What can be said
In an ode of love;
One could write of
An affection for other,
Then he could list
Qualities and memories,
Flattery and promises ,
And even declare his wants.
He could say the world
For the love of his life,
But really
Do these things
Make up the heart of love?
These are empty words
For the tiny details,
Since there is no good way
To describe the whole
No simple terms to say
In one single poem,
The one emotion
That conquers your being.
When it takes a million steps
To journey to one’s heart,
The center make up of the soul,
And how could you describe
A soul in mere lines?

Big Words,
A Grand Image,
Weird riddles,
And metaphors,
Hidden truths,
Subtle lies,
Great irony,
And tragedy,
High classes,
Arrogant “I”s
Games of chance,
And Royalty,
Shrewd politics,
Murderous kings,
Cowardice generals,
And God’s avarice,
Damaged kingdoms,
Injured souls,
Innocent love,
And a downfall,

It’s the recipe
For a melodrama

A hint of feeling
To add some spice,
A conflict, a hero
A maid in distress,
Without these all,
It’s just a comedy,
And wouldn’t look
Like our turbulent lives.

Frozen in the ice
I wish to speak to you
I long to touch you

You see the cold eyes
Of a man who’s been cursed
To losing his wants

And you turn to leave
Standing there, you take one glimpse
Of the frost demon

But quickly you exit
Shying away from icy touch
Too wise to stay here

My eyes follow you
Until they can see no more
The muse of my voice

Crushed and depressed,
Not able to make change to
The situation.

But time does remind
Of what fools humans can be
And one does think

Of all the mistakes
A man can make in his life is
To hold on too long

And maybe I can’t
Speak the words you want to hear
But maybe that’s good

You never did tell
Me what you did trully want
Nor will you ever

Maybe the lesson
Here is that I am the fool
From love’s avarice

In thinking wrongly
It was my fault you had left.
You do like the cold

People rarely
ever see anything
Unless it JUMPS at them.
They have to be shocked and
Notified to what’s in front
Of their own faces
“Oh excuse me, sir or ma’am
But you’re looking at something good
Something worth reading.”

A poem is never really appreciated as much
As when it is printed and bound
And stamped with the publisher’s seal of approval
All the papers need to be water marked
And bound in red tape
Closed with red wax
Locked in an envelope
That reads
“Confidential, this is too great
To let others see for free.”

And even then, it’s not official
Until it is signed on the x,
And made on legal sized paper;
Sent to the Vatican, the governor, the reviewers,
And everyone important gets their say,
Or until it’s bound in leather
And locked away for the rest of eternity.
Filed along the other masters
Like Longfellow and Poe.
Locked in a poem’s heaven
Where “Jabberwocky” greets each one
To nirvana

Nothing is taken for granted
When it’s set in stone and
Is the final draft
Never to change again.

It is a scorching 95 degrees;
Hotter than hell for this time of year,
And I am wearing a dark grey fleece jacket.
I have no clue why I’m wearing it;
Maybe the fates decided it,
Maybe it’s the work of some god I don’t believe in.
But as the sun rays keep shining down
Through the open roof of a powder blue beamer,
Causing the hood to shine like gemstones and
My skin to boil and fry under the dark fabric
I won’t take it off though,
That would ruin the feel of the trip
Of having the wind of the road making it fly
Like a living creature with its own mind

And I am sitting in the convertible
Sniffing the fumes of gasoline and toxins
Holding them in my lungs to ferment a while
Before letting them all back out slowly,
Reveling in the taste of the road.
Going nowhere rather quickly
Flying past other shining super bullets
speeding down the black barrel
I've already traveled these same roads.
And therefore, this trip yields nothing new
Except for a few more bugs in my hair
And a few more miles on my journey

It’s 7:09 am.
Sitting in the classroom,
Like every day before.
As I drain my Vault in a few gulps,
And my friend beside me
Sips at his coke,
I say to him,
“I have decided
That I have commitment
Issues.”

He looks at me,
Through slanted
Disapproving eyes,
And in a harsh tone, says
“What?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in love,
Nor that I don’t want love,
Nor that I don’t want a relationship.”
I respond,
Taking the last drink of soda.
“I just don’t see myself
In a working relationship,
So I don’t even bother really trying.”

Shockingly, he raises his voice.

“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant.
What makes you,
Think so highly of yourself,
That you could just decide,
On something like that?
What makes you god?”


Taken aback,
Surprised more by the speaker
Than the actual words.
I silently think
Why of course I’m not god
I don’t create rainbows on command.
Obviously I don’t make miracles
But it is my mind
and my world…
So what keeps me from being
God in there?

The bell rings,
Not an old time bell like in the movies
Just a recording to draw focus back on class.
While I sit in the back of class,
Experimenting with my new-found powers
Inside my own little dream world