Tag: Connection

Poetry · Writing

sometimes;

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i have dreams

sometimes there simple

like tacos at that place down the street

on everything, they bomb.

don’t let it be a tuesday

ill transform into the road runner

and meet meet you there.

most of the times

i think about changing the world;

sometimes small,

like opening chick fil la on Sunday,

i’m sure i could start a political campaign off that one

most of the times,

i want to create something that enhances the mind

that makes others want to create

something the next kid can love

and grow up to rinse and repeat.

sometimes; i’m spiderman

but usually i’m me;

writing at a desk

with a half read book

playing digital chess

and a half eaten sandwich

Poetry · Writing

rocks and stars

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i wonder why you wait;

on hands and knees

for the rocks to shift into stars

once the star has fallen, it’ll never glow

rise, it might shine for a day

roll around in the mud

but return.

oh baby you’re the star everyone wants

but no one can be

glowing steadily

wishing for a god

to bring your star back

she’ll listen

but not even she

can bring back what has fallen

Poetry · Writing

honey flavor

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it is a need

without second guessing or thinking

hands lay in yours

head in your lap

everything on the table

no where to hide

all on the line-

vulnerable;

in the eye of a lion,

weak and exposed,

in the eye of you

i found something new-

safety in fear

fear that this is a dream

a dream i never want to wake from

Poetry · Writing

rating and reason

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to hate;

i hate that i see it through these lens

with a rating and reason

never a smile and love.

bashing ripping tearing

screaming what do you mean

down a shallow hall

sending it back like a fastball.

instead of putting up your feet

having a beer

watching the game

laughing,

prison built of habits

guards wearing suits of routine

leaving the building on a scholarship of toxic purpose;

the one who judges

master of soup tasting

Poetry · Writing

bubbles in this bitch;

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rising tides higer bars loving times

they could never beat you;

they rubbed sand in your eyes

and you blinked in there face

bitch-

they can’t keep you down

your standards let them know that they are all clowns

probably should have inserted another noun

but it is what it is

the money makin’ ms

when you take the pop quiz

all the answers are b for back that shit up

i’m about to blowup

take a picture beacuse your makeup

could never look this good buttercup

blow bubbles on them babe

hit them with your cape

they are all just lesser apes

that gave up on their dreams.

i feel bad for them.

Poetry · Writing

jungle book:’

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it’s raining;

a week of it or so

nothing stronger then the fire

you left and now everything is gunfire,

rounds in my captivity

less and less full activity;

the rain came and it was already a jungle

beast running wild prowling on uneaten remains-

i needed your sun

and the beast came

howling at night

hunting during the day

lay away pathway waste in a day

mayday – mayday

wish we could find the boat that day in may

and sail back, to an island

leave this jungle-

the rain washed away the map

in branches hiding from monsters

looking at the sky

hoping for a pause

looking at the sky

 

Poetry · Writing

blender

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it swirls inside me

nothing i can do;

locked in a room and nothing but a light-

hearing the blade swinging round and round

a powerful swosh like top of nike hill

falling;

shaking with floating pieces of a being

i can’t make out

and everything goes black-

falling to pieces breaking bread with an unknown substance

racing the floor punishing like grapes meant to be wine

it’s not fine the blade has spoken

a mango blast

a tango last

Poetry · Writing

silver medal

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there is no where to escape

all exits are blocked

and i hold my hands

wishing on a star that i’m not acquainted with

not yet;

for an answer

the pedestal is so lonely

second; third is a ghost

and first, first is somewhere else

here and no crowd or medals

just a box with white chalk numbers.

no one would believe me;

with all these opened doors

they never checked the locks

no one remembered those nights wandering

smoke in the air – silence

no one remembers the phone calls they never got

dialed and hung up dialed and hung up dialed

just to hear an answering machine

to feel the chills down your spine-

no one talks about it.

so we just sit on a couch a ghost, the one who got away

and me, a silver medal