The forbidden fruit
Plucked by Eve, but ruined Adam
A soft, delicate, luscious Madame
Teasing, tempting
Seduction in a look
So it was covered, hidden
"Try and forget what's forbidden."
And still she haunts
Testing, trying
Tickling the senses
Until he drops all his defenses
How about the fruit
Which wanted nothing but
To be a fruit, not a ****
Leafing, blooming
Ripening in time
To grow warm in the shining sun
One of many, not the forbidden one
And still she hangs
Lovely, golden
Dozing, hoping to awaken
To not be the one forsaken
Once she was
Not the one blamed by all
For every single grown man's fall
Teasing, tempting
No matter what she does
Every motion carefully made
To make sure the game is played
By the rules
Lovely, golden
After all, with fruit so sweet
How could Adam refuse to eat?
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
My grandpa is in a rocking chair
in the living room
He slowly moves back and forth
His eyelids are closed
He listens to the talk around him
but he doesn't take part
Instead he dozes off
his head drooping to his chest
His swaying ceases
His breathing slows
The house he sits in has been his own
for the past fifty years
He raised seven children under its roof
He added an addition for each new child
first another bedroom
then the family room
out in back the garage
Until the house became a home
made of love and sweat
Around Pop
the conversation drifts
to a grandson who just got a job
working behind a desk
for an insurance company
making sixty-five thousand per year
Pop never made that much money
A coal miner's son
who earned his degree
taking classes whenever he could
A salesman by day
and a teacher by night
He had a hard life
but you won't hear that from him
His grandson may think
that he must have been dumb
to work so long and hard
for so little reward
But what he doesn't understand
is that my Pop
sitting in his rocker
in front of the brick fireplace
that he built one stone at a time
achieved more in his lifetime
through hard work
and sweat
than my cousin ever will
by wearing a suit to work
sitting behind a desk
and typing on a computer
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
one Yellow tulip
in a sea of Red and White
standing Tall and Proud
Despite his Lonely plight
he is Not Afraid
to bare his Golden Face
No Fear of being different
to Keep him in his Place
I wonder if he's Lonely
in that flower bed
Surrounded by his Peers
of colors White and Red
I would like to Pick Him
and take him Home with Me
where his face would be Enjoyed
and make us Both Happy
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:05 PM UTC
My grandfather died today.
I never really knew him.
He was just a gray haired, smiling man --
the one in the pictures my mom has.
I knew he fought in World War II,
dropping bombs on the Japanese,
and an alcoholic after that.
I knew he had two wives and three kids.
I knew he didn't believe in God.
I can count on one hand
the number of times
that he and I met face to face.
But I wrote him letters,
and he wrote back, sometimes
how he was so proud of me,
and how I would do great things,
but never anything about him.
My grandfather died today.
My mom doesn't know, yet.
He's gone, and she still thinks he's alive.
To her, he'll die another day
even though the official date of death
will be 18 February 2011.
But for me,
he died today.
I know I should feel sad.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 1:57 PM UTC
She can’t communicate
Her mother never taught her how
Or how to open up
How to actively be the person she is
So she talks and laughs
Giggles and cries
Although tears never quite seem to come…
At least not when someone, anyone else is there
To see
Or help or comfort
Or even just empathize
Those stopped back in the fourth grade
Back when boys had cooties
And you weren’t invited to birthday parties
Because the other girls thought you were a witch
Or smelly
Back in the fourth grade
When little Amber Gibbs became the most popular girl in school
And took her best friend away
And told Andrew Moretz all about her crush on him
And he never would talk to her after that
That’s when she stopped crying in front of people
Or at least people who mattered
Tear are a sign of weakness
And everyone knows in middle school
If you see weakness in someone
Then exploit it
Cause if everyone’s laughing at them
They’re not laughing at you
And that’s what matters
So she learned
The hard way, but she learned
That others are mean
Not even moms can be counted on
And her diary
That book of blank paper
Just inviting, ready to listen
Became her best, and then her only friend
Her diary was the only one who listened
Sometimes she made believe
It was her older brother
Still born before her
To whom she wrote
Make believing he actually cared
About the wants and petty problems
Of a 14 year old girl
With her head in the clouds
But her heart in a lock box.
May 14, 2011
May 14, 2011 at 10:41 PM UTC
Tall, slender
Silhouetted against the sky
Rustled by a light breeze
Green fronds wave
At Mina birds swooping by.
Mina bird, Mina bird
What do you see,
Perched up on top of
That tall palm tree?
Slender, strong
Swaying in the breeze
Little songbirds find food
In the pock-marked, gray trunk
Of the tall palm trees.
Oh, what made those marks
So many, and deep
Into which tasty bugs
Like to creep?
Strong, flexible
With a heavy top
From which coconuts
With smiling faces
Like to drop.
Plop! Plop! Plop!
Watch your head!
Sir Isaac Newton
Would be dead.
May 14, 2011
May 14, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
Gray-blue eyes stare deep—
Soft as velvet, cold as rain—
Looking for reason
Dawn comes with a tinge.
Gray is pushed away for blue;
Clouds scuttle across eyes.
May 14, 2011
May 14, 2011 at 10:39 PM UTC
I love…
I love your rumbling tummy
I love how our hands fit together
I love that I feel safe with you
I love your voice
I love listening to you on the phone
For hours…
And hours…
I love getting your voicemails
I love laughing at you
I love laughing with you
I love laughing and you
I love listening to you
I love talking to you
I love happy you
I love sad you
Angry you,
Stressed you
I love your hands
I love being with you
I love being in sketchy alleys with you
I love being in broad daylight with you
I love being with you at night
I love kissing you
Yes, you may steal my lips
I love rolling around with you
I love you.
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 8:40 AM UTC
Four feet kicking leaves
Shuffling along the sidewalk, just in step
Together, so four become two
Crisp air sending goosebumps up arms
And down backs
A swirling breeze sends leaves
Leaping up
Away from our feet
Pulling my attention back
Back to you
Back to the silence hanging between us
A thoughtful silence
Full of observation and contemplation.
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 8:36 AM UTC
indivIduals make up teams
lazy hands sLow boats
or they rush slides—Or both
very tired… Very tired…
every day, thE same thing
can’t we switCh it up?
raise youR hands!
everyone togEther at the finish
we Won!!
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 8:36 AM UTC