For Kiran

you talk too much
listening is an act
what someone says is usually half of what they mean
only poets can express a paragraph in a word
normal people need a disertation
but the majority have a false sense of authority
in the words they spew
only with with true appreciation of language know a word
a single can tell a story
for an example
UNHOLY

thought for the day

All you wanna talk about is mistakes you made why not talk about what makes you the person you are: lessons learned

you

not a day goes by that I don't think of you
not a single day
and I find myself wondering
do you think of me too
but I can't ask you
I don't want to expose myself
one day this shell will crack
and I hope it is on the one day that I don't think of you

Politeness

I was walking to class the other day and was annoyed the whole way...why aren't people polite anymore? If a group of young men is walking towards me, I shouldn't have to move out of their way. I swear it's like playing chicken the entire way. And people, don't you know that you walk on the right side of the sidewalk, just you like you drive on the right side of the road, and you go up and down stairs staying to the right. If I open a door for myself to walk through, you don't come out the door opened, you open your own door, on the right..(obviously this only pertains to a double door situation.) You let people get off the elevator before you get on. If you're walking on the wrong side of the sidewalk or with a group and you are coming up to another person, step aside and make way. You will not get where you are going that much faster by making me step in the mud. AND if you are walking and texting hold the phone up higher so you can see it and where you are going...or better yet...don't walk distracted! I'm sick of playing frogger trying to walk through campus. The end.

Earth Worms and Pot Holes

This place smells like earth worms and pot holes
If the rain keeps up this way there might be trouble
The river is still within its banks but it is getting close to the bridge
It's lapping at the once graceful grasses which grow along its shore
It's been a long dark spring, and there are more storm clouds on the horizon
We'd like this lion to quit its roar
And keep the river in its place between the shores
The boats have all been bobbing for far too long
It will be a miracle if they all hold on
That soggy old pier can't take much more
And the earth it holds to is starting to disappear
We can't take this weather any longer
We've got to move upland
And hope that when we come back the lion will have become the lamb

a short story in eight bar napkins

The driveway was hard to find, just an indent in the tree line, covered with honeysuckle and saplings; but the rusty mailbox, covered in vines, was still visible if you knew to look for it. Parking on the shoulder was ill advised but we did it anyway and feeling like explorers we made our way up to the house, tripping occasionally in the invisible wheel ruts of the long, grown over, gravel driveway. The porch was falling off and the door was ajar. The faded metal house numbers hung crooked to the left of the doorway. Surprisingly, no windows were broken on the old house, with it's paint peeling and eaves drooping. We didn't know what we'd find but we had come too far not to look. We entered carefully into a front room that was like a snow globe of dust motes dancing in sun rays. It took a moment for our eyes to adjust but when they did we were astounded by the riches before us. Smothered in a layer of dust and long forgotten were the accouterments of a fine parlor. Someone had left here in a hurry. We covered our faces with handkerchiefs and stepped carefully through the house, all the while imagining music coming from the old and warped piano and conversations echoing off the tin ceiling. We knew we had found a treasure. We found the kitchen with it's rusty pump that protested loudly as we primed it, a few sepia drops our reward. The dining room table had been warped into a sink from some long occurring ceiling link, but the china cabinet was fine indeed with crystal still inside. We knew it was wrong but we opened the sideboard and each took a spoon. We debated the safety of the stairs and decided to let the rest of the house sleep in peace. We found the kitchen garden and were amazed to find squash, healthy and robust. We saw the remnants of a barn but the pricker bushes kept us away. The stone patio was overgrown by Hens and Chicks - little cactus families we choose not to disturb. With excited but heavy hearts we returned to road to the let the house and it's history remain in peace.


all rights reserved 2/4/11

Float

someone always says something
that tears a little at my heart
and pulls me back to earth
that something could be nothing
but it makes me blink and think of you
sometimes it is just a mention of a place
it could be a movie
or even an opinion on the weather
a question perhaps
what is the name of that town on the coast
where did you get that sweater
I could be happy up in my clouds
dreaming of better things
ways to get them
scheming for pleasure
and then a word or two
and my balloon starts it's descent
it takes so much to rise
that poor little balloon with it's banged up basket
it wants to float away in the skies
but it keeps falling back to earth
more dreams I scream
I need more dreams to make it float
not memories to weigh it down!

all rights reserved