One through Five
I sat in my seat,
the ground not yet in reach,
like a petal to the wind we flowed,
never caught on a branch or stuck in a drain--
what a simple life it was....
Six through Eight
One book report, a droplet,
so minor--yet that drop led to the fall,
a fall so great caused by one little drop,
and as one drop may fell a petal,
one drop will lead to rain...
Nine through Eleven
Gusts knock off husks
These flowers grow just to wilt,
Colors fade to guilt--pollen to silt...
While no one may see them bloom
Stalks grow so much they could fill a room...
The time of the season is upon us...
Nothing expected--its all about perspective,
Immense growth, deeply rooted throughout all,
so so tall but not ready to fall,
Its been a long wait but Iḿ ready.
Here say have someplace in Collegetown,
You are on with VW because yesterday you were beginning to fade.
You start down rain now after a sunny morning,
When you slow down the blinking gets worse,
That huge old green house on the corner of the shiny face of you,
You feel terror in your people on their way to Ha D es,
To go all day—in case they can’t stop,
So this is what failed... You couldn’t avoid that crowd,
Chances are that any one of these people had quarreled with a friend,
The Impact was you... in Ithaca
"What is this?"
"What is what?"
"Why are doors up here?"
"That's fine just show me...."
"My friend has an apartment in New York City."
"Why doesn't he move?!"
"It's insane, the expenses."
"No I'm just so curious"
"No, there's nothing for you here"
"Your voice is so annoying"
"It's his favorite word again."
"What have you got going on here...."
"This is a horrible one..."
This write, has me looking for more topics,
I feel the box, stuck in, inside wrong lines,
Wrong lines, right lines, why must I try to fit,
It is not fine, I am all out of time...
Words and words to make me feel so crazy,
I keep on the grind to get an idea,
Do I not get this or am I lazy?
Building this dumb poem, is this ikea?
Poems have some meter but this is top,
keys to the board, pen to this damn paper,
Trying to write just makes me want to stop,
but soon I will need an undertaker,
For if truly I must, prevail I will,
This dumb poem pattern has now been filled...
I thought I was better than this,
a sense of superiority,
maybe i thought i had it all together,
and just didn't care enough to use that,
but no, it was all chaos,
anxiety every day,
thinking of every way to move,
but frozen with no real options,
out of fear of failure,
I was always the best, and then I woke up with nothing.
What were you thinking,
sitting on the cusp of your guilt.
Why are you guilty of success?
All that shame and regret that has been built,
Shameful of what, how youv'e been blessed?
Up you look at those who you say don't matter,
serving up your deepest motives on a gold plated platter,
letting those who look and open jewel filled eyes,
observe your life and take what they find,
Don't be so naive, asking for time to breathe,
just use your mind and shut those blinds,
shut down and take control,
Let your passion soaked willpower unfurl,
like a sail after a storm, swirls and swirls,
then open up to the world,
let those colors blaze, clearing away such ancient haze.
Once that sun shines bright, pushing away selfish blight,
Let new ideas blossom, cross your T's and your I's, dot them,
Think them through, Colors red white blue, no,
Just the color of you.
Sins of our making,
Lives are for taking,
Fives for breaking,
Lives more for making,
Hands and heads shaking,
Arguments remove our calm,
Disagreements drop like bombs,
Jokes drop like bonds,
Others drop songs,
And yet I drop my fondness of correctness,
and some may be specific but I'm the select-est,
picking and choosing,
who's winning and losing,
singing and soothing.