For Summer

Sing a song of summer,
beautiful as can be.
The boardwalk on the beach,
and the crisp blue ocean sea.

The world has thus awakened,
can you hear it in the air?
Do you feel it in the wind,
to know that truly it is there?

The sounds of man harmonizing,
with nature in all her glory;
every blossom on every branch,
Begins to tell its summer story.

Mother Nature springs to life
in all that is among her,
and they gather here when the air is warm,
just to sing a song of summer.

This is my first true form poem, a villanelle. Three tercets and a quatrain, aba rhyme, and the first and last line in the first stanza gets repeated as the ending alternating in each following stanza ending with a quatrain in ab with the refrain. That was a horrible explanation but you can google it.

Villanelle

I know right now you're here with me,
by the hold of a lovers embrace.
But you'll be back with him someday,

and anyone would agree.
But underneath the blankets lace,
I know right now you're here with me.

As I closed my eyelids softly,
I fell asleep, and saw his face.
You'll be back with him someday.

Pushing it out of memory,
as we drift far off into space,
I know right now you're here with me.

As lucky now as I could ever be,
before you fall from grace.
You'll be back with him someday.

I wonder if I'll ever see
that this is always is the case.
I know right now you're here with me,
but you'll be back with him someday.

Poem by a pen given by a pretty girl

For monthes I have been
living in the fog.
It isn't easy, but
it isn't hard.

it is nothing.

Ambiguity masked as
clarity in our mind.
Eating all our flesh,
dissolving all our time.

Blame the fog
its everywhere
Blame the fog
you put it there

Money can't help
not clothes
no haircut
cell phones, cars, pagers
no
theres something inside
sometimes it speaks
to me

in between i wait

It spoke to me today;
just a whisper
and it was gone.
(Un)fortunately for you
it drowned away
and is gone.

Instead of some
inspired insight,
you get this.

But it's not so bad.
You can't disagree
with dead ideas.

And isn't that what
you really want?

Monday morning commute after a fatal derailment

When we wake up
to die
there can be a certain
uneasiness
in our stomachs.

Some smile nervously
and hope against fear.
Most recall the events
of another day (not so far away).

New faces in starched
whites
make for uneasy
exchanged glances.

But the pages
turn;
the day forgotten.
Lattes are sipped,
lipstick applied.

But for the wise
they are ready,
and know the importence
of every switched track,
on every old bridge,
or any pathless road.

As the ambulance
is towed away
and hope has
finally died,

I know there
is no written promise
the sun will ever
rise again.

Everyday is a
risk (worth taking)
if nothing else
but to see our
story unfold.

Either here, or
on the frong page
of a less worldly times.

A Dumb Poem

When your mind is lost
and there's no where to run,
when your high is gone
and your fun is done,
You become a dumb poem.

At the break of dawn
in the moonlit night
when your heart has died
and you've thrown the fight
There is only a dumb poem

Strive as you may
you'll only soon find
the hope has drained
from all mankind
We are all dumb poems.

A poem written in alot of pain

The only sanity you can keep
exists between the margins
of a line you never wrote
and have since long forgotten.

Clenching bleeding fists that
crumbled on the pavement,
anything that leaves you
asking where the pain went.

Kill me now-Kill me then,
it does not matter which.
To take for granted daily health
is my sole surviving wish

The Smoke Screen

A poem written high
atop, the tallest city wall
written high across the
sky, the highest of them all

Fences and chains
hold me back
I really should come down
but when I looked
I saw a man
smiling through a frown

"Come down now"
said the man
although it wasn't true
"We'll stay for now"
we replied
thats when I
kissed you

I held it in
the thought of course
the hold you have on me
"Goodbye" I said to you that day
"Our love could never be"

You escaped my
lips and walked away
in a moment you were gone
I begin to wonder to
myself
If I had been all wrong

Just then, you had returned
and stole back all my
thoughts
"Together forever, in
body and mind, I'll
never leave your side.
Together, sit back
succumb to me, for
a long and lonely ride."

Old Stuff

Here are a couple old ones I saw on the computer, still many more old ones to come when I type them out. Thanks

A Happy Poem

I was looking through
my work
and I realized I
haven't written a happy
poem in awhile.

A happy poem.

that takes care of that.

Thousand Years Time

If the words I write
will be lost in a thousand years time,
why do I rewrite, erase
for whom do I revise?

I don't write for the future
for I know nothing of their life,
and they only pretend to know mine.
I write for now
I write to you

you.

To who it may concerns: I love you

To live in the world today
Is hardly what it used to be
But who can really say
What the rest will hold in store for me

Life works in mysterious ways bog said
sometimes ideals control your mind
In a mental region just past dead
It’s amazing what you’ll find

One day a half man spoke the word
I was ashamed to hear its true
He was stunned to have been cured, he said
And then we celebrated blue

Gather now and listen here
I have something to say
I no longer have to live in fear
So why can’t god be gay?

the disease

poets arent allowed to clock out
we dont have that luxury
always something to say
theres always someone to break

we work every day
every minute
and you thought your job
was rough
i dont get paid

sometimes i think we're slaves
of god
sent to narrate
and other times
i dont think at all

sometimes i hope im contagious
so i have someone to laugh at too

The Drugs

And in the end
calculations are made,
money is counted,
worth is decided.

Options have to be weighed,
"Quit the drugs
or I'm leaving you"
Another plate breaks.

The drugs, they are
expensive.
So is she.

She makes me feel,
the way I want to feel.
And so do they.

In the end,
I know she's the only
reason I exist.

And they only reason
they do, too.

My Time

The poetry is gone.
I can't say I miss it;
it was a burden too heavy.

But there was a time,
however short, when someone
choose me to narrate the world.

I crafted the ink
upon the page in such a way
that everything seemed right.

Perhaps every poet has
their time. I only wish
I had more of mine.

The death of Poetry

They have carefully
slit my skin with razors,
and dipped me into salted water.
I do not scream.

They have removed my skin,
exposed my raw muscle,
and thrown me onto the concrete.
I do not weep.

I do not refuse the meeting.
I cannot hurt concrete.
It is cold, hard, and dead.
I do not feel.

They have created my ideas,
corrected my purpose,
deadlined the muse.
I do not think.

The poetry is dead.
They are vendors,
And I create their good.
My veins will be your IV.

Oblivion

I always lose
My mental games
Somehow I can’t seem
To get the hang
Off all the mental
Games I play
A girl to my heart
Can’t find the way

And are we headed
Toward oblivion
Well perhaps
Already
We are there
There is no
Answer page to
Flip to
insanity
I shall stare

Ring!

Ring! The phone
must not be answered.
Ring! I wait all day
to be rung.
Ring! How childish
is the game I play.
Ring! Inside my
head I’m rung.

The Blankest Stare

I saw an old friend of mine today
but he wasn’t really there
Where once was infectious laughter.
Lingered only the blankest stare

I tried to look into his soul
and peer into his eyes
but where once was affection and honesty
Laid deceitfulness and lies.

I tried to look amused
so as not to give away
the pain I felt in growing up
It catches all someday.

In our parting tonight
I sank my head with fear
that the time where I may
blankly stare
may be drawing near.

Happy Halloween (11-03-04)

Advance Appology to the Human Race

Our little village tucked deep away
today has caught the eye
of some old friends I never knew
Traveling through the sky

There be not much to offer you
upon your arrival here
A score of crackers getting stale
or prehaps you'd like a beer?

I appologise for the way
you met our welcome crew
it's hard to say it was the hand of peace
extended, that shot at you

I know it's hard to comprehend
the use of blatant might
harder still, the reason why
your color just wasn't right

I have one wish to ask
of the journey you embark
do not spare a single soul
Burn all of Tinley Park.

A poem about regret

As I lay down
to my final rest
You'd think that
I'd have much to say

I don't.

That's because I've said
it all

And you'd likewise suspect
I would begin to
count my regrets

Again you'd be wrong
I'm not

Not because I accept
or did it all right
no.
Because I regret it all.

Sleep in Scarlet Rain

Sleep now my love
close your eyes
count the sheep
close your eyes
and sleep

The moon has risen
the sun escaped
law down
atop the morning dew
sleep now my love
all must be for you

Close your precious eyes
my love
I know not why you pain
but peace is found in a
terrible way
sleep in scarlet rain

Gather

Gather here readers
Tell me
For what reason do
you read?
Does this line take your fancy,
More than this one?

Instead of reading
alone
Why don't you gather
and live, together

I sit alone and write,
that you may live.
And I inspire you,
that you may never die.