Why is it that we fall in love?
Is love a trap, a giant pit that we unsuspectingly trip into?
Do we lie at the bottom peering at the light above?
Is love like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute?
Do we flail helplessly as we plummet to the ground?
Falling is painful, uncertain, and something we try to avoid.
Except in the case of love.
I don't like falling.
I think I'm going to grow into love instead...
When I was but a boy
no older than 4
I insisted that the number of pickles
on my sandwich be representative
of my age.
4 years. 4 pickles
5 years. 5 pickles
6 years. 6 pickles
This went on for awhile.
Eventually, though, I felt it was time to end that particular tradition.
28 pickles was getting ridiculous...
On those days
when my head is full
of all the things that
are going wrong in my life
I'll find her waiting for me
and I'll lay my head across her chest
and be greeted by
a steady heartbeat
I can't be strong every day
Sometimes I break
It's only inevitable
That's why I need her
It goes deeper than the warmth of her skin
It goes deeper than the lust for passion
I need her love to flush the toxins
I need her love to cleanse my soul
I need her love to refill me
For I've been running on empty for far too long
She's not there when I open the door
I put my head between my knees
I ignore the emptiness
I try to remain strong for another day
Let us fly somewhere terrifying and wonderful
where supernovas explode in the darkness
Name the place
Name the time
to make a rhyme
We'll be there faster than you can say
There's no time nor relative dimension in space
That I'd want to be without your pretty face
We have the future, the present, the long ago past
The beginning, the end; The first and the last
We'll trek through the universe in moments so fleeting
You've no idea how fast my hearts will be beating
If you'd just open
All of them will open, there's no place for locks
One's options are limitless
when you have
A Blue Box
One day, I asked a chef
how he made his food taste
He said to me
"It's simple. I carefully
mix spices with meats,
fruits, and vegetables,
then I combine them
in a particular order,
during which I apply
heat at certain times
I was awestruck.
Then I asked a painter
how she created such
She said to me
"It's simple. I mix certain
colors together, then I place
those colors on specific spots
on the canvas in a particular
order using a various number
of stroke techniques."
I was amazed
Finally, I asked a writer
how he wrote such beautiful
and inspiring lines
He paused and looked far off
into the distance, contemplating
what wise advice to impart to me
Then he took a hit off his bong
"I dunno, I guess I just
write, like, how I feel
"Totally", I replied, as I bit into a ham sandwich
This poem is reserved
for the love of my life
Its lines are only
for what is to come
There is no meaning right now
so don't go and search for it
These are cold, emotionless words
ready to be replaced with fire
when the time is right
This stanza will be filled at a later date
This line will be about her laugh
This line will be about the look she gives me (you know the one)
This line will be about the spark in her eyes
This line...will be none of your damn business.
It's a private moment
It's between her and I
The one with the reservation
to my heart
One day this poem will mean something
One day these lines won't be empty
But not today
The mind of the insane is really not that difficult to understand
It's rather simple
You see, when you eat the blue macaroni while
singing "Modern Major General", you must
remember to Stop. Hammer time. If not,
the rhesus monkey will shoot lemon rays
at your hampster with dead lifeless eyes.
Those terrible eyes
If that happens, then your only recourse
is to do the Darkwing Duck and hope
that you don't eat pancakes before
noon. Also, don't forget the most
important thing of all:
Like I said.
Now go eat a muffin.
It makes you fly.
Are you bored?
Do you feel there's no point to the things you do?
Is your life missing an element of excitement?
Fear not, I have just the thing
Put the Awe back in Awesome
Put the back Zing back in Amazing
Put the Fanta back into Fantastic
What? Fanta is great.
It's rather simple.
The next time you have to do something you find boring, depressing, or unfulfilling, do it FOR SCIENCE!
I'll be out later, I have to do my English homework...FOR SCIENCE
I'm giving the big presentation tomorrow...FOR SCIENCE
I got into a car accident this morning...FOR SCIENCE
I don't feel so well, I need to use the crapper...FOR SCIENCE. I'll be in there awhile. For Science.
Someone tried to steal my purse, so I stabbed them...FOR SCIENCE
I guarantee that if you use this handy tip, your self esteem will rise, and people will find you exponentially more interesting!
Or they might think you're crazy
They definitely won't think you're boring, though.
So go out there and show the world what you're made of
They gather 'round
the mountainous pile
Cascades of books
Pages upon pages of
They despise these words
they hide them in dark corners
of their minds
Where they do not peer
where the tissue paper of their fantasy world
barely holds back the truth
They've gathered all their fears together
in the square
covered in gasoline. The fuel of the righteous.
The medium of control and order
Now those are words they can get behind.
They stand for a moment
as if they aren't quite sure
if what they're doing is right
The moment passes
a lone cigarette flips carelessly
through the air
Bouncing off Twain
Rolling past Dickens
Before landing on the esteemed Thompson
Let there be light, indeed.
The heat given off is immense
Why wouldn't it be?
The fire is burning through ideas
A powerful fuel source
freedom of thought evaporates
with the smoke
with the smell
of burning paper
of burning leather
These righteous people
These wise people
with no emotions
but anger and hate
are suddenly alive
They roll their eyes back
into their heads in ecstacy
it brings them pleasure
to destroy knowledge
and replace it
The pile is smoldering now
A hill of dead authors
They walk away
Until they've gone
Not all is lost
Dig deep into the remains
you're sure to find survivors
born again out of flames
Open your eyes, child
It's not a dull gray world you live in
See the color of life reflected through curiosity
This world is so much more than a
monotonous day to day existence
Every second of every day there are
mysteries waiting for you to solve
There are questions
burning for answers
What is that star in the night sky?
I'm glad you asked
Keep asking questions
Always ask questions
Never let up in your search for understanding
Ask the same question of different people
Question their answers
Challenge your perceptions
Keep Asking Questions
Don't settle for an answer.
Find more questions.
Questions will shape your life
will alter your course
more than answers ever could
Answers are only questions that no one asks anymore
three men standing in a snow-covered field
trying to recapture their youth
these men standing in this snow covered field
haven't a clue what to do
As boys, they owned this domain
It was their land to tame
It was magical, and theirs for the taking
They were crazy, wild, and free
They could not possibly be
the gents who stand here freezing and shaking
Three men standing in a snow covered field
quietly staring in space
These men standing in this snow covered field
they try to remember this place
They indiscriminately shift
they just don't know what's different
about this scene that belongs to their past
they used to slip and slide on the ice
They never thought twice
of these things that were not meant to last
Three men standing in a snow covered field
look at each other and smile
These men standing in this snow covered field
are suddenly kids for awhile
I eat the right food, I have the right friends
I buy the right clothes to keep up with the trends
I know the right people, I'm right in my head
Every morning I get up on the right side of the bed
I write the right lines and play the right songs
I sing the right melody when I'm singin' along
But when I'm with you, suffice it to say
I want to do the wrong thing in all the right ways
I can't find the right words, so I'll let my lips speak
Heavy gasps are the only response that I need
I'm right in the moment and you're right there beside
upright and downright, from your side to mine
I push and you pull
we both love it dirty
put our feelings on hold
No more right, no more honor
No more straight and narrow
I want dark, I want sin
I want lust by the barrel-full
Let's make all the wrong choices
Let's do all the wrong things
Let's walk the bad path
and learn what wrong
When I sneak into your room,
you will never hear me
My mind's alert, adrenaline pumped,
my moves are slow and measured
I step so silently around
the objects that you treasure
There's no recourse, there's no escape
You can't avoid your bloody fate
I approach your side, nowhere to hide
out of my sheath my dagger slides
As you gurgle your final breath
the last thing that you will ever see see
are the lifeless, souless eyes
The boys, the boys, they can't help but stare at her
as she's talking, she's walking in iambic pentameter
She breathes in italics
Words fall from her lips
Punctuate her hips
She writes, she paints, her dreams soak the paper
such beauty, such beauty, my willpower waivers
Her eyes tell a story
in which I want to belong
Only she knows the ending
as she has all along
I wish, I want, a new story to start
with her, with her, with all of my heart
There was once a rich and powerful man, known throughout the globe
for his accomplishments, for his wealth, for his power and his vision
He built his empire from sand and dust, with blood and bone
One day he desired to become immortalized in a fine painting
He wanted it to be the finest painting ever conceived -- painted by the hand of a god
He wanted people to look upon the work with tears in their eyes, staring at the beauty
that they beheld
He scoured the nation, looking for the artist that would create his masterpiece
day after day, lines formed at his estate as he took each one in
and sampled their artwork, and their sketches.
None impressed him. He became distraught
"Is there no man in this world who can possibly create the wonder that I desire? Is there no man who can immortalize me in such a way that words could not describe the perfection?"
A voice crackled behind him.
"Well...no MAN can. I, however, am not a man"
He turned to see a short creature behind him. It was short with blue skin and orange eyes. It's sharp teeth gleened as it smiled.
"What on earth are you? Why are you here?"
"What I am is no matter, though you can call me Velnard. What I'm here to do is paint you"
The man frowned
"What is your cost?"
"I only ask that you never leave the painting that I've created"
"I would never leave it anywhere! If it's as wonderful as I hope it to be, it would stay with me for eternity!"
"Then we have an agreement!"
The man smiled and extended his hand, which was grasped firmly by a claw
Suddenly, a large canvas was hanging from the ceiling
The man looked around
"Where would you like me to stand? Have you no paint?"
"Ah! You can just stand there for a moment. The paint will be ready shortly"
The man stood, regarding the small creature. His hand was itching after shaking on the deal. Minutes passed. Neither party moved. The man became impatient.
"Are you going to start? I have other things to attend to today."
"I think you'll find that this is more important"
"Well then get to it already!"
"I already have"
"You've done nothing the entire time we've stood here!"
"No, the paint is nearly ready"
The man had lost his patience. "This is ridiculous", he spat, as he derisively flicked his hand at the creature, motioning him to begone. He heard a splatter on the floor and looked down. On the ground, a foot or so in front of him was a droplet of pinkish-brown paint. He looked around for the source, to no avail. He stroked his chin thoughtfully as he looked at the creature.
"What are you playing at, Velnard?"
Only then did he notice something was odd.
His chin felt wet. He pulled his handkerchief and wiped it off and when he looked down, the white cloth was covered in a similar pigment as what was on the floor. He looked at his hand to see it was covered in paint.
"What trickery is this!?"
He wiped it away, only to find more. He frantically wiped more to see the pinkish tint turn to red.
Velnard piped in
"It would do you well to stop that. That's blood. Well, actually it's paint...but it was blood."
The man was livid. "What have you done to me!?"
"I'm painting" was the curt, rather emotionless response.
The man felt the oozing moving up his arm and to his chest and looked down to see his clothes starting to drip, no longer as fine cloth. He lifted his leg, and it made a sickening sound as it peeled from the ground, leaving a black imprint on the ground. The rest of his body was beginning to look like the Sagrada Familia.
He tried to yell, but his teeth and tongue were becoming more malleable by the second.
"WHAT HARVE YRU DORNE TER MEER"
"I'm immortalizing you, my dear friend! You're just about ready!"
Velnard cackled. "Perhaps not what you wanted, but what you agreed to. One should always read the contract before shaking hands with a strange creature."
The man started to cry, but his tears only served to smudge his eyeballs, making it difficult to see.
"Oh dear, you're going to smear your colors if you keep that up. Anyway, we're at the moment of truth! The canvas is ready"
The man struggled to stay upright as his knees slowly were softening. His breathing became ragged as his insides started melting.
"You have a choice, my friend. You can either stand here and melt into a puddle of you-colored paint, or you can use the last of your strength and jump into my canvas. You will be immortalized and people will gaze upon your beauty and cry tears of joy. Is that not what you wanted?"
The man's mouth was drooping as if he had heard some rather shocking news, his body now looked like a failed attempt at pottery. He knew another minute and he wouldn't be able to move the few feet to the canvas.
"Tick tock" chimed Velnard
The man, in despair, willed his goopy muscles to make one more movement. He dove towards the canvas, splattering himself across it. A giant human-shaped splotch mark was all that was left. The room became quiet.
Velnard walked up to the canvas and touched it. The ink shifted and splayed until it became the man.
He was glorious. He was immortal.
Just as he was promised.
They're a normal family
As normal as they can be
The father is a veteran of WWII
He runs a tight ship
but one can tell by
looking into his eyes
(the one that works)
that he loves his wife and children
The mother isn't a homemaker
because she's forced to
she actually loves the challenge
of keeping a household in order
it gives her something
to take pride in
The daughter is sweet sixteen
bright as the stars in the night sky
She wants to be a concert pianist
drawing in crowds of thousands
to listen to sweet melodic
The son is naught but an infant
slowly learning the benefit
of moving in order to get places
his eyes constantly wander
in wonder at his surroundings
innocence in its true form
They are a normal family
But they're not.
Look closely at the father
You can see the mangled remnants of his chest
Where he fell on top of a grenade
He is, indeed, a veteran of WWII.
His name is on the large memorial in Washington D.C.
Just another young man willing to sacrifice
for something he believed in
His wife died in 1926 from complications during pregnancy
She never got to see her daughter's face
as the doctors carried her from the room
The mother's pale face and unliving eyes
staring at a nondescript hospital ceiling
The daughter's crushed skull is the byproduct
of a drunk driver who is still haunted by
the vision of teenage dreams sliced
apart by windshield glass in 1985
He drinks alone at home now
The child has a gunshot wound through his neck
a stray bullet from a gang fight that found flesh and blood,
just as the man who pulled the trigger intended it to
every time the infant giggles, one can hear the gurgle shortly after
This family exists somewhere outside our consciousness
They don't go on vacations to Disney World
You won't see them at the corner grocery store
They don't Celebrate the Holidays
They don't have
a favorite sports team
a favorite pair of shoes
a favorite band
What they have is eachother
four random souls that found one another
lost in the ether
living their afterlife
the best they can
I found you hiding in your painting
I distinctly remember saying
that you reminded me of Monet
Beautiful without trying
You said I was like Seurat
Up close a jumble of emotions and thoughts
that seemed to contrast, but then all made
sense when you took me in as a whole
That night, we drank our fill
we danced under the fresco moonlight
Our colors bled together as our lines blurred
along with vision and inhibition.
Perfect Chaos. Dali would have approved.
But..your lips. Those perfect lips
in crimson red oil
contrasting pastel skin
remained crisp and vivid in my memories
They left their mark on my canvas
A smile beckoning, drawing me
That night, so long ago...
We painted a masterpiece
I'm terribly lost
It seems that every fork
that I encounter
on this road of life
I choose the one
that puts me further from my goal
Everyone else seems to know where they're going
It's really quite frustrating.
Do I really have that bad a sense of direction?
I've been looking for you for years
The one I can give my heart to
in this box
all tied up
with fancy twine and tissue paper.
It has a tag on it that says "From: Hopelessly in Love"
I haven't filled out the To: yet
I will once I find you
I want to meet you
I want to become your friend
I want to fall in love
I want the feeling of your hand in mine
I want lazy summer days spent laying on the grass with you (just watching the clouds drift by)
I want frosty winter nights curled in a blanket with you (sipping hot cocoa in my arms)
I want to smile for no other reason than because
you are happy
I want to share your fears and sorrows because
no one should have
to bear them alone
I want to find the one
who is worthy of this affection
who is worthy of my time
who is worthy of my love
I will present my heart to you
when I find you
If I find you....
...I hope I find you
When I look at you,
all of my
seems to evaporate
as my primitive brain
takes the wheel
We won't take our clothes off
We will tear them off.
Rip them off
We will brutally punish the fabric
for getting in the way of our sins,
it will fall tattered to the floor
as we don new clothing
made of sweat and saliva
Our lips will find one another
then they'll find our necks
then our chests
then our stomaches
We'll draw maps of our bodies with our fingers
and then we'll explore them with our tongues.
Nothing is sacred
Nothing is off limits
I want to make you feel ecstacy
I want your legs wrapped around me
I want your fingernails digging into my back
Leave scars, I insist.
Our bodies will press together
I don't want to know
what is mine
and what is yours
I want to be
lost in you
and you in me
that we might never find our way back
Why would we ever go back?
As the rhythm becomes more staggered
I want to be looking into your eyes
We're seeing stars and we're relishing
every single tiny little moment
every fleeting sensation
until we collapse into
too tired to move
swimming in a
river of passion
You still smell delicious.
I want you again.
I've happened upon a queer
I don't quite know
how this should go
luckily I have my rulebook here
Morality for Fools
tells me homosexuality is a sin
Now I'm allowed
To yell it out loud
and tell him how naughty he's been
My neighbor's wife is licking my ear
Oh what should I do?
What happens next?
Lucky I keep the rulebook on top of my desk
Morality for fools
tells me that adultery is wrong
so I ask her to leave
and she seems a bit peeved
as she was itching to get out of that thong
I'll be the first to confess
It's sometimes a mess
to keep it all straight in my head
You see, I have no morality of my own
so I use the book's instead
It's perfectly fine
and I really don't mind
It's so much simpler this way
I'd rather be told what to do in my life
than make my own decisions all day