Dragged out of the east
My evening need to transubstantiate.
This one: a beating heart.
A kiss has nothing to do with sex
He likes me well enough, but he won't speak
Without modesty or name, with no presence
So skin is sheltered.
Love can exceed our intentions,
All of it supple now, threadbare on this black we share.
How do I love him, let me add the weight...
Life was shit, death was shit, even shit was shit.
How woeful pleasure feels.
Time matches nothing.
There must be reasons for such;
Flowing like silence in the light of wonder
The life of the body, the life of gesture,
Is basically conservative.
There is no ceremony to stand on
Does this hurt us or hinder?
A jester might deliver a benediction, but who would believe him?
Wait until you cross the next line--
A free space on the partition.
Check the bags under my eyes for explosives
My fucked circulation hasn't crunched my nerves' capactiy
Who needs it! Let the soul hang out
I would not have travelled so far to lie shivering
As in Frank O'Hara's best known poem, "The Day Lady Died"
Cover the worm.
Don't mess with me I'm evil
But the woman on the dock is also the woman in the water.
I do not know what he sees, but I see
In a shrieking charcoal line, a line trying to enclose a shape and failing
Never quite meeting any promised heaven--
The voluptious center.
Nailed one foot to the floor and with the other walked
I never meant to hurt you like I did
A world's disappearing.
Littering your shoulder
And I am mother. I am!
A long time has passed and yet it seems
When I run, it is as if under water
But at my demand
You taught me all the good, hard words for sex...
Quite neatly, I might add, giving credit where credit is due
Stored and locked away.
For love of course, I understand
What you call me, when you call me names, names me
Out of love.
A cartoon smile beneath a rheumy stare.
The in-itself and for-itself.

Today

Today your life is put on hold by a miracle.
Today that miracle opened his eyes and for the first time in your life
you knew you were right where you belonged
Today welcomes new questions, and worries, and emotions.
Today the long wait was over and the instant he arrived
you forgot when it began.
Today you probably felt more awkward than you ever believed possible.
Tomorrow you'll feel it again.
Today you finally understand the definition of the word "awesome"
Today you wanted to share that joy with everyone that is important to you.
Today you saw your father in a different light.
Today begins a journey to a place that is so reward you will wonder
how you could have ever lived before you walked this path.
Today you have a son.
--for Chris
--for McKenzie
March 01, 2001

Dumb Question

How can you ask me
If she is all right
Does she smile on her own
Does she sleep through the night
How can you ask me
To kiss her for you
When you don't even exist
She will not have a clue
How can you tell me
To wait this thing out
I'm tired of holding on,
Being without.
How can you demand
That I love you again
We are not getting married.
We're not even friends.
So how can you wonder
Why I am so cold
Your flash is fast fading
Your game's getting old
How can you blame me
For feeling this way
I will not hang on to
Each word that you say
How can you call me
And act like you know
That I'm going through hell
But you don't want to go?

Creation

Tell me fast
To hurt me less
Re-writes are free
So what should I change?
Chop some of this
Cross out some of that
From now on it rhymes:
The fat cat sat...
Bind up the pages
And send it thru mail
Which words will grab them?
Which ones will fail?
Editor, editor,
What do you see?
A piece of shit
Or poetry?
Perhaps when I die
My daughter will find
This poem and ask
Why I left it behind.
If you see her, tell her
It came from the heart
And her simple presence
Perfected the art.
January 18, 2000

Chunks of Sarcasm

It's me again.
That bitch who's trying to ruin your life.
You know me,
Always twisting fate in my tiny hands--
Manipulating fortune and getting pregnant on purpose.
Know why?
I have always wanted to make vomiting habitual.
I love the way it feels, bending over the toilet and on a very GOOD day,
getting splashed in the face with soggy bits and pieces of what I ate four
hours ago.--
Letting that erotic smell of halfly-digested scrambled eggs and bacon
infiltrate my nostrils
And making my eyes water until the black trails of mascara race each other down my face.
I fucking love it.
Know why?
It's the only way I manage to cry for you anymore.
January 18, 2000

Alphabet Soup

Always ask about another angle
Before becoming blasphemed by the bad.
Considering the consequence is calming.
Discovering dillusion dictates what we had.
Effective. Every egotistical enemy
Forgets to find the format for the flow.
Give glory to the gutsy ways the ground moves;
Harness all the hate you hope won't show.
Intelligence incorporated icily--
Judge and jury justify the jolt.
Kinetic waves to kindle one more killjoy...
Little lessons learned to lock the bolt.
Manipulate the minds of all the meager,
Never needed nicotene more than now.
Options overlooked by obsessive oaths,
Perched upon the pedestal preaching how to
Quench the quota of your quiet questions
Ritualistic reason rules out rage
So strangle all the strategy surrounding
The torture telling you to turn the page.
Unless you are unarmed to unbelief, then
Vault your various victories in the vale.
When worry winds words into weapons,
Xenophobes excuse needs to exhale.
Youthen yourself to yield a yellow yodle!
Zap the zero tolerance for zeal!
January 17, 2000

Can You Repeat the Question?

Time and space are relevant.
All right, Einstein.
Fuck you.
Time and space are ignorant.
Time and space are oblivious.
Time and space are ludicrous.
Time and space are jealous.
Time and space are fucking words--
Too simple to be relevant to anything.
Since when did it take a genius
To speak of time and space??
Ask anyone in love, motherfucker.
They'll tell you about time and space.
Ask Chris. I bet he'd tell ya...
Time and space are relevant, all right.
Relevant to shit.
January 17, 2000

Just Cause

Forget reason for a moment.
Start to realize there is no truth
In why or how or when did this all happen.
It happened didn't it?
So fuck the questions for a second.
Start to tell yourself how much you care
That you didn't care...
And when you find yourself asking
For why or how or when
Tell yourself:
Just cause.
Januray 17, 2000

Anticipation

I wonder
If when you show up at my door
I will ignore it.
I wonder
If I will hide our daughter from you
Like a precious gem
And something so pure and innocent
That a mere glance by you would make her dirty.
I wonder
If I will be able to look at your face
And not want to spit in it.
I wonder
If when waiting outside my door
You will be able to shake off
All those empty promises--
Walk into your daughter's life
And love her all the ways a father should love a daughter.
I wonder
If I will hesitate
To sweep off my front porch.
January 17, 2000


And Then Came Life

I once had a dream
My goal was to write
And then came life
And life forced me to fight
And then came life
For to darken my dream
For to shatter my hopes
For to silence my screams
That I am not a soldier
But try though I might
I can never escape this
For then came life.

I once had a friend
Who would give me the world
And then came life
And life's plan was unfurled
And then came life
For to take her away
For to forcen my fears
For to push me to pray
That I find once true friendship
But look though I might
I can never be full again.
Then came life.

I once had a love
That was honest and real
But then came life
With it's shit hand to deal
And then came life
For to cover my eyes
For to make me alone
For to tell me its lies
That I do not deserve him
And cry though I might
I will NEVER love otherwise.
Then came life.

I once had no meaning
No hand to hold tight
No reason for smiling
And then came life
Then came life
Growing inside of me
Forming hands that can hold mine
And eyes that can see
That I can be a mother
And smile? I might!
It has finally happened!
Welcome, new life.
January 16, 2000

Fed Up

This is the last straw
As if there was a first.
What will I tell your daughter?
He used to lay on my stomach and talk to you.
He developed a plan for you.
He told me how he would be your everything.
He said he'd never leave you.
He wanted to get married.
He said he wanted a daughter.
He lied.
January 11, 2000

Selfish: Confession #3

Remember when you called out to me?
It's not that I wasn't there.
It's that you weren't here.
It's not that I didn't hear you.
It's that i didn't see you.
It's not that I just gave up.
It's that I just broke down.
There's a difference.
What I really needed was something uncontrollable.
I wanted you to rescue me, to tell me I didn't have to leave.
I guess that's what I've always wanted
Someone to put everything on hold
And find me worthy enough to let go of anything else.
So you see, it's not your fault.
I was the selfish one.
Now that I know that, I selfishly want you back.
This is my last confession.
January 11, 2000

Little Things: Confession #2

I always run.
Now's a good time to figure that out--
Considering all of the little things
You used to love about me.
Could you love this one?
I always run.
And the things I run away from
Are the only things that make me happy.
The little things.
There you are playing your perpetual game of hide and seek inside my head.
Hiding behind the words I'm too afraid to say.
Today I will chase after you.
Today I will find the time it was too easy to talk to you.
Today I will find the place where you are hiding.
Today I will find those little things.
Chasing you should be easy,
I always run.
January 11, 2000

Warning

My daughter
Will have
Caramel colored skin
To tempt the tastebuds
Of a thousand
Summer knights.
I should be careful.
January 11, 2000

Screaming at a Stone Wall Again

You really fucked up this time.
You won't know until it's too late to be undone.
My God.
I was everything I could have been for you!
I was licking your wounds, unmaking your bed,
freshening your sheets with the scent of citrus.
I was watching your weight, cooking your meals,
feeding your hunger with the food of my soul.
I laughed at your jokes, lent you my smile, feeling that crying was miles away.
But you really fucked up this time.
Just once I want to call you and not feel like I'm trying to break into your life.
Just once I want to hear nothing but truth in your voice.
Instead, you fucked up this time.
Write me a fucking letter, asshole.
Tell me you give a shit about the life trying to break free from inside of me.
Tell me that you will not swat the butterfly that started out as your vicious worm.
Most of all, tell me that you're not as blind as you make yourself appear.
Tell me that you know.
That you know you fucked up this time.
January 11, 2000

Dan's Mom

Do Not Resuscitate.
Dan's mom is in critical condition.
He looks down as he tells me,
Trying to find the core of the earth;
The only place he wants to be right now.
"Congenital Heart Failure"
--for them both.
The only thing he can say to me now
Is that he and his mother are dying
Because she self-ordered it--
Do Not Resuscitate.
January 11, 2000


Don't Speak to Me of Daisies

Don't speak to me of daisies--
You already broke the chain.
Besides, what good is picking flowers
In the middle of the rain?
By the time you get them to me
They will crumble just to prove
That even daisies serve as symbols
Of our wilting, dying love.
Januray 10, 2000

Down Time: Confession #1

There it goes, another sad little pocket of seconds
Where I wish I was someone else.
I guess I owe you an apology. I guess I always will.
But please don't forgive me. You don't understand.
If you do, I will want you to be that person again--
The provider.
The amazing provider of everything that ever meant shit to me.
And I give a shit.
I just can't cut those scars on my wrists again.
Yes, leaving you was suicidal.
It was like reading the label wrong on the bottle--
Putting myself to sleep for a year
And then all of a sudden slipping out of my coma to find it's too late--
Cause you're right.
I'm the jerk.
Januray 10, 2000

Obsolete

Worn out? Yeah I'm worn out.
Like your dingy pair of soccer cleats
Or your oldest pair of boxers.
I will never do your laundry again.
Know why? Cause I'm worn out
And you're washed up
And we're both too self-absorbed to care.
Januray 10, 2000

Flegm

I'm coughing up shit
That could mount pictures
On walls

About That Fight..

All I force myself to endure
Micro-Meta-Mini War
Whoreson boy, corrupt my dreams
Afflict the concrete, crushing scream--
Who the devil danced with gossip?
Since that day, who filled your void?
I hang my head and so I murmur,
"I laugh but I feel blind joy."
for Joe

Whimsical Effort

I who murmurs purple eternity
Stomach's supra-semi-fantasy
Heaven, take my bare hands home
Carress them into perfect ones.
He who gyrates lusciously
Resurrects my ecstasy
Heaven take his face and raise it
Up until my joy transends it
I the weak the mad the naked
Wet from sweat and spirit sacred
White inside from fever blue
Heaven take my heart to you.
magnetic poetry for chris

Vent... a Letter To Daniel

I'm sick of waking up in the middle of the night with the covers dis-arrayed and the screaming image of your shit-eating grin taunting me like no other face that I have seen or will ever see again.
I'm sick of trying to convince myself that you are dead because of this ugly fact that you are still alive inside my mind, reaching for your shot glass and cursing and spitting at me because I refuse to help you get it.
I'm sick to death of hearing your empty promises echo from these walls of self-esteem, or lack thereof, like a wicked flock of sharp bullets cutting through the air i breathe.
I'm sick as fuck of feeling the pain of my head against concrete, my back against the wall, and your hands invading my body as if I am a sick joke or a lifeless statue constructed for you sole purpose of molestation.
I'm sick of going to funerals for fuckers like you who take what they want out of life, destroy it, and then leave other people behind to pick up the shattered pieces.
I'm sick as hell of crying for tequila because you are the fucker that taught me what it was and showed me how to be dependent upon blurry-eyed alcoholism as if intoxication would push your memory away.
I'm sick of the headaches and the loss of appetite and the feeling in my stomach that forces me to believe that although you are dead, you will never fully die.
What the fuck is wrong with you that you think you can allow your ghost to walk between my thighs and whisper in my ear that you have gone to Heaven... when you always made me feel as if I had been through Hell?
Or better yet, what the fuck is wrong with me?
Maybe I'm finally ready to love someone else and maybe I've finally realized that our past will no longer possess me, and that these visions of you will no longer insomniate me, and that my heart will no longer bleed the thousand drops it has bled over you.
With a gun to my head so long ago, I remember me silently willing you to pull the trigger.
Thank God, if He exists, that you waited until it was faced the other way.
Thank God, if He exists, that it is your flesh that is rotting and thank God, if he exists, that I am not the one six feet under.
My life extends into more than just the blue casket they put your corpse into.
And my heart extends beyond this pain and tells me that it is okay to love again, and that for the first time, maybe, just maybe, I am loved.
Sept 1, 1999

Mom

Where were you when I begged out loud for your comfort; the pressure that shouted to smoke one more bowl?
Where were you when I pleaded with Faith to show me direction and make me whole?
Where were you when I fell fast to the floor, kicking and screaming and wanting to die?
Where were you when I let so many tears pour themselves out as if rain from the sky?
Where were you when I woke up under the sheets of the boy that had stolen and broken my life?
Where were you when I carved the lines in my wrist with the dulling yet stinging quick blade of a knife?
Where were you when I felt as if the whole world was just spinning around me ignoring my screams?
Where were you when I woke up drowning in sweat almost running from faces I saw in my dreams?
Where were you when I fell right into the trap of my sadness, depression, and dark loneliness?
Where were you when I shouted out to the air that my life was no more than a big fucking mess?
Sept 1 1999

2833

Absentmindedly
I sometimes
Lift the receiver
And dial my own number
What a revelation!
If only I
Could get through
To myself.

Trust me

Trust me with your tears
I will protect them with my life.
Trust me with your tears
Caused by your pain and his strife.
Deep within my heart
I will keep them locked away
I will reveal to no one else
What your heart and mind might say.
Just put your head on my shoulders.
And let those waters flow
It does not mean that you are weak.
You're human. This I know.
for Shannon.

Bottle

From the dull early glow of the morning
Till the stumbling blackness of night
This "Love" thing is spinning around me
In visions of black. Make that white.
You're as fleeting to me as the lightning
But as close to me as a kiss
I wish I could capture your love in a bottle
And label it simply... "My Chris"

Army

I fear
That I will find myself
A lone swimmer
In shark-infested waters
Minus my life raft
Minus my idol
Minus my heart.

Lisa

Her body a bus. Men get on
Get off. Get on
And off.
The garbage can sprinkled with piles of dirt
Soft enough for her to curl up in--
And when she smiles, if she smiles
You will feel that she has snatched up a part of you
You will feel that something is missing
You will call her a thief, if you call her
You will marry that mouth in your mind
And you'll pay her
To ride
On that bus
for my next door neighbor the whore

Private

Hold me and tell me
That I am not crazy
For crying---
I need to be taken away.
Hold me and tell me
That I will get through this--
That yes I can do this...
That I'll be okay.
One, Two
Buckle my boots
Three, Four
Fate is a whore.
Five six Seven eight
I wanna back out but it's too damn late.
Nine Ten
I'm crying again
Left
Left
Left
Right
Left
09/01/99

Paul

I am still two years old.
I am still at the beach
Walking behind you
Whoever you are--
I am still leaping in the sand
Putting my tiny toes
Into your footbprints
I am still with you.
No.
You are still with me...
And we are still fighting
Against our realities
Letting the waves of ugly truth
Crash against our ankles.
I still remember you name--
Paul.
And I still remember your face
But I know you've lost your baby fat
And you're probably off
Making some girl happy
Which is wonderful.
I am still sunburnt
And I am still singing
About how one day I will have perfect parents
And I still remember your name--
Paul.
09/01/99 for Paul, foster brother

We Can Get Through This

And so I fight on with the courage of love
To know that you're out there just cheering me on
This goes so much deeper than truth. This is real
For nothing is holding me. Those walls are gone.
I know that you're out there right under the stars
So I make this one wish as I lay down my head
Don't leave me. Don't trap my whole heart behind bars
Don't make me believe that I'm being misled
It's you that I'll think of when chances seem slim
It's you that I'll turn to when water seems rough
It's you that I'll reach for when I cannot swim
The mere thought of you makes it seem not so tough.
I finally feel that life won't pass me by
A reason to live for, someone to belive in
I now have a purpose. This is not goodbye.
Though time and the distance seem somewhat deceiving
We can get through this and one day I'll be
Lying safe in your arms and I'll whisper and say
"Look, we made it...". My God. The thought takes over me
So I'll look to the sky and I'll wait for that day.
for chris

Dirty Angel

I sparkle and lick at obsessions of smooth philosophy
Behind silk white shadows
I cry for a worship
For velor and vicor
See visions repulsive and scream out his name
Life was so delicate
No top to the sky
Head full of power, I reached for the tower
Believed in my urges to fly.
magnetic poetry

untitled

She aches in beauty with frantic power
To burn beneath her delicious dreams
Delicate blood and waxless honey
Crush the weak chain of her screams
Use the knife to shake her chest
Lather the shadows into her mind
Pull the memories from her sleep
Stop. Eject. Erase. Rewind.
One raw goddess soaked in sweat
Take the pain as it becomes sordid
Iron bars and crystal walls...
Stop. Eject. Play. Fast Forward.
Picture blackness speckled with fury
Light the wick of her deepest sea
Picture heartache. Picture worry.
Picture a failure. Picture me.
magnetic poetry

On The Phone

Do you know this song?
Have you seen that show?
What are you eating?
Baby, you're tapping again.
I could kick your ass.
Oh oh oh! I like this song!
*Grunt* He's soooo dumb.
Fuck. There's a beep.
I'll hold for 10 minutes.
Picks worms? What a freak!
Nothing.
Nothing!
I forget.
I'm falling asleep
Damnit I'm cold!
Hmm.. what should I eat?
Hold on a second.
I dunno.
What do you want to talk about?
Talk!
I remember one time... at band camp...
Talk!
Holy shit. It's late
I love you too.
for chris

ColorBlind

Daddy's painting pictures
Of the girl you have to be
And he's picking out your colors
And he's only using three
Pink to paint your forehead
And a candy-coated blue
But your eyes can be decieving
Changing that once-perfect hue
And the red-like flame of anger
That once lined your pretty face
Water-color makes it blurry
And your smile seems out of place
So you take from him the paintbrush
Saying Daddy that's not me
And you start to paint your portrait
Daddy this is who I'll be
I'll use black to line my lashes
I'll use white to line my lips
I'll use silver, lovely silver
To extend my fingertips
And I'll paint until the face I see
Reflects my mini mirror
Cause Daddy, Daddy, you're not me
Therefore your image isn't clear.
for my father

Max

Curiosity
Is bait enough
To Trap You
In this poem.

Dear Skeptic

Set up your idols of Space and Time
So that I may begin to chisel away
I'll turn this Distance into a sphinx
And mock the words that you chant
As you pray
As you pray...
For you line the field setting walls not to cross
And I started this game from out of bounds
But I come through the victor. Embrace your loss--
This is the faith that will break you down
As you pray
As you pray...

Abuse

Up from the ashes of your superego
The tactile impression of you remains clear
Restraint is in oder and sharp tone of voice
Your could prohibitions Possessing my fear
Bruises and fractures and primitive change
Lay the stones in the path to becoming my own
No response to comfort... no smile to couple
With the constellation that I am alone.
about my childhood

Sonnet for Chris

As evening softly kills the light of day
I miss the calming presence of your voice
With pounding heart and quickening pulse I pray
That you and I will finally make the choice
To spend some time to break these many walls.
Distance is the barrier we face--
No matter if our efforts now seems small,
My left-brain logic seems to somehow place
Me right beside you when the monster Time sees fit.
I know one day He'll finally grant my plea
Remember when surrounded by life's shit,
You'll always find a comfort here in me,
And I in you, so spins the clumsy wheel
That disctates why we're feeling what we feel.
08/14/99 for Chris

Memento

Sorting out letters and piles of my old
Cancelled checks, clippings, and post-it notes
That meant something once, I happened to find
Your picture. That picture. I stopped cold
Like a woman raking piles of dead leaves in her yard
Who has turned up a severed foot.
For that first second, I was glad. You stood
As you used to always stand--
Fierce, bold, and powerful,
In those faded blue jeans.
The sight of you stunned them all
Our needs were so different then,
And our ideals came easy.
That was before you died.
--Before we drained out each other's forces
With self-denial and unspoken regret.
Still, I put back your picture.
Someday, in due course, I will find
That it's still there.
08/14/99 for Daniel G. Hedrick

Dear Hamlet

No, it is not death of which you speak,
But life and all its blessings bountiful
Intricate and yet unnoticed in your midst.
For a man's ambition clouds his wisest way.
Your most essential blessing is your life
Which carries you upon a magic ride
Through time to future destiny unknown
Think back on death you easily contemplate
And think of Nature, whose threat of winter storms
Enfold the earth with cloaks of purest white.
The sunshine brings new growth within each Spring--
Kaleidescopic colors daily bloom
And satin clouds wake up to greet the day
You'd rather spend your life eyes closed, and blind?
You'd rather decadence become your play?
Life is such a blessing. Please rewind
Those thoughts and welcome in another day.
08/14/99 iambic response to Shakespeare's "to be or not to be"

Siezed

I saw Hope just the other day
I asked if there was any way
That she could teach me how to pray
And this is what she had to say:
You don't have to get on your knees
Or close your eyes
Or whisper Please
Silly ways to pray are these.
He broke my heart and Hope was siezed.
07/19/99

Free

When I have thoughts that soon I may be free
My eyes become a twighlight star above.
But then the darkness covers what I see
And I am still an orphan--still unloved.
Betrayed by those who wished my life to be
A shattered, screaming, lightning bolted cloud,
They, hated by the tears I let run free,
Were blind to my attempts to make them proud.
So I became an orphan on her knees
Where blame and hurt were cast upon my hands
But as I grow, I know what I will be--
A flower free to shine on Hawaiin sand.
08/14/99 for my parents

Maternal Support

I see my mother
Swallowing my failures
As if they were antacids
That would regulate her digestive system
And make the heartburn go away.
I draw comfort from that.
08/14/99

Memory From childhood

Some woman
Who could have been my mother
Or at least one of the many
I've had in my life,
Sat me on the kitchen counter
With ice in one hand
And a needle in the other
And came at me,
My three-year old mind
Transforming her features
Into a nightmare
Stabbed me in the ears
Until I cried for so long
That I hyperventilated.
I still don't wear earrings.
08/14/99 for whoever she was.

Stripped

I am undone
like a zipper
On the dress
Of a fucking
Loose whore.
07/19/99

Your Poetry

You have defined yourself
A Master
In not so many words.
You have defined yourself
A soul
That bleeds not only when it hurts.
You have defined yourself as humble
Modest and unseen
You have defined yourself as headstrong
(or whatever that word means)
You have defined yourself
As brilliant
Even though you fail to show it.
In your verse and rhyme and meter,
You've defined yourself a Poet.
08/14/99 for Chris

Portable Workshop

Read this poem
Slowly and carefully
And maybe even out loud
Let the words roll off of your tongue
Like thunder--
And realize that these
Are only words
And I
Am only human
And you
Have been deceived.
08/14/99

Poetic Truth

it means
to be able to feel
your own anger,
your own grief,
your own envy,
and frustration.
it means
to have the courage
to look at
your own life
and thoughts.
it means
to tell the truth
about how human beings
think
and feel
and behave.
but how easy it is
to be wounded into silence.
08/14/99

My Poetry

I have defined myself
A student
Captivated by your words.
I have defined myself
Pathetic,
Crying when it doesn't hurt.
I have defined myself
An addict
To phrases simple and cut clean.
I have defines myself
As hopeless
(or whatever that word means)
I have defined myself
As lacking
And don't hesitate to show it
In my verse and rhyme and meter.
I've defined myself a Poet.
08/14/99 for Chris

Apocryphilia

Jack and Jill went up the hill
Because their mother told them
To get some water for the hogs
So papa wouldn't scold them.
So side by side the hill they climbed
The whole long way they fought.
Jack said, "Jill... you are too damn slow"
And Jill said, "I am not!"
And all at once Jack grabbed the pail
Away from little Jill.
They reached the top and she screamed, "Fucker!"
And pushed him down the hill.
Jack fell down
And broke his crown
And Jill doubled over with laughter.
08/14/99 for Chris for shits and giggles :)

Morsel

It's groovy that you dig me,
Even though I am a pygmy
The only down side of it all
Is that you are a cannibal
And I am just a snack.
05/03/98 for Daniel

Attack

All things bright and beautiful
All creatures great and small
All things wise and wonderful
I want to smash them all.
05/04/98

Arse Poetica

I'm tired of being a poet.
Tired of working for you for free
Feeling your feelings for you
So you won't have to dirty your shoes.
I'm tired of being the sensitive one.
The one who decides;
Who walks out alone onto black ice--
I'm tired of shooting the stars
Sick unto death of keeping the planets aloft
By the force of my thought.
I'm sick of your dishrag alcoholism
No... I won't write you a poem.
05/06/98 for Daniel

I wish

It's a good thing
Wishes don't come true
What a mess.
I wished you were dead
I wish I was dead
I wish we'd never moved
There we'd be...
Jumping in and out of coffins
Holes in the dirt
Opening and closing
Like zippers
I wish I were young again
My nose much smaller
I'd never cut my hair
Can't you just see it?
Pacifiers and cigarettes
Trading places.
08/11/99 for Daniel Hedrick, RIP

EnOuGh AlReAdY!!!!

Get your own life, bitch.
Don't invade mine.
You must be damn jealous
To have crossed this line.
You've done so much research
Detecting my flaws...
You jump to effect
Without looking for cause
Sometimes I win
And sometimes I lose
Sometimes I am hurt
Sometimes I abuse
Sometimes I am climbing
And sometimes I fall
And sometimes I am angry--
But aren't we all?
You turn his head
When it's aimed at me
Cause you don't want
TO allow him to see
That I'm only human
And I've made mistakes
At least I'm not petty
At least I'm not fake
Here is a fact
That you'll probly misplace:
He is not swayed by you
So get out of his face.
08/17/99 for Jess

Anger

Sometimes
The greatest wine
Is squeezed
From the Grapes
Of Wrath.
08/17/99

Descriptive Attempt

Read this verse
Alone.
By yourself--
Deliciously by yourself.
Because I wrote this poem for you
So that others may see the magic you do
But when words can't describe a feeling this true,
A poem says it all.
This poem says it all.
Read this verse
Alone.
By yourself--
Deliciously by yourself.
Because I know that you can read
Between the lines of my innermost needs
Though words can't describe how much my soul bleeds
A poem says it all.
This poem says it all.
Read this verse
Alone.
By yourself--
Deliciously by yourself
Because it takes more than a smile to show
How I struggle in vain to let you know
That words can't describe. But I'm starting to grow,
And a poem says it all.
This poem says it all.
for Chris

How I Feel

The color of brilliancy
The beauty of fabulous
I struggle to fathom
A word of no meaning
Incomprehensible--
You pass to my spirit
Such contemplation
Of wonderful sentiment
That through all my weakness
I fight on in courage
To capture your essence
To capture your essence.
for Chris

Survival

Brooding on mortality
I wonder what it is
That allows patterns of words
Set down so long ago
To survive.
What is it?
What permits words--
Mere breath...
Just air...
To outweather
Time?
And so I write poetry
Because I could die
Tomorrow
And still be alive in your heart
In a year.
08/18/99 "the evil that men do lies after them"--William Shakespeare

Wake Up

I visualized us
Like a far-off dream
But woke up and saw
That you weren't there.
The pillow
Brings no
Comfort.
for Chris

Erotema

You ask
Not to seek an answer--
And your question
Is another way
Of saying without stating
That I have failed.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
for my father

Welcome

Your crimson carpet
Rolls itself out from your heart
And I forget to take off my shoes
Before walking in.
I see the footprints
Of those gone before me.
They stop halfway
But I am determined
To sit on the throne
Adjacent to yours.
for Chris
(this is my favorite Angie)

Offense

You have endowed
That misbehaving mechanical thing
That seems to have a mind of its own
And maybe even a name...
But you have not noticed it.
Do so now,
And briefly recognize
That it has wronged you.
for myself

Shelsooth

The shangly way
You frobtle me
Shplickups my brigshly scrimple
Your gantsom trisple
Blammers me--
In wortmere ways so frimsfull.
*lmfao*
for chris

Trying to Write a Poem

These dry-run dribbles
Of simple words
Are waiting inside me
To be discovered,
The wise, old saying
"begin at the beginning"
Seldom holds true
When the struggle's uncovered.
And so I stand up
And walk around
And feel that my feet
Are holding down ground
And feel that my mind
Is holding back thought
Like I'm trying to be
Someone I'm not.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love the way you click your tongue instead of smacking your lips.
I love the way you say "rampin' and stampin'" and "rompin' and stompin'".
I love the way you make me smile when I feel like crying.
I love the way you explain to me what curds are.
I love the way you inspire me to write.
I love the way you make me come close to snorting when I laugh.
I love the way you don't always talk, but you ALWAYS, ALWAYS listen.
I love the way you like spaghetti the second day.
I love the way you say "shat"
I love the way you keep me awake at night.
I love the way you joke the fact that I burn my food in the microwave.
I love the way you write poetry
I love the way you hate cheesey latin singers almost as much as I do.
I love the way you remember everything that I say
I love the way you call me "darlin'".
I love the way you laugh at the things I say even though they aren't really funny.
I love the way you grunt when you imitate Richard Lee.
I love the way we say our goodbyes in the last minute of a too-expensive phone card.
I love the way the 'coon gang follows you around.
I love the way you admit to eating cows.
I love the way you say "drama"
I love the way you politically correctly say that I'm "creative" instead of coming out and telling me I'm psycho.
I love the way you've never heard of Tom Green.
I love the way you don't believe in packing your cigarettes.
I love the way you call me a "puzzle do-er"
I love the way you agree with my Whinnie the Pooh analysis
I love the way you hate veggie burgers.
I love the way your voice sounds.
I love the way you laugh at one-legged lesbian seagulls.
I love the way you can improv in front of tons of poeople about sensitive subjects and still keep your cool.
I love the way you laugh at long, sad movies.
I love the way you type {IMAGE}.
I love the way you give me your arms when I'm shivering.
I love the way that you picked me a flower.
I love the way that we're sharing a book.
I love the way that I walk 5 miles to talk to you and you make it worthwhile.
I love the way every song I hear reminds me of you.
I love the way you admit to eating moose.
I love the way that you don't chew on pencils.
I love the way you are constantly on my mind
God. I love you.
for Chris. :)

Map of the Soul

I don't know
If poetry can change the world
But as I read
And write
(God how I write)
I begin to develop
A feeling of
Intimacy
With the world around me--
An umbilical connection
With other minds
Other voices
Other hearts--
Given a map of the soul,
Emotional history of the world.
The more I read
And write
(God how I write)
The more I know what it is
To be a human being.