The birds are all talking about me,
But in Greek.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 1:29 PM UTC
In the middle of two sloping hills,
There sits a weathered barn.
It’s almost as old as the trees,
The trees it’s hiding behind.
On the side,
There is a note scrawled.
In crackling yellow paint
It reads
“Shelter Valley”
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 9:12 AM UTC
We’ve taken the string between our hands,
Drawn it tight, hoping it would sing,
Instead it snapped, with a ringing scream,
Maybe we shouldn’t have twisted it up,
Each little knot scarring it,
We cried, “Complexity,”
Before it was so straight and narrow,
How boring the little string was,
It wasn’t even dyed,
It was pure natural cotton,
We cried, “Colour,”
But we covered it with our soot,
Our greasy hands defiled it,
Poor little string,
We never said we’re sorry,
After all, it was entirely your fault.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC
The ice
forest
exhales
a tingling caress
across my
face
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 10:59 AM UTC
We climb the ropes and ladders to success,
Jumping from rung to rung,
assuring our social status.
But the wood is slick and so often we fall.
The bars drop and
we are caught by material things.
We are trapped,
restrained from our normal snooping.
The community drives the wedge home,
and individuals are born.
Next envy sprouts and
slowly twists up the body.
We are left boxed in,
restricted,
yet seemingly
empty and
unfulfilled.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 9:23 PM UTC
This hand is perfect
smooth
soft
and it never falters
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 10:21 PM UTC
The flies gather on the window,
They’re holding a meeting,
And I know they’re talking about me,
I crunch them individually,
It’s personal.
But afterwards I just stare out the window,
Watching the horrible lights flicker,
Those lights have trapped me,
Like they trap the flies,
I know they’re false,
On rainy days the flies don’t visit,
And I cry because I miss them.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 11:38 AM UTC
Knowledge has a purpose,
I need it for it sustains me,
Yet the more so called knowledge I gain,
The less I seem to know.
I regurgitate facts,
But I don’t claim to understand them.
I thirst for answers,
But gain only questions.
The more I drink,
The more parched I become.
Who can help me?
I’m told by others to question,
With the promise of an answer.
I’ve yet to receive an answer.
Instead, I’m fed more questions,
But I already have those.
I’m thirsty not hungry.
I’ve gorged all my life,
Producing questions.
All I beg for is a drop,
A tiny speck of true knowledge.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 1:20 PM UTC
I have a smile,
No-one has seen.
It is reserved
For the dark of night,
When sound asleep,
There comes an arm
Scooping me up
And pressing me close.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 10:31 AM UTC
The flicker of a broken bulb,
And her eyes repeat the rhythm.
They say she's senseless.
She pauses to inhale,
Dust clogs her nostrils,
The remains of decaying books.
She sits in the dim corner,
The cubicle isolates her on 3 sides.
She comes here to ride the waves of voices.
The swells of murmurs grow,
She didn’t bring a life preserver.
It doesn’t matter.
Her eyes show the rock inside.
She’s already sunk.
The murmur breaks close to the corner.
It never touches the girl.
It never does.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 11:28 PM UTC