Oh the Places We'll Go in the New Year (A Brief Seussical Musing)

As the year comes to a close,
I can’t help but wonder
The places I’ll go,
The spells I’ll fall under.

Oh the places I’ll go,
The people I’ll see,
The new things to know,
Who will I be?

But today is my day
And it’s yet to go by,
So as I get on my way,
I ask “Who am I?”

Pungent

You still reek of him, of that embrace
And yet I see no shame on your face…
How can you not see that his words are empty?
Since when is it true that not enough is plenty?

You hang on his every word, the gallows of infatuation,
The quota of time spent flirting brimming with saturation;
You’re playing hard to get, too bad no one’s chasing…
His mind feels no torment when your heart is racing.

I say, “Let go, he’s not worth your time.”
“Too bad, I’ll carry this stench with pride.”
Suit yourself then, carry a pall of tears,
Just know that water does nothing to douse fear.

The corridor of miserabilia welcomes you, child.
Dwell here, amongst lovers, haters, and the darkness of the wild.
Their humble abode beckons, dopamine ushers you in,
The gates squeal shut, and you’re shrouded by sin.

Rescue is out of the question; escape, well, you can try…
Burrow through the underground, perhaps, while he’s flying high.
Scream as demons pull you back, there’s no one around to hear;
Claw at the air all you want: it feels no pain, my dear.

I wondered out loud what hell was like: well, that’s one way to respond…
Maybe you’ll snap out of it some day, and wash up on sanity's lawn.
Until then, my sweet, I must sadly bid you adieu:
For everything starts to stink when I begin to think of you.

Dried Dismay

Never thought it'd be this way,
The stream run dry to reddened dirt,
I only wished I'd have watched the day
When there was still something left to say.

The water, cool, would frolic by,
Skip-stepping around rocks and logs,
As bugs and leaves and twigs would lie
On a turquoise mirror of reflected sky.

And I would float as my back allowed
Along the current's lackadaisical path,
My eyes jumping from cloud to cloud
Amongst a sky so light and proud.

But the happy pace sadly quickened,
The sky above moved too fast.
My contented heart quickly sickened,
For any traction had simply slickened.

Over the fall I slowly tumbled,
Into a pool of shallow water.
My comforted peace suddenly crumbled,
In the froth into which I was fumbled.

This water was muddy and I nearly drowned,
In the murky marsh in which I lay.
No escape could be found
While the water sunk into the ground.

And here I lie trapped in clay,
On my side half buried in sorrow.
My memory often runs astray
To a nostalgic yesterday.

Reminiscence

I took a walk today and saw your face
In clouds above, like some cruel post-it note,
Reminding me of the joys fate once wrote
For us not long ago and I retraced
The painted memories we would have shared,
A masterpiece, made marvelous by thought's
Created colored copies of what ought
Have been, if only I had cared
Less. But now you're chilled by another's tune,
Enchanted by him as you once appeared by me,
And as I walk beneath the pallid moon,
I stop and think to myself silently:
There is no use in dwelling on the past,
The memory may hurt but it won't last.

(And though the flames of passions past still burn,
The ash they leave is just a lesson learned.)

Stoned Immaculate

As I sit so unmoving in this realm of
Stillness, I am immaculate.
Swaying stoned in the intoxicating
Moonlight's elusive touch,
As if I were a cloud among stars
Floating free with the wind's gentle breeze.

And everything is close, yet very far,
Peculiar, and accurate.
My eyes wonder wildly, fixating
On the serenity of such
Unfamiliar appearance like from afar-
The candid water and wavering trees.

I let the pale white light reflect
Off a few teeth peering out from
My parted lips. I am untouchable
In a haven of delicate air illuminated
By the inviting midnight light
That teases and taunts my
Gentle intrigue.

Dawn's tainted yellow creeps over the edge
Of the soft abyss I had accepted long ago,
The sting of the sun's warm
Intensity pains me so.
So I drift now, lazily, into a nurturing sleep,
To wake once more and run in step
To the moonbeams' delighted, dancing leap.

My Greatest Regret: Act IV

It was a bright and brisk October afternoon. A cool breeze lightly trickled past my face. I stopped walking and looked upwards. Not a cloud in the sky. Good, I thought. I continued walking towards my house from the bus stop.

Fridays are good days to reflect. It's only natural to consider this. At the end of the week, what could be better to look back on the five days that have vanished into nothingness? You scramble hurriedly to assemble all of the wanted memories into neat folders in your brain, while sweeping unwanted and rotting ones out. This Friday, however, I would do even more reflecting than usual.

I entered my house, shut the door behind me, and air rushed out of my lungs like it would out of a deflating balloon. I promptly dropped my backpack and flopped backwards onto the couch.

Three years had passed. Three whole years. I was a junior in high school at Stanton College Prep. Landrum and Ponte Vedra were far, far gone. I had lost contact with all of my old acquaintances- though I kept in touch with Sweeney. They all went to Nease and led different lives than I. I intently gazed at the ceiling fan with little purpose other than to think while looking upwards.

I remembered the old portables, the courtyard, and the basketball court. I remembered going to the woods every other day to explore and look for abandoned shacks. I remembered the learning and laughter.

I remembered Ellie.

I took a deep breath, then resumed my thinking. It pained me. It truly pained me. She was the furthest away of all. The events that took place after the dance collided together into a jumbled nonsense, where I slowly grew away from her while she began to give me less attention. Everything had fallen apart. What was once a harmonious globe of happiness and warmth had shattered into a million shards of guilt, lost desire, and regret. Neither of us could be with each other - so we stopped trying and that was that.

Then I looked ahead at what was to come. The second annual Nease vs. Ponte Vedra football game. Tonight. I would meet and mingle with the old acquaintances, hang out with Sweeney, perhaps see what Jack had been up to for the last three years, and maybe watch a little bit of football. I might see Ellie, but that was entirely up to chance and my own willingness to expend the effort to look for a girl who was now so distant from me. I pushed that thought to the back of my head as I gathered the necessities for a night in cold weather and left my house.

--------------------

By the time that I had arrived, all of the tailgating was coming to a close. The indecisive sky was stuck somewhere between blue and purple. The Panther faithful were grilling shark, and the scent wafted through the air toward my car which I was stepping out of. Smells like chicken, I thought.

I began to walk toward the lot where the mass of my old acquaintances were socializing. One of them saw me. I believe it was David.

"Is is that Braden?" The question began to permeate the increasingly chilly lot. Face turned toward each other as to confirm the uncertainty, and eyebrows contorted like inching worms. Several girls swiveled around and daintily waved at me. I smiled a little. The situation was slightly inopportune, but it seemed that they had figured out who the mystery visitor was.

"It is Braden!" Grins greeted me with warm welcome. Ellie had not arrived. Yet.

"You got me." I chuckled and began talking to David, who had grown at least half a foot taller and gained 50 pounds. "So how's school?"

"Well," David paused for a second. "It's just school." He whimsically threw his arms up. "Nothing special. Just a few grades and stuff like that. You know what I mean? Oh yeah! Has anyone been shot at Stanton when you were in class?"

Typical non-Duval student question. "Sure," I responded. "A few bullets even ricocheted off of my drama portable last December." David's jaw dropped and I was pleased at my little lie. Nothing's wrong with making life more exciting for those who wouldn't know the truth otherwise. I walked over to the grilled shark laid out on the bed of the truck. A girl - I believe her name was Jessie - daintily skipped over to me. She had a goofy smile on her face.

"Hey!" She had a prissy little voice. "You're Braden, right?" Her hands were clasped together tightly as she waited expectantly for a response.

She had never spoken a word to me in middle school, but now, three years later, she was acting like she was finally receiving the opportunity to reunite with a long lost friend. "You are correct," I said without emotion. I said no more as to evade a meaningless and potentially awkward conversation.

I crafted my shark burger and feasted. If they told me it was chicken, I wouldn't have known otherwise. I sat down on a lawn chair. No one was here yet that I knew well enough to have substantial conversation with.

Another girl approached me. It was Carrie. Her red hair had intensified its glow since middle school, and she had also become rather attractive.

"Hey Braden!" She sat down next to me. I didn't look her in the eye. I didn't know her well enough to do that right away. "You look different!"

I scoffed a little. Who wouldn't after three years? "Oh, really?"

"Yeah! You're, like, hot now!"

And this is why I go to Stanton, I thought. I couldn't put up with this nonsense for any longer. "Fantastic." I sat up quickly, tossing my clean plate in the trash. I cleared my throat and looked around for someone I knew.

I found Sweeney as I began to walk toward the gate separating the lot from the field. We had seen each other around, so there were no surprises. We knew each other and knew each other well. The cold nipped at my hands, and I took no time wrapping them in the warmth of my pockets.

The players were on the field warming up. We walked over to a convenient place in the stands, and I ignored more people who claimed they knew me.

"So..." I began, "How's Jack been?" I wondered about him sometimes - we hadn't spoken in more than a year.

Sweeney jerked his head up. "Jack? You want to know about Jack?" He appeared perplexed. "Well... I haven't spoken to Jack in a long time."

"Huh?" Sweeney and Jack were best friends in middle school. It made no sense. "Why? I mean, how could you-"

"Jack's sort of drifted away from me, you know? He's become a different person." His expression twisted into one of confusion and horror. "You would hardly recognize him."

"So what does he do now?"

"Well, he has his own little posse." Sweeney looked at me worriedly. "You could say that they're a bunch of d-bags."

"And what about sports?"

"Lacrosse and football."

"Any girls I know that he's dated?"

He uncomfortably laughed, his blond strands of hair frozen to his forehead. "He hasn't done a whole lot, you know... he's been relatively consistent..."

"With whom?"

His as he pulled his hood over his head. He leaned toward me as to tell me a dire secret. "Ellie."

My heart dive-bombed into my stomach. I could not believe it. "How long has this been going on?" My heartbeat intensified and the cold became a non-factor.

"About two and a half years."

No way. One of my best friends from middle school. Dating the only girl that I had any affection for in my past. He didn't even take very long after I left to pounce on his prey. "Whatever," I said. "I don't even know if I'll talk to him tonight."

"I guess that might be a good idea."

I stolidly watched the kickoff of the game. There were cheers and laughter. I folded my arms and burned holes into the back of the person sitting in front of me. The entire reason that I came was to see her again, but now I couldn't even approach her without feeling uncomfortable. She hadn't arrived, but when she did, I didn't quite know what I would do.

------------------------------------

After some thought, I decided that I shouldn't be too upset. If they were happy together, then that was all fine and good. I suppose that there was still some cell, some atom inside of me that still liked her. I needed to meet her again by the end of the night, but I could not approach her when she was surrounded by her friends.

I ought to - had to - reconcile. I needed to make amends with Ellie for the sake of my human sanity.

She had arrived shortly after the second quarter began. She had grown in beauty and posture. She was flashing smiles every which way. She wore a little white body-hugging shirt with a thin green jacket. She let her hair all out, and it was stunning. In her left hand, she held a ticket, and in the right, she held Jack's hand. A fiery desire sparked in the empty, cavernous chambers of my heart. It was déjà vu; in slow motion, her face turned toward mine as she lightly ascended up the stairs. I quickly shifted my body towards Sweeney as make it seem like I was occupied. But she knew. I knew and she knew that I was here, on this frozen bench, and she was there, holding hands with a former friend. It was a portrait which adequately represented the truth. My expression was permanently etched as hopeless and longing, and hers was carefree and confident. And that was simply the way it was.

Shortly after she arrived, Ellie began descending the stairs, and the only thing separating the two of us was Sweeney. Her eyes were looking down at her feet, and one hand slid along on the frigid handrail. I wanted to reach out and call her name. Ellie! I'm here! Come talk with me and remember and live and laugh and-

Regret. She continued on her mission to buy a soda. My silent despair was acknowledged by no one. I had another chance when she was stepping back up. However, she caught sight of an old friend, who was in my opposite direction. I would certainly wait until the game was over.

She was sitting three rows behind me, so I couldn't see her without turning around and spoiling my inconspicuous manner. I vowed that I would meet with her before I left. Tonight. There was no way that I would let myself down twice over the same issue.

-----------------------------------

The game passed quickly and without meaning. My interest in it dropped with the temperature. Every once in a while I would glance over my shoulder to see what Ellie was doing. I would pretend to stretch my back, lean backwards, and see that all that she was doing was being contently bundled in an oversized sweater.

Nease won. Students stormed the field in dramatic fashion. Wildly hooting, they raised their arms in delight as if their team had just won the Super Bowl. It was actually a blowout in Nease's favor, but no one seemed to treat it as insignificant. Players, coaches, and students alike formed a mosh pit in the center of the field, jumping and down until they realized that it was rather inappropriate to make such a scene at P.V.'s field.

I was joined by older parents in the act of watching. We were apparently the only ones from the away bench who deemed it proper to not join in the crazed horde. I didn't even attend Nease, or have any allegiance to the school. I had no reason to do anything at all, so I intently observed.

Five minutes passed. I walked down the steps from the stands and spotted an empty bottle of Mountain Dew. The looked up at the clear sky and the bright stadium lights temporarily blinded me. I started to kick around the bottle without motive. The players had formed a huddle and made loud grunts for every point that they had scored - all 45 of them. The P.V. players hung their heads in shame as they slowly ambled to the locker room.

I began to grow impatient. The students were a sea of white on the middle of the field, and they were just starting to disperse. I would never find her. There were hundreds of them. Hundreds. I leaned against the frosty fence, desperately eying the crowd for Ellie.

Damn. They were all walking back to their cars. I couldn't bear it this time. Irony has a sick sense of humor. At the dance, I was looking for her, but when I found her, I hid in fear of the unknown. Now, I was looking for her again. But she would not come find me this time. She didn't even know I was here. I kicked the bottle as hard as I could. I longingly looked back at the crowd again in the hopes that I would find her lovely shape fraternizing with other lucky sons of bitches.

No luck. This was it. I would never see her again. I turned around and faced the entrance gate. I began walking with a steady gait, and a cold slap of wind intruded upon my face.

The wind was picking up, making whistling noises. I couldn't hear much. I was bundled in misery, squinting my eyes to see ten feet in front of me. Darkness was penetrating the world. I thought I heard my name being called. My excitement perked as I whirled around. No one was there. I turned back around in guilty longing.

Then I stopped. Intuition drove me to look once again over my shoulder. I forced myself to take one last glimpse.

"Braden!"

I squinted my eyes, raising my right arm over my head to block the powerful stadium lights from obstructing my view. I could make out a figure in the distance, alone, jumping up and down with wildly waving arms.

It was Ellie.

Her expression was pure ecstasy. I ran to the fence which had once separated me from the mob. I tried to open the gate, but frost held it tightly shut. What the hell, I thought, and I jumped clear over the fence. My frigid breath made a trail like the smoke from a train as I sprinted to her.

Time slowed down, as it always did. She was more beautiful than ever. The lights glimmered in her brown eyes, and she had left her jacket with her friends who were now very far away. She was an angel, too perfect. We could never be together, but we could pretend at times like this that it was a flawless reality.

As we neared, our arms outstretched, I thought, this is how it all should have been. This is what I've been missing. Our embrace was firm and neverending. She clutched at my back and rested her head on my right shoulder. Her body, warm, pressed against my chest. If this isn't real, I thought, then I don't know what is.

I was more happy than I had been in months, maybe years. No words could have satisfied me more than physical recognition. In reality, the hug may have been twenty seconds, but it was an eternity. It was human expression at its finest. Every time I considered ending the embrace, she held me tighter. I just smiled and all of my worries dissipated into the cold October night.

When we finally stopped hugging, I stepped back and once again admired her. She subtly smiled and whispered, "You really needed that." I felt giddy like a small child on Christmas day.

"Yes," I responded. "Yes I did."

And so we talked. Most of the people had filed out of the stadium during the discourse, but none of this mattered. It was just like old times. She was doing well. She asked how Stanton was going. I told her that IB was killing me. The weather was arctic, but the warmth of her presence shielded me from the elements.

We felt that nothing could stop us then. I could tell that she was not satisfied with her relationship with Jack. I began considering if it was a bad choice to attend Stanton. Perhaps I should have gone to Nease and just spent my time with her. There was never an unexciting moment to our lives when we were together.

Suddenly, the stadium lights shut off. It was pitch dark. We laughed and made our way out. I was about to ask her what she was doing this weekend when she said, "Well, I have to go to Jack's now. He wanted to show me something for homecoming. You know that's tomorrow."

I didn't want to leave her. "Yes, of course I know."

She giggled. "You're funny, Braden. Looking good, too. Maybe we'll meet again.

She started to open her car door. My heart sank.

"Wait! Ellie!"

She turned her head, expectantly waiting. "Yes?"

"I-I-" I couldn't find the right words. I sighed heavily. "Ellie, I just wanted to say that I've always thought that you were a wonderful person, and-" I paused again.

"What is it?"

"I love you."

She smiled at me, and said, "Braden, you know that was a long time ago. The times have changed. It was great seeing you, and I hope that we can see each other more often."

Reality slapped me across the face. She didn't even have to touch me. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you around then." I wouldn't. "Have fun at homecoming." I gave a little wave, and my trademark smile. She returned the gesture and shut the door.

It was all over. I had made my amends and settled my troubled mind. I decided that I would never see her again. It would only be right to the order of the world to do so. And that was that.

An Immortal Song

The music flows in rhythm
With a voice addressed to you,
Thoughts flow with efficiency
Like they're naturally supposed to.

The words start coming faster
And they reverberate in wonder.
You've never felt this way before,
Your heart beats as if it's thunder.

And as the message comes full-circle
Your mind embarks on a jarring journey,
Through neighborhoods and winding woods,
Memories of yearning.

The image reaches perfection with
The song's banging, bouncing beat,
Your blood is pumping quickly now and
You can't avoid its flowing heat.

Now snap back from the past
And listen to the lyrics,
They invigorate your entity
And you refuse to fear it.

The movie reel conveys
Its untold vital showing,
The story plays out in your head
As inspiration keeps on flowing.

You feel your heart is different
From its usual heavy weight,
It floats within your chest beating
At a supersonic rate.

You're ready now to be the best,
They cannot stop it if you won't rest,
It's too late to dwell in dreams,
The time is right for your regime.

The music stops but the beat lives on,
Your heart is home to your new song.
A thief of history, a bandit of time,
You live immortal in written rhyme.

At the Dog and Badger Tavern

She took a seat at my table
As I sat, glass in hand;
Gesturing strangely,
She spoke of "that man"
Who sat at the bar,
Enjoying his drink,
Wearing a ring, looking tired:
A family man, I think.

I set down my glass
And looked up at this lady:

A fair woman, a bit portly,
As her finger, bare,
Pointed (poignantly) at the
Kind-eyed old man over there
As he sat at the bar
And struck up conversation
With the attentive barkeep
About his Generation.

She spoke quietly now,
And I started to listen
As the sweat on her brow
Dripped down and she glistened:

"Look at that man there,"
She said,
"Will he ever stop drinking?
I swear he's sat there three hours
Just pouring it down!
Doesn't he know he has
No right
To pollute his body
In such a way?"

I continued to listen,
He spoke of the War and his kids
As she declared he had no right,
And I wondered who did.
He spoke of how they'd grown up,
And how it went by so fast,
And how their kids had come back
To mourn his wife, long since passed.
But then he looked up at the bar man
And a smile crossed his face
As he declared he was glad,
His wife was in a Better Place.

She emptied her lungs
As she spoke of "that sinner,"
And I coughed at the stale air
That had newly grown thinner.

"And what of you, young man?
You're hardly the better,"

She said,
Glancing at my bottle,
Her plus-sign necklace
Bouncing upon her breast
As she breathed in (loudly and heavily)
And the smoke filled her chest:

"I've yet to see your glass empty
And you've been here all night,
You ought to own stock in Budweiser
As much poison as you've sucked down your throat."

"First of all ma'am,"
I said,
"I'm drinking Coors,
And second,"
I added,
"What business is it
Of yours?"

The Red Maple

Gentleness of this day wraps around my being, 

cradling my pale nerves to a still entity, 

though I know my hands are trembling; regret, fleeing

from my once noble conscience, losing lenity.

I admire this tree that stands before me, gleaming

radiant with wisdom as it towers above.

I have swung from its branches and climbed to its top;

this tree gave me fun times and kept me beaming.

It allowed me to sit upon the world, with love

how could I ever take that away, make it stop?

I have read books at its roots 

and have carved hearts in its bark.

Nightly, I sleep to its owl’s hoots;

they befriend it in the dark.

This tree has grown its origin into my heart;

its branches have supported my weak tendencies.

Its leaves pop with spirit in the time of autumn;

its peak is engorged by a light blue, piece of art,

its twists and knots are not signs of decadency,

they’re embraced; its personality is awesome.

I gaze on the way my hands are holding this axe

as I chop it all away; what I care for is 

leaning. It’s hard to slice through a tree

when its trunk is so dense. 

It screams as it falls until it meets the cold ground.

Crimson leaves say a final word in disbelief;

then all is silent.

The breeze will carry my whisper 

around its stump;

“I'm sorry.”

Through the Centriole

exhaling sleep
lifted smoke rings from Couch’s elbow nook
agreeing deep said
matter’s only organized voids
matter doesn’t
matter doesn’t
matter doesn’t—
drifting breathe melted into each
and dreamed in babbling steam

Digging

Thrown into an oceanic oasis
Made only for us to wait,
We swim desperately
To elude the swift current of fate,
To avoid the inevitable, indefinite date.

We wash ourselves upon a shore
Safe from the grip of this tide,
Running far from the ocean's edge
Faster, farther, longer stride.
We do not linger, rather hide.

And we wait, we wait, for the
Moon's soft slumber,
So that we may bask in the light
Of the sun we live under,
Yet still, each day has its number.

We all dream of a happy day,
But we know that life must be this way;
The dirt cannot provide divine delay,
The timid tide will gladly whisk you away.

We can work, we can try,
We can plant flowers in the dirt,
But the roads all lead to one sure place
No matter the direction we pave.
Money, material, pain and pleasure;
All shovels digging our own shallow grave.

For some a cold layer of scattered soil
Will rest indifferent on weary bones,
For others the dust of a forgotten soul
Shall sink in silence to the sea bed's stones.

no, there were no orange lights in the trees

two liters of white smoke foaming up through burnt water

the snake was choking out his length

dry-hacking up his teeth in pixels

knee bones, wiggling fingers toes decomposed

loosen up blues coils
raging ember delay rings reverberating...

hardest, the first choke made him longest

yes, there was a fire

fire chanting, fire unplugging every spark-tailed wire

every stroke in soft slow motion

we were growing, outskirting the sanctum

Thirst cursed the land

charred streams to crumbling time

dancers roasted a desert on a bonfire throat

the rise of night ticked down rhythm’s spine...
Oneness, in gaglike tide pulled spit from the sky

reversal is only universal

we will greet all like a midnight sun

and echo all our waves in rising eyes

we swallowed the fangs and they

burned new paths gulping down

yes, there was a man in the tree

and he

laughed

and laughed

Nature Can be Timid

Nature can be timid at times,

Of course, that is if we are forgetful to think about its dreadful disasters:

Horrendous hurricanes, flagrant floods, and severe tsunamis leave sorrowful hymns;

Tormenting tornadoes, egregious earthquakes, heinous hail storms: corrupt masters; 

Abominable avalanches, brazen blizzards: have us on our knees, pain climbs;

Vexing volcanic eruptions, dreadful droughts; chaos in all forms for broadcasters.

Yet, nature has its gentle rains,

Blooms, fountains, where the sun has shined;

Sweetness avoids Misery’s chains,

But, it is missing a voice to fight off crimes,

Crimes committed by mankind.

Yes, Nature can be timid at times.

Erinyes' Vigil

An idol comes alive
idle in my clutch no longer
and bleeding like tears
her shivering fingers clenched
across bare knuckles read
"RAGE" and "FURY"
a death knell for devils
renewing the ancient pact with
Incantations
the lines of Judgment she intones,

"This is a prayer for the end of the world,
that hymn of condemnation sung on street-corners
and lifted to the fortune-birds!

I behold the true face of Oversoul, O king,
it is marvelous and has one-thousand eyes
surveying your wretched nation.

This is a funeral pyre for great Achilles,
the mythic wheels of mighty Juggernaut
on Cúchulainn's gigantic chariot set ablaze.

We are hated for our anger,
abhorrent from all angles, we are hate...

Train your body and sharpen your mind
stretch out tendrils of feeling, insight
accessing the world as its floodgates pour over
O adept, by Venus within never falter!"

Echoes behind my frozen form
a voice not male nor female
sends comforting chills supernatural
from the Sanctum Sanctorum in-between
where she resides, Metatron the Archangel
a messenger of two-faced conviction
Janus, the gatekeeper of Apocalypse
and now his Seventh Seal:

"I have been trapped here
for countless years," she says
an automatic voice knowing no context
skips the wild tone on chaotic scales,
"Why have you come to see her burial?"

Badb our fatal mother, Raven-in-Battle
who lit aflame the chariot's grave
claws one shore and perches the other
feathery shades in gloom
yet the river alone holds significance
that holy space between
(This temple is alive.)

"She sleeps now on the riverbed
and died before my eyes
Nemesis smolders in the ash
that spirit whom you say is Justice."

Confessions of a Broken Girl

I'm standing behind you,
But you don't seem to feel my piercing stare
Or sense the distraught look I possess,
With tears brimming in my eyes,
Tears that I refuse to let fall
Because someone has to stay sane,
Someone has to be the example you never were.

Don't you see you're the antithesis?
Don't you see how you're hurting me?
Can't you hear my stifled sobs as I desperately try to contain myself?
Why can you not see my tears?
I'm using all my strength to keep them from breaking loose.
Because I don't want to upset you.
Because I hate to see you defeated.
Though I really don't understand why not.

You want my respect,
But that's five years gone.
Demand it all you want;
It's not yours to have,
And it may never be again.
Let's go on pretending everything's the same?
I mean, nothing has changed -
Except for everything.
If you think it will be okay, then,
Well,
You hit your head harder than I thought.

Next time this happens,
As I have not doubt it will again,
Don't expect my sympathy.
You don't deserve it.
All my tears are on this paper;
I have none left to shed on the likes of you.

The Panhandler

he came across the city blocked night to me, the stranger, calling,
“Hey man, I’m looking for America!
Man, I just need 75 cents to get home, man,
I’m just looking for America!”
so reaching into my purchased purse
I gave it to him,
I gave him America, the paper founder’s face.
he offered to make change, to give some America back to me
a quarter I didn’t need
I let him keep all that America

“Thank you, man, no really, thank you…” trailed off, melting into
buzzing flickering fluorescence behind me,
“No, thank you,” I said
wondering why
America
was all he wanted

A Ripple Among the Rest

There is something peculiar about the way you speak,

as if you fathom all wonders in your words to me.

There is something in your language said in tongue in cheek,

as if trying to cunningly disguise dignity.

“Oh, my heart's temptation is for the dogs,” you remark.

Why, I did not know you had emotions in your name,

let alone, you preferred them for a howl or a bark.

Can you just cease to speak in code of your sick love game?

I don’t deserve to decipher your minds “profound” thoughts,

for they do nothing for me but hate you immensely.

Your communication will become composed of dots;

they will be buried as a ripple among the rest.

Time-Torn

Unspoken expectations were lost in the turn of
Time, as too quickly it caught us by surprise,
Taking advantage of our foolish
Notions of eternity, of immortality.
These moments yet to be experienced
Hung over our heads, dark clouds of
Anticipation, exploding with electric anxiety.

Obstacles in the road slowed our journey
As Time crept, a ravenous predator, toward our
Shared memories, while we were so naïve,
Blind to the plight of our long-cultivated bond.
With outstretched claws Time snatched our lives,
Hope was lost to the ticking of a clock, but we,
Shocked, could only tremble in silence.

In the vacuum around us we made not a sound,
Besides such futility perishes in that emptiness,
Only internal cries of desperate loneliness
While words were trapped in an iron grip.
Still rocked by violent tremors we staggered apart,
Our constant magnetism forever reversed,
For Time had its way with the world.

The Tide

One summer day I was caught in the tide.

A wave socked me in the stomach,

Lost in a world with no gravity

I wrestled with the concept of nothing,

Bending to the curve of every spiral

Of a deeper plunge down.

Bellowing clouds of sand

Smoothed me into

a pulp of confusion.

I think I hit the bottom somewhere

And in the deep I found a hope

That there must also be an up

Where the rays of light breaking through foam

Could warm this hollow chill.

So I let go

Of treading water,

Fighting nothing

That was somehow everything

And more than I could ever hold,

Cursing commandeering currents.

I washed upon the shore with

Skinned knees and seaweed hair

The sun baking water upon my face

And remnants of tide whispering goodbye

Over the shells that cut me clean,

To find the truth of all I've missed.

Walking Cloud of Pessimism

A walking cloud of pessimism –
That’s what you seem to be.
I try to brighten up your day
But when you look at me
All I get is blank acknowledgement
A quick wave hi and bye
Instead of the smile I used to receive
When we would make time fly
Talking, laughing, sharing stories
Almost every day!
I never thought I’d have to stand
And watch our bond decay.

Sometimes I think it’s coming back,
We’re older now, and smarter;
But the moment we begin to soar
Is when the ground hits harder.
I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,
Though I can’t say that I’ve tried,
Not that you’d help me anyways –
Instead you’ll try to hide.
But in a sea of endless faces
You’re the first I always see.
That’s when my heart skips a beat
Then falls and scrapes its knees.

Have mercy on the mess that’s me
For secretly I’m pining,
Hoping those gorgeous eyes of yours
Will never quit their shining.

You walking cloud of pessimism,
Please let the sun shine through.
We both know well that happiness
Looks so much better on you.

Better Than Words

Pen and paper keep you sane.
Sometimes that works for me, too.
But I don’t get joy from eloquent words
In the way that I know you do.
Words are never enough for me,
They often mean nothing at all.
While you sit at your desk
And write your deep thoughts,
I longingly stare at a wall.
I stand there and wait
For the music to play,
Then I run
And I jump
And I fall.

Down on the ground
Is where my strength truly shows;
My arms are my shield
As I rise to my toes.
The music progresses,
The intensity threefold.
The sweat drops are forming;
I’m a little less cold.
I pull at my clothes
And push all the limits.
Within this shaking body
Raw emotions inhibit.
I move faster now,
Emoted tears start to drop.
I dance harder, more forceful,
I don’t think I can stop –

‘Til with one last passionate step
All movement has ceased.
I am all empty now,
My feelings released.
I stand up and notice the room I am in,
Where nothing’s between the wall and my sins
But the heavy air, buzzing lights,
The pounding in my head
And my thumping heart beats;
Thank God I’m not dead.

Now maybe you know
How I want you to see
That breaking through the words
Is what really sets you free.
So what say you now,
Sitting there at your desk?
You’ve not touched your pen
While I’ve yet to rest.
And I’ll keep on going,
For you know what they say:
The better strive for best,
And I’ll be there someday.

Essence

Meet me where the stars have fallen
From their lofty towers in the night,
So that I may see you as nature's child
Free from the city's artificial light.

I'd like to find the soul within
The exterior shell you wear
So as not to bear any telling sign
That you think or care.
I'd like to strip you clean and bare
Of filtered image and at
A naked spirit stare.

No safety or support for either of us two,
The end of all we thought we knew,
Liberating and invigorating the birth
Of a mind untampered and true.

So join me in a wicked wilderness
Where instinct is the law and
You and I are free to fly, free to die,
Free to run about the world in the
Insanity of having no reason why.

Yet if you peel but a thin layer from
Your body's snaking silhouette,
And reveal to me so readily
An essence not so different
From the shell my eyes met,
Then I shall leave you stranded on
Your own in this wilderness now of pain,
For my trust in you, and hope for
Something new, would've been in worthless vain.

Inhale

For a long time now, I have been another person. Covered in the intense skin of a cynic, snapping off the branches of bushes as I walked by. Floudering in thoughts that were not my own, poisoned by the inexplicable thirst for acceptance. Spilling in glittering droplets onto the floor in desperation for a truth.

A million infinite pieces, within cells, within organs, within me, raise a fist to this tyrannical self deprecation. I tore through this veil, clawing and stretching plastic bags, for I was suffocating.

Oh God. The air smells so sweet, laced with the perfume of all who are around me. I inhale beauty. Closed eyes, oh gentle heartbeat, footsteps of a hundred people, each murmur a story concealed within, and locked away in a secret compartment, with a secret string, and a secret photograph.

Let me breathe the world in.

Puns For the Incredibly Bored

Two kids were walking their dogs in the park. One's dog gets loose. The kid frantically tries to get it back. The other kid whistles and the dog comes running. The first kid says, whoah howd you do thaT? The second kid says...

"IDK it just came to me!"

What did the uncreative pencil say to the paintbrush?

"im drawing a blank"

What do cannibals say at the drive thru?
"You want eyes with that?"

Why do cannibals love men named Charlie?
They like their Char grilled

What did the Jew do at the "Klab Ballah"?

"Torah" it up!

What did the wilted lettuce leaf say to the fork?

"Why dont you start fresh?"

(CAMEOS:

what did matt say to ash after her suspenseful series of clever sayings?

"ash, you've got me on puns and needles!"

what did the kid say to the magic man that granted him the three best wishes he could ask for?

"you're a freaking 'genie-us'!

What's a cannibal's favourite dessert?

J-lo.)

Love is a Man Sat Behind a Desk

Love is a man sat behind a desk,
At the control of all matters of the heart.
He dictates who you fall for and
Exactly how you'll play the part.

He is logical and calculating,
Sure not to slip or make mistake,
You'll fall subject to his spell
And in Love's inferno bake.

And this man is a cynical man,
For his profession requires him to be so.
Despite your pleas to be released
He denies your bliss with a wicked 'no'.

For he says that John loves Sue,
But Sue is head over heels for Paul,
While Paul wants Sally oh so bad,
The misery spreads to each and all.

Love is a man sat behind a desk
Ensuring your heart shall not be received,
There is not much you can do:
Of his duty Love shall not be relieved.

Regression

I don't understand.
It's not like we're strangers;
Mutual existence has been noted.
Multiple times.
On a daily basis.
For years.
But now tiny hopes are crushed
As we both pretend that that split second of eye contact
Never happened.
And you look somewhere, anywhere -
So long as it's not at me...

Do you enjoy to fraternize with ignorance?
Because I don't.
But I'm forced to because of you.
Because no one likes to be rejected,
To be purposely cast away
As just another face in the crowd.
Is that all I am to you now?
Please tell me no.
We know too much to reach that stage.
Or so I hope.

The Product of Thought

It's time to face facts, just take a step back
and you'll see
What youre desperately trying to hide
Its not what you wanted, it's just what you think
Might (just possibly) be second best.
-I hope not...

As you see what is clear,
What you thought was most dear
Is uncostumed- and my, what a sight
This true image you find
Was quite changed by your mind,
Seeming splendid when thought to be right.

Ugh, and now, your small words make my skin seem to crawl,
How you speak them, and don't feel a care!
Just get out of my sight, of my mind, of my life!
To the wise: mediocre? Beware.

Chilled

My first impression is one of sheer beauty,
Of warmth and comforting perfection,
Vibrancy and abundance of life,
Where the wind blows ever so gently
As it rips the tolerance from its surroundings.
The water turns still and lifeless
And all I can hear is the incessant drone of retaliation.

Now my touch is the closest thing to ice.
My teeth move uncontrollably to shatter something that isn’t there.
I hold myself tighter,
hoping that will stop this madness?

No.

With downcast eyes and broken breaths
You’d think I’d been crying.
But what reason have I for that?
I am numb and nothing more.

Hypothetical

I never liked hypothetical questions
For "what if" is neither here nor there,
But both everywhere and nowhere
And sometimes everything or nothing at all.

What good would it do me to know
What might have happened if
This or that had been the case
Or if so-and-so had been involved?
Nothing, I tell you, because I might then be
A crying heap lain out on the floor or
Ecstatic enough to never touch the ground.
Both options strike me as being melodramatic.

Instead, let me not spend my time
Pining over what could have been
Or lost in the clouds of daydreams once dear,
But looking forward with my head held high
And my faults and failings on full display.

Legacy

What remains of us once we are gone?
Our words? Our actions? Our dreams?

There is but one acknowledged truth:
That all who live just as surely die.

In my youth, I dreamed of castles and true love,
Now neither of these will satisfy me.
Towers crumble and love is transient-
I want much more than fleeting glory.

I want to exercise my freedom of thought,
To openly laugh at the world and
Throw its ideals back in its face,
To find a measure of peace in a place where
Pacing faster and faster in
Smaller and smaller circles
Is all that is acceptable.

I have no interest in being merely acceptable,
Exceptionality is a far worthier goal.
To leave the world more complex than it was,
To be the spark of an intellectual inferno,
To create a phenomenon of outstanding proportions
Is what I aspire to.

For upon our deaths, no thought unwritten,
No deed undone, no word unspoken
Nor intention unrealized will remain,
Save the inspiration with which we moved the living.

A Neverending Cycle

The first cut is the deepest and
Every scar eventually fades,
Or so I thought until I met you.

Your words cut to my core like knives,
But pain is ecstasy so long as you deliver the blow.
These wounds never heal, but are instead compacted,
Making room for more gashes
Until I am unrecognizable.

Yet like the wisest of killers you leave no marks,
No telltale sign of your involvement,
Preferring to hide on the fringe.
It is impossible to see you come in for the kill
Until all hope of a rescue is gone.
Like a predator you close in tighter and tighter,
Circling me as I stand captivated.

Against you I am powerless,
One look has me yearning for my own defeat.
My strength seeps out as you pace nearer.
Desire replaces blood in my veins,
Making your whispers unnecessary.

A momentary thrill as your intensity turns to ferocity, then
I am pierced through the heart, your plan all along.
Next you progress to breaking me down.

Upon my release, the cycle repeats, surprising me every time.

Mantra

My thoughts flow like water
Or like wind,
Power lies in the tip of my pen.
I am moved by caprice,
Which some call Inspiration,
I am looking forward with
Clear motivation.

Leaving no stone unturned
Only upended boulders
Making my way as the nights grow colder.
No footprints behind me
And no path ahead,
Alone on all sides
It's as if I am dead.

I follow a course
Known only to me
With my thoughts keeping time I feel strong and free.
No bonds can contain me,
No words hold me back,
I'm steady and sure that
I'm on the right track.

So come Justice, come Truth,
There is much to be done
Before we can find our place in the sun.
Loyalty, Liberty,
Give your command.
Keep these words in marble
Rather than sand.

The Poet's Task

Rod in hand, poets cast their lines,
Starting splashes, splaying the surface of the stream
Of consciousness, of generations,
Which whispers of forbidden subjects;
They make these plain, the stream awake.

And then the lines reach the to the depths
Of that stream, of the soul,
Carried down
By the weight
Of life, of death, of the whispered words
Of the soft-spoken stream.
The crash of the well-worded weights brings these
To light, stirring up the dirt left lying still since
The dawn of time.

They lure us in with metered lines
And pretty rhymes,
With colorful copies of reality,
Cleverly crafted to appear more beautiful.

Then, just when we least expect it,
We’re hooked,
Mind reeling, pulled toward some higher truth.
Poets are fishers of men.

Defensive Mechanism

Twin walls, cold and firm in their shared
Detachment, face each other
Across a narrow plain.
Pulsing heat radiates, but is chilled,
Depleted by stronger resistance
Until merely a whispered desire
Penetrates the opposing defenses.

Behind each wall cowers a lone
Prisoner, both protected and trapped
By their unweathered barriers.
Aware of the other’s imprisonment,
Though the strength of the walls remains
Enigmatic, they beat for each other
Knowing the rhythm will die on the stone.

Yet a hint of emotion by chance
Escapes, quietly breaching well-built
Defenses, shocking the prisoners out of despair.
And hope is born, a fluttering
Warmth that thrives on subtlety,
Seeing the already crumbling walls
With eyes unhindered by doubt.

Transparent

Now emotion is conquered, distraught
And defeated.
This mindset's endeavors
(Too full) are deleted.

Since goodness (I'm saying
Unsullied and true)
Is a ticket to sadness,
Well, much is ado

About nothing, it seems that
Morality's passed
From the days of it's glory
To a thing of the past

Don't give me that bullshit, those rules
Are not part
Of inheritant goodness.
It comes from the heart.

And I can see through you,
Your smile paper thin
what prize do you covet?
What do YOU wish to win?

So I seek to do battle
Sincerity's one
Of my causes- and look!
Skepticism- my gun.

But the army of falsity
Tears me apart
As I seek to look into
Its darkness of heart

If I know you are hiding
We won't get along
As you yell, "This is slander!
You're crazy- it's wrong!"

And as I lay dying, my brain all
Dismembered,
They won't tell a lie,
But I'll die unremembered.

Empty Stage

When all is said and done,
The set is gone,
The reviews are in,
And everything now takes place in the past,
You are left alone
On an empty stage.
Remembrance of the pomp that once was
Is fodder to the cryptic void you are in now.
Haunting, isn’t it?
How more joy can come from
Empty seats,
A wall of mirrors,
And a lone glowing bulb
- don’t get too close!

Oh jubilation, you have ne’er been so pensive,
For when I glance in that mirror
I see not who I am,
Nor who I have become;
Those matter not, for the stage swallows identity.
But in that moment, you stop, look, smell, consume
The feeling that words cannot fathom –
Thunderous applause cannot compare
To hearing only your breath

In a barren theatre

On an empty stage.

The Candle

It sparks to life by
Some other's flame;
The heat of another passes
Into the wick which sustains its being.

It hesitates at first,
Unused to the warmth
Of a burning light,
So fragile and fleeting.

As the wind passes by
It flickers in fear,
Fighting for its entitlement
To breath the oxygen of the air.

Dancing about above a waxy platform,
Floating as if a ghost.
It is untouchable to others,
Beginning and ending in timeless fashion.

And as it reaches higher
As if for something, or someone,
The solid cylinder of hourglass wax
Melts slowly as a reminder of the inevitable.

It burns steady as it yearns frantically.
Its body has dwindled near to nothing.
But the flame fights with ferocity.
Still reaching.
The wick is down to its last twisted thread
And there is a subtle intensity
About a bluish glow.
With no warning it snaps into smoke,
Rising quickly, quietly,
Snaking in silence into nothing.

And thus it is gone, leaving but
A ruined wick in its own ashes
Amongst a puddle of what it once was.

Guitar

There is the tug of an implacable burning, but I don’t know. I don’t know where to start, or what I'm doing. I grab a book, open it, and cast it away. God, this book was worse than I thought it was; pretentious and vapid. I’m tired of following the same life that thousands are living. I'm tired of seeing, eating, reading, thinking the same things as the world. I’m tired of listening to what they say, what they all say (the same things over and over again). I don’t care. I need to discover. New. I need – something.

You beckon me from a corner, friendly though long ignored. You call to me in the faint whisper of dreams, as I touch your neck and you hum the echo of secrets. My fingers fall clumsily upon your strings, you make a sharp noise in pain. I’m sorry, it has taken so long. I hold you closer, I smooth away the dust left upon you from neglect. I will take care of you now.

It’s alright. There is nothing more that I want in this world than to soothe your small aches, and from you sing melodies of happiness intangible through words and that pervasive melancholy of shadows (we can cry together). With you I will remember an ocean left in a warm embrace of summer; an old house left empty with the porch light on, waiting for someone to come home.

Just Skip Ahead

War is won by the simplest of things,
As if suddenly saved on an angel's wings.
That's not to say that divine intervention,
Is just a simple or common convention.

What I mean to say is that
Even in the dark face of combat,
the simplest of actions can turn tides,
the smallest try can make great strides.

But this isn't war I'm talking about
No that was just an example I thought I'd toss out.
Plenty of things get over complex,
Caught up in trying to plan on what's next.

We end up rambling in strange analogies,
That just create our own false fallacies,
When just a quick phrase or act,
Said or done with the simplest of tact,
Can end up working vast wonders,
Unlike wise men's rambling blunders.

Too often more is done in a single phrase,
Than in convoluted speeches that put men in graves,
As the stand waiting for what is meant to be said,
If only they, like you, could have just skipped ahead,
To the final point of a long diatribe,
To the simple message it tried to describe:

What's best is done by the smallest of favors;
Plus they end up being great time-savers.

A Subconscious Vow

I couldn't see you through the dusty
Wind that blew its mighty lungs
Across the canyon between you and I
In which a slight tension hung.

And when it died down,
I felt like a balloon tied down,
To the dirt by a weight of feelings drowned
In the river of silent tears
That meandered down below,
From where our feet were soundly anchored,
Yet our souls were free to go.

I could not make out the face that
I know you wore with intent,
It did matter to me at all,
For I simply refused to repent.

I did wish to change the end,
The end of what we had begun,
But I've long since dismissed
The painful desire to with you be one.

I turned with ease, away from
The laceration in the earth.
To stare at you was just not worth
The time it cost,
The time I had already lost,
The thick-thistled stem of death
That struck each time you were the
Subject my mind happened to cross.

And though I watched it not,
I heard with accurate precision,
The crumbling of the edge on which
Rested what was left of your blurry vision.

You fell, I am quite sure,
To the depths of my teary stream,
And never surfaced again to plague
Me with my hopeless dream.

I watched you sink to the river's bed,
Where you were put to rest in
My lonesome head.
This is good, for both you and I,
I pray you rest well as the clouds
Fly forever by.

-------------

My eyes awoke from their soft slumber,
And I readied myself
For the day's attempt
Knowing full well of
The dream I had dreamt.

I knew its intention, and I
Understood it quite well,
I knew for a fact there was
Nothing left to tell.

Your presence is ghostly.
You are dead to me now,
I am immune to you, wholly;
My subconscious vow.