yesterday, it was Monday.
then, and then, and then, finally.
for how much?
“Hear me,” bellows the thunder to the earth.
“Hear me, or I will shake your entire planet
like a rattle in a baby’s fist.
People will fall off the sides into dark nothingness.
I will survive, and you will not.
Hear me, or this I’ll do.”
“Hear me,” commands a preacher to his congregation.
“Hear me, or the devil himself will collect you
like lost, disobedient lambs for his pasture of despair.
He’ll haunt you night and day, and night and day.
The righteous will survive. Your souls will not.
Hear me, or this he’ll do.”
“Hear me,” coos a woman to her distant lover.
“Hear me, or I’ll go off with another, many others, who’ll be
like a band of knights compared to you, unworthy peasant.
My beautiful army will make you suffer and ache with regret.
They will survive in my heart, and you will not.
Hear me, or this they’ll do.”
“Hear me,” whispers a child to his teddy bear.
“Hear me, or no one will ever find my voice amidst the roar,
like the howling of animals in the room down the hall.
One day the monsters will surely kill each other.
Our house may survive, but we within it will not.
Hear me, or this they’ll do.”
“Hear me,” I beg of you in the candlelight.
“Hear me, or I will have never spoken at all.
Never at all.
You will slowly and unconsciously erase my existence.
Everything will survive. I will not.
Hear me, or this you’ll do.”
I was designed well for my craft.
I was sewn together with great care
by a most meticulous doll maker.
I was his greatest disaster.
In my brilliant design,
I was everything wrong for the world.
I was a remarkable creation,
advised to hide away my swollen, repulsive face.
My glass eyes and my rubber mouth
were both made too large.
I was once ashamed of them.
They have caused me grief.
Once, I spoke,
and my words ignited a commotion.
They were either horribly false
or too much the truth.
I can’t remember why, now,
but you threatened me.
You promised to rip off my skin fabric
and claw out my innards.
You cannot drain me, though, for I am bloodless.
My veins bear only language.
Polka dots upon her shirt
and dead words in her hands.
Dead words in her hands.
No child understands.
Minds may drift, their shells will hurt,
an ache such speech demands.
Words will flow then disappear
and leave no fading gleam.
Leave no fading gleam,
no beauty, no esteem.
No sounds exist (to please the ear)
from heads which cannot dream.
Each night I hear it.
Laughter, where you lie. I wish
my dreams were as sweet.
Yellow and red.
Orange and black.
Pink and white.
Blue and gray.
I miss you all
when I think back
upon one rather
I lied when the girl on the street
asked me if I had a minute to help the environment.
I said I was running late.
I wasn’t running late.
But it was cold out,
and I didn’t want to give her any money.
I lied when the man in the hall
asked how my day was going.
I said it was going fine.
It wasn’t going fine.
But I didn’t think he really wanted to hear about my day,
and I didn’t really want to tell him about it.
I lied when the girl in the waiting room
asked if I had a pen she could borrow.
I said I didn’t have one.
I had one.
But it was my favorite,
and people often don’t return pens they borrow, even favorites.
I lied when the boy at the store
asked if I needed help finding anything.
I said I was all set.
I wasn’t all set.
But that was how I always answered that question,
and I didn’t really mind wandering around.
I lied when the friendly girl
asked if I wanted to go out for something to eat.
I said I wasn’t hungry.
I was hungry.
But I was also tired,
and I just wanted to go back to my room and eat by myself.
I lied when I sat down today
and wrote a poem.
I said a lot of things happened to me.
They didn’t all happen to me.
But some of them did,
and I’d bet the rest have happened to other people.
I lied just yesterday
while discussing truthfulness.
I said I was an honest person.
I’m not. Nobody is.
But I don’t think that anyone noticed my lie,
and I laughed quietly to myself.
And I laughed quietly to myself.
An impossible world
is a world that can be-
free of deadlines or limits
or lies mortals see.
A planet collides
with a dragonfly’s wings
while roses run laps,
and a daffodil sings.
To share a new language
one first ought to teach
the correct way to listen,
then, maybe, some speech.
Peel open an apple
to get to its core,
and reread the pages
you’ve not seen before.
From the depths of the mountains
and heights of the sea,
if it is written,
thus shall it be.
I once read
that if a poem
hasn’t got anything
meaningful to say,
it ought to,
This one doesn’t.
So forth went the cardinal,
who from her tree perch had wondered
why her colors were of the earth
and not the magnificent sunset.
Others around her had bore
the brilliant crimson, yet she’d remained
as she had always been:
dull as the branches of home.
Thus went the cardinal,
who in the limitless sky soon discovered:
the music that beckoned her forward
was eternally blind.