Just get me something on the dollar menu.
Ok, deer *****...
What??
They’re under a buck.
rolling eyes

I like you.
Oh, sure - how many girls have you said THAT too?
Lots.
Huh?
I’ve told lots of your friends that I like you.

I was thinking of you.
Awww.
In my time of hornyness.
Eeuuwww!

Wanna know how to flirt with a queer girl?
??
Just keep talkin’.      ^_~

I heard you like bad girls - It’s your lucky day - I’m bad at EVERYTHING.
*winks with both eyes

I loved riding my
bike as a child. It offered
me a new world view.

I was fast and free.
Then we put cards in the spokes,
and I motorcycled.

I cut corners like
a politician and wore
aviator glasses...

I could have passed my
driving test, last year - but nooo
- for once - I was chill.

I'm sure the trauma
of my laziness will scar
me, but - maybe not.

Sometimes I'm
SO resilient that people
think me uncaring.

Warning: People may
be far more emotional
than they might appear.

Be careful with words you intone,
because words have lives of their own.
Words overblown, relayed on the phone,
words in harsh tones that jolt, stun and depose,
shocking with what they disclose.

(each stanza is a Haiku)

We, the resistance,
are here, stationed on our couches
armed with our remotes.

Camouflaged in our
faded PowerPuff pajamas
and fuzzy slippers

We are determined.
Yes, we have evaded contact
and forsaken love.

We few, lay down such
as freedom for honest care
for our fellow man.

There's no appealing the sentence - with our virus destroyer.
There's no appealing the sentence - I checked with our lawyer.
There's no appealing the sentence - to this prison-like experience.

When my alarm goes off it's ground-hog day.
How long can we all go on this way?
I scream into my pillow so to not cause alarm.
This virus lock-down has lost all of its charms.

A polaroid, in
my drawer, under the junk
- a memory found.

Wow, I miss fun, it's
like there was another life
- a past life shared.

Remember parties?
Sweaty dancing then a plunge
in the cold lake?

I feel like an old
lady reliving childhood
in sterile pics.

Everything I thought
my life would be is gone or
on nebulous hold.

We're learning a dull
brand of patience - strange for
the microwave age.

It’s no use wishing on the moon -
beware that nearly untouchable beauty.
She has a dark side and will desert you
when when the fickle twirling earth spins
night into morning.

It’s no good wishing on the stars:
those illusions are a million years gone.
Stars die like us. They own no magic
and will fade as the morning blossoms
upon the night.

Ancients wished on the treasonous sun,
that fabricator of warmth - not compassion.
Although it brings the new day, it can do little else

Ex lovebirds of
the tamest passion can turn
so predatory.

Passive aggressive
schoolboys who mock whistle at
ex-girlfriends for spite.

Who scatter book bag
contents in mock accidents
for supposed revenge.

As witchcraft conjured
by the nonbelligerent
to silence the bully

I summon some sweet,
musical, lascivious
words as orphic spells

In self-effacing
defense to tame the awful
beast with ***** magic.

I need to stop being
sarcastic all of the time
- yeah, I'm on that.

(3 Senryu verses)

The morning sun dawns
electric white on another
day of lost promise.

The invitation
received, jump up! Respond like
a paid performer.

The crisp, sharp shadows
hide a murderous magic
called loneliness.

(3 Haikus)

Immature - is a
word boring people use to
describe fun people.

I should start a book,
a thick notebook to keep
inappropriate thoughts.

Ever look at friends
and think, "Wow, we're gonna
be some weird adults?"

Sleep is my drug, my
bed is the dealer, my clock
the cops and school the jail.

I see your face, and like a splash of clear
cold water - I’m startled awake from loneliness.
I hear your voice, and like something lost
and wanted, I feel a breathless interest.
A video stutter is a cruel and sudden reminder
- you are unknowably remote - and this magic
connecting us is just another of passion's obstacles.

What I'd want
I want you all to be well.
I'd like you all to have love.
I want you all to have plenty.
I want you all to enjoy friends.
I hope you can all savor family.
I want you all to experience longevity.
In a world where we can all go out again.
That’s all I want - is it too much to ask?

You’re such a cute guy!!
You always look relaxed and detached
and a little confused or bemused.
It makes me want to enlist in assisting.
Your lips look seriously delicious.
Your eyes are green and serene.
You’re simply beautiful  sigh
(**** these binoculars are good!)

my life is full of learning, but I want more than learning.
I want more than silly things, but I want silly things.
I want more than this - viral incompleteness - with its worsening unease.
I want more than forever being enslaved to safe hospitality like astronauts in space.
We control heat with air conditioning - gravity with jets and communicate via satellites.
There’s nothing I can really do but trust in science, and patiently hope.
My wants may shine valuable, like silver, but they are, in reality, worthless tin.

(in 2017 my parents wanted to move us to Shenzhen, China - for a year)

No luminous field of stars tonight and no rain as yet, just booming thunder and the play of light on darkness.

I lay in a grass clearing, watching the sky. Swirling clouds and flashes of light - bright streaks - as far as the eyes can see.

Wind whips the trees, the sky, my hair. Leaves irregularly blow by as if in a hurry or perhaps debris from some strange slow-motion explosion.

I feel at home in this chaos. This angry sky mirrors my mood, my life at this moment. The next few days, next few hours will change everything, for me, or nothing. My future looms suddenly dark, frightening and empty.

Am I really caught in this plan, this parental gravity, this storm, that can upset my entire life, where years of furious work are meaningless??

There is no compass for dreams, they know only passionate directions. I’ve defended them as best I could, like a lioness, a lover, but there’s no stopping a storm.. I guess.

As the rain begins I know one thing.. I will not move..

(stanzas are haikus)

Barron Trump will be
attending virtual school soon
his Mom is careful

Should you send your kids
to dance on the battlefield
careful mothers?

Take you one last look
at faith in your kids eyes
- teach them their real worth.

What is the story
they will tell their kids - if you
push them out the door.

Those small trusting faces.
Cemetery roads are bricked
with silly gambles.

hello world without surprise.
good morning gentle tedium.
****** me, please, monotony.
kiss me, sweet emptiness.
hold me rough, nothingness.
dishonor me, meaninglessness.
ravish me, joylessness.
whew... can a girl get a cigarette?



no, I don't really smoke - yuck - that was a joke  =]

I've passed the disenchanted one, in the empty hallway
I've heard the isolated girl, arguing in the mirror
I've seen the angry hermit girl reflected in the toaster
I've noticed the crazy girl, crying in the shower
I've enjoyed the whispers of the poet talking to herself
Her latest performance had the largest audience yet
the flowers were captivated but the cat left unimpressed

Nowadays I wake up hoping for the unpredictable - the novel.
When I open my eyes the angel of death isn’t out to get me.
Then - I remember - we’re at war and practicing subterfuge -
that measured trade-off between safety and despair.
So I move to my patterned routines - I dust my unused lips.
I check the level of my virtuous thoughts - hhmm.. getting low.
And I prepare the clever inventions that allow us to simulate life.

When did “people deserve to live” become a controversial thought?

When did wearing a mask to protect your health become so overwrought?

When did the idea of protecting your kids become an afterthought?

When did counting the dead become a Presidential political plot?

We’re so far down the Trump-rabbit-hole that common sense is skewed.

We really have to get rid of that FU#KH3@D - if you’ll excuse me being rude.

I always want to be like this
I always want to feel like this
The world feels like a fun musical
I want to go dancing
I want to go see that Dune movie
I want to just sit here and be happy
I’m chuckling at comments
at hear from other tables
- can everyone feel it?
I’m sure I’m grinning like an idiot.
This guy just flirty smiled at me.
I’ve heard ****** killers
can be very charming
but it didn’t irritate me
because he walked away
into the drizzling rain that’s
New Haven in April

I pray to that dead
criminal Jesus - to set
us right - restore us.

We’re a mess - like
spilled salt - remember the  
fresh air of freedom?

In dreams I search - there
must be a cure lying
around somewhere..

Eyelid shades
open on chiaroscuro
lit, moody mornings.

I keep my head down
I’m doing my fey best, to
let nothing touch me.

.
.
.
** Note: I was raised a Catholic. Jesus wasn't crucified by some accident - he was executed as a criminal - that's just a fact - not an attack on Christianity - I would never attack a religion.. except maybe Scientology... that was a JOKE!!  aarrgghhh!

If poetry is art (I rather think it is) then one purpose is to engage and provoke emotion - I confess that the first stanza is meant to engage the reader.. hhhmmm.. maybe too much? I AM a beginner.

(4 Senryu)

The moon is missing
- void where it should be sitting
- It’s not there in the sky.

I looked behind trees
the clouds were moved by the breeze.
I looked 360 degrees.

The loss of it's
light makes it darker than night
- something's not right.

I feel a spooky
unease - it's hard to believe
that some goon stole the moon!

(each paragraph of this poem is a Haiku 5–7–5 syllables)

I need to avoid
unimportant distractions
so my parents say

Exhausting yourself
in intimate situations
is dumb at your age

This is a yearly
lecture that I know by heart
- they must think me loose.

Surely you jest...
could you be suggesting a
conjugal visit?

Where do I find the
form needed to apply for that?
Do you have a pen?

love doesn't dash, it loiters
with repeated movements like music
and beautifully crude endearments

love doesn't dash, it lingers
with rhythms like dance
and boastfully rude aphorisms

so dally with me, my love
lollygag, lounge and in a while
we'll share breaths and mess about

As a teenager, I can sometimes be frantic,
unfocused, stressed and anxious.
Luckily, I was introduced to meditation.
I love meditation and the way it makes me feel - solid.

So, how does it work?
First I set a 15 minute timer and get
prepared to look a little foolish.
I sit somewhere comfortable, cross-legged.
I close my eyes and focus on a point
in the center of my forehead
between my eyes, relax my mind,
and think only of the sound of OM.
When your mind wanders, just go back to OM.
Existing in that territory of nothing
there is a silence that must be listened to.
You end up giving sharp attention to nothing.
It is simple, compelling and satisfying.
When you’re done, a new stillness will remain in your mind.

Ok, I'm not paid to think (like the TV shouting heads), I have no real voice (vote), and certainly no credentials - but I'm as invested in America as any high-school citizen can be - I've pledged allegiance 3000 times (hhmmm.. do they doubt our loyalty?) and when it comes to loving America I'd have to say my classmates and I are at the center of the spell.

I'm afraid we're growing up in the age of hate.. the age of phony outrage where each position large or small is high noon and violence is underfoot even when policing ordinary citizens.

We won't address the multitude of old problems in this new age.. we'll just unleash a marquetry of half truths to dispute the proven until unreasoned arguments reach their paranoid fullness. The real world is alarming enough - lets just push that away and ignore it - while we're at it lets **** shame the poor, the old, the sick, the unemployed, the hungry and the hand of mercy.

I realize America was never one moral atom bonded for better.. but those anvils that forged us appear neglected or forsaken. I'm afraid what's happening now, what we're seeing and hearing now, is a symphony of erosion - that by the time I have any say at all, the middle class will be gone - America turned slum - where even the voice of despair will be turned traitor.

We'll only be able to see our greatness in museum souvenir shops where nothing is affordable and everything is made elsewhere.

I have to say, this isolation doesn't appear to be affecting me at all.

I was thinking... The wind must come from somewhere.

Do the trees make the wind with their ceaseless moving around?

“KKKeeeeepp STILL!!” I shriek at the trees from my bedroom window but they pretend not to hear. Science says trees can talk to each other over some secret, underground, filament-like network - so I know the ba$tards are listening.

And I don’t know about this new generation of birds - these tearless, happy birds that chirp just to be fashionable. They annoy me when they pretend to be unaware of the value of silence.

“Shut UP!” I scream at a speckled bird who stares down at me like I’m insignificant.

“Yeah, the woolly mammoths ignored us too,” I remind it.

I give it the two-fingered, back and forth “Yeah, I’m watching you” gesture.

Then it just chirps right past me, as if I don't exist. Aaarrrgghhh!

So I give that bird the bird.

Summer’s almost over - that convalescent state
where successive modes of pleasure
were the order of the day.
Now fall commands awakening -
drive simplicity away! The hounds
of hell are yelping that it’s time to banish play.
They cry “forget unscheduled hours
that owned no share of care - the virtual halls
are waiting and we’ll soon see you there.”
No apotropaic magic can delay my slated fate -
to the pixelated halls of learning, I must soon acclimate.

Oh, absent one, I miss you.
Darling, an empty place awaits you.
Thrushes chirp their dissatisfaction in
the garden as I doze with boredom.
I send my well wishes from a distance.

Oh, absent one, my digital ghost.
You're here when I call but not here.
I brush my hair with discontent, I
eat bitter, lonely meals to stay alive.
I send my love from a distance.

Parents, the keepers of the door to this amazing universe..

To them I am a fragile sapling, staked for its own good. Protected from sweet kisses, funny and salty, somber and delicious.

Parents, those figures of authority - from whom our true lives are kept.

Protect me from scars no deeper than a blush, from rustles on a soft battlefield, caressed curves, tousled hair and appetitive breaths of each others air.

Parents, who guard against loves bombardment, the persistent courtship. Giving ground in slow but immense movement, like those of continental plates.

Parents, whose power will fade with no more cause than time, gentle as mist, as powerful as a waterfall.

Death's at our door, it's right there on our Ring.
I told it we're busy but it's patient - I think.
Death's at our door and - yep - it looks - viral.
But if you listen closely it's singing a carol.
"come out and play - it's a beautiful day"
"you can hide from the virus like a rat in a cave"
"but you'll just end up dying - some OTHER way."
The tune has such rhythm, the voice has such charm.
The pull is profound, my fears are transformed.
Death offers a beginning, not just an end.
and the offer's delivered with a wink and a grin.
Death looks like cross between an angel and a prince.
Death seems kind of funny. Mom! Should I let it in‽

I'm different, in
private dreams, where there are no
ramifications.

I'm more - adult? I
handle things decisively
- no second guessing.

And I KNOW what I
want - is that because it's all
erased on waking?

Do we practice life,
in our restless dreams - trying
on other selves?

(2 Senryu Poems)

A boy will make you
think he’s in love with you
When he really isn’t.

A girl will make you
think that she doesn't love you
when she really does.

These Senryu poems
are random thoughts - not every
moment's critical  =]

It’s important for
teenagers to have free
time to not think.

Never toss anything
to me you don’t want to
see land on the floor.

Heart attack: When I
see my phone battery at 5%
- stay with me buddy!!

If this viral world
is the new normal, I want
sweet abnormality.

Where are the clouds going
in their hurry between heaven and earth?
Why do clouds cry?
Intangible mountains in the sky...
wait - that one’s a bunny!

The day is new and not yet lost to summer heat.
Flowers blush and preen in morning breezes.
Let me whisper fears before the day consumes you
My fickle friend, another shadows your affections
Distracted lover another twirls for your attention
I'm losing confidence, and I think I'm losing you.
In the remaining shadows, leaves still brandish dew

I’ve memories saved for future use
they’re gathering like a storm,
and they’re all mine - fruit on the vine,
I’m prone to dreams and poems.

The tiger languidly paces its enclosure
Its genetic memory of the hunt intact.
A movement catches its eye and its heart quickens.
The instinct to hunt, catch and eat
- to savor the delicious, warm meat and thick,
salty blood - stirs with intuition's reflex.
It freezes, licks its lips and crouches,
alert to possible prey.

Where are your rights, oh modern American?
With your family eating popcorn - behind glass.
Surely you are lessened by protection
and insulted by cool safety.
Climb the fence, ignore liberal warnings
and the alarmed cries of lesser men.
Stare down the now crouching cat
- ears back and cautiously approaching
in bent, alert stalk.
Claim your right to be free!!
Taste pure freedom.

It’s hard to quantify experiences, but to coin someone else's
original phrase, ‘you know it when you feel it.’

Now that I’m living in Paris, at my Grandmère’s 76-room ‘hôtel particulier,’ I find myself on the itchy edge of wealth, influence and power and while I don’t consider myself necessarily of that class, I’m certainly exposed to attempts to drag me into it.

Many afternoons, as I come home wearied by classes and braced for hours of study, there are these silver trays with little white, gold embossed envelopes (invitations), casually placed where they’re unavoidable, and it’s not unusual to find that one of the CMs has laid out a dress for me and a suit for Peter - though we seldom attend these events.

I find myself vociferously defending my schedule (for the thousandth time) - and I’ve only been in school three weeks:
“Grandmère, I’m in med-school, I have homework.”

Let’s wax freeversely of the upper-class (as if I belonged)..

In elegant but confined houses
where lives unfold in drawing rooms
and the inhabitants are sharp and snobbish.
They struggle against social and ****** constraints -
frustrations essential to the drama and pathos of wealth.

Let the rabble be messily heterogeneous
and agenda-set “inclusivity.” It’s nothing to us.
It hardly foregrounds harmony or authenticity.

Civilized people are more reticent and buttoned-up.
It’s sexier and more romantic, to drive toward marriage,
where lovers work to deserve each other,
and individuals integrate into couples.

Failing this urbane integration, love degenerates
into solipsist libertinism and eventually, these
sad outcasts catch their deaths - apart and alone.
.
.
Songs for this:
Am I the Same Girl? by Swing Out Sister
It Hasn't Happened Yet by William Shatner

O! This eternal, infernal lockdown
I want to strike out, in ill-natured rebellion,
but all I can do is grip at shapeless hope.

I’m free to dream, of course, and I dream
my fill - I’ve become a dreamaholic.

My omnifarious dreams are deliberate,
whimsical, vengeful, hopeful - they even
tiptoe love's ******, cutting edge but reality
soon returns - stealthy as a parent -
to induce dark, ordered boredom.

I'm one of you - the tribe of the lonely - forgetting ourselves in monotony.
Our shelter world is a shifted reflection of reality - we are frozen in time.
I wait, set aside, like a marble girl carved by the chisel’s kiss
but I'm real and full of desires that are ready to be used again.
I'm eager to engage should we escape this fist-like viral grip.
I want to live a life - I want memories to name.
I'm seemingly safe - but the cost is paradise.

A crush is someone
you're strongly attracted to
- they just don't know it.

He doesn't know you: check.
you like him: check, he does nothing:
check, you fall for him.

I lie in bed and
envision scenarios where
my crush grins at me.

It's so weird that
we can almost stalk someone
and they have no idea.

I'm trying to get hair
out of my mouth and I find
my crush is watching.

What a lonely, peculiar, eccentric figure i must be. A girl, in a garden, crying at an iPad, in the dark.

Earlier, at school...

It was a clear spelling out, like steel cuts thru fruit.

As he spoke he looked down and away, his gorgeous face blank and indifferent, as if I were wasting his time or he was talking to a child needing an obvious truth taught quickly.

When he finally looked back at me, I saw no pity in his impersonal, hazel eyes.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I needed time to contemplate the universe's new laws.

Can a girl just suddenly die of heart-ache?? because I was sure my heart had stopped, locked and frozen.

Finally, I gasped in this impossible new air - the force of it made me hold the cold-iron stair railing - the game is rough.

He's so... male - all chase and careless passion - intelligent teaser, a skilled steersman of excited climates... Oh, you simply have no idea.

And now he was, gone, still there, but gone to me - as if he'd transformed into a hologram or had begun to orbit some other sun, he just...

"You made me feel special." I said.

I had lost my balance on this faithless and unequal world, where heaven so cruelly punishes desires.

"You made me feel I mattered, such a favor." I said, absentmindedly, as I turned, and went back up the three steps into school.

I don't think I looked back at him as the door closed. After all, he wasn't there any more.

I think he called my name, like a question...

I put my hands on the table after you..
I drink from your half-empty glass..
I sit in your still-warm chair.
I signal you but I am a candle at noon..
I call you but I am a snowflake at sea..
Please don't go anywhere without me..
I long to be your shadow.
I want to taste you like food..
A hundred emotions tangled like hair ..and trivial words..

It’s in quiet
moments of thought that we create
our identities.

I shed tears over you
for a second or two
but still FAR too long.

I'm glad we're through
I was stuck with you -
like gum on my shoe.

Another night of drama got to me,

I'm not made of stone.
But please don't text or phone.
I'm much better alone.

What I want is someone to love,
and for someone to somehow love me.
Not right now and not tomorrow...
but some day - eventually.
I’m still a child, those mysteries are vague,
but I pray it will happen - breathlessly.

These are some
Senryu poems about friendships.
Who knows us better?

Friends are family
by invitation - accepted
gifts to each other.

We don't care what
your specific gender is
we're calling you dude.

I love to hang out
with people who make me forget
to check on my phone.

We all have a friend  
who thinks of everything
in a ***** way.