The bait of breath- to and fro,
My mind is witless as I go
Certain my words are last to fall,
Does the last word matter at all?

Actions are words in disguise,
Should I look into your eyes?
Arms uncrossed to rest regression
Have I schooled my expression?

Do you find me strange and senseless?
why do I feel so defenseless?
Best to leave it straight and civil,
Lest I'm somewhere but the middle

Amidst discomfort! Amidst uncouth!
How I tire of my youth.
Ever gauche, tact and class-less
I've never been a gifted actress

Can someone teach me how to see
What everyone else wants me to be?

In the Night, in the Day
When the Storm has left the rain
and my loving you is deep,
You will lay by my side
in a Room too light to hide
any monsters from waking our sleep.
And the sun, she will rise!
and banish high tides
'til the moon again walks her shores.
And when spring bluebirds sing
with me in morn' again,
Ne'er am I anything but yours.

I haven't caused a pain that isn't
Caused -itself- by me.
Small worries vest and fester here,
But never breathe the air.

Oh! But how they follow me,
Come once, and then again.
They'd never matter, as they're said,
Refrained, they are unfair.

Forgone once! Forgone twice!
Oh how they grow in sway,
The words, withstood- Be that, they should!
Are they too much to bear?

When every worldly sense is severed,
When not a muscle moves,
When our consciousness relents;
                     I wonder - Who Are You?
The time which slides our every moral
And we cannot be untrue,
We have no will to restrict our strength
                     So I wonder - Who Are You?
In the time when nothing holds us back,
Just before we come to;
Is there someone else so far within-
                     That I must wonder - Who Are You?

Left again, I miss you so;
Sorry that you had to go.
A rolling stone, on back you'll come
Tenacious pain gone slack to numb.

I long for years too far ahead
When rose-colored glass has lost its red.
And love between us, strictly true
When time has let me to be with you.

Never broken, I wish we be.
And olden years do grant us see
I know our hearts, as strong as one,
Will bind us when this wait is done.

No solace comes from solid walls,
No warmth from wooden floors
I feel no freedom from closing doors,
Nor life in well lit halls.
Great tumult comes from twisting trees
And sun makes shimmering snow.
No fences block my way to go,
And branches bear no broken leaves.

What life I leave with lives behind,
I'll miss in the land of weightless souls
They'll feel my warmth in flame-less coals,
And my loss will leave their hearts defined.
With my running brothers, I go,
And take no view behind my shoulder,
Yet, I'll watch them as they all grow older,
And await them with my joy in tow.

When Poe leaves Kingdom and hails the sea
And absence wins to ecstasy
Seraphs dwindle in their clouds
Never minding Annabelle Lee.

When Cummings follows floating bells
And someones and everyones reap their tells,
spring winter autumn summer
the snow of children swells and swells.

When Rosetti ventures in the day,
and golden hair shows not one grey.
Sisters wander, sisters stray
And can't keep Goblin fruit away.

When Frost forgets to watch the trail
And takes the worn path most preferred.
Keeps walking til his footsteps fail
The leaves are trodden, black, stale,
The road not taken, undisturbed.

When I wonder what poets say
When they turn their truths away
And venture into the unknown,
Do they leave well enough, alone?

Rest in peace, my darling.
                            Sometimes I feel that we should wait.
                            Just a second, hesitate.
                            One more moment, contemplate,
                            The inevitable that is destined to us.
Rest in peace, my darling.
                            I wish I hadn't, Pain, invite
                            Freely in a fiery thought
                            A life anew, a love, ignite
                            In that first new friend I sought.
Rest in peace, my darling.
                            Before we plead and seal our fate,
                            Let memory briefly resonate.
                            On others, lost at last, too late.
                            To deter our hearts from another's future.
Rest in peace, my darling.
                          But then, I think no new regret
                          Could wish your existence never in mine.
                          For though there is pain, newly beset,
                          I cherish the happiness since whence we met.
Rest in peace forever, my darling.

No angels marr my shoulder space
No horns nor wings to find
But yet there are two sides of me
That unkindly cohabit my mind.

Fighting, fighting, constant quarrel,
Both wrestling for command.
No time to take a quick breath in
For loss of reprimand.

A girl and a philosopher,
Not opposites, you see.
I'm in no condition for juxtaposition
Lest subjected to therapy.

The girl is cruel, with a capricious streak,
Unyielding, growling, beast.
Philosopher questions her every say,
Persistant in the least.

Autumn is current, in time and in motion.  
Swirling around me and sweeping the ground in giggling whirlwinds.
           Warm air and cold dabble in each other for a short while.

                          The leaves still waver, undecided.
                                Half quite progressive,
  Already in the fiery transformation that brings their lives to a close.
                                       Half lingering,
             Watching their brothers’ change with green faces.

        I help them along, waiting all night for them to change.
    Then fall, fluttering in indecision for their final resting place.
I catch them lightly, delicate and brittle, and lay them down together.

I sing sad songs to soothe my pains,
And curse the evening when it rains.
I wallow low in self-pity.
Forced to bear suburban streets,
Feel fear where arid country meets
With paranoia in the city.

Stereotypes sadden, cynicisms break
What friendships I still stand to make
In this, my schooling’s final tool.
Emotionless, a way to make me smile,
At friends with whom I should reconcile,
  With hope, not looking like a fool.

Dirt roads wind with hours’ distance
And a green canopy stretches,
Suspended above the bare core of trees.
Pine nettles rest year long,
Settled into their collective bed.
Still water fingers the shore,
Smoothing out its stress lines,
Imbedded in the granite lake floor.
Here, towering mountains with impairing storms,
Wild wind, and impetuous fog
Stands in the crystal clarity
Given by reality.
When night comes, bringing with it
A dark unimpeded with polluting lights,
The stars outnumber their dark counterparts,
Leaving no expansion of space
Without a twinkle
Or a holy glowing light.

This poem is no Billy’s babble,
I know this girl who tends to dabble,
Dabble with unkind creatures.

She’s beautious, dark, and loyalty-tied,
Non-gregarious, starry-eyed;
Starry-eyed for the inexpedient.

Wit is written on skin so fair
Eyes like skies, too deep to pare.
But pare her idea of ideal men.

Challenge, with whom her morals meet,
Picks scoundrels, wreaking calm deceit.
Deceitful words are hooks to her.

Beknownst to all but she herself,
These rogues take riches, turned to pelf.
Pelf, for she is better than them.

Too low they sink below her merit,
Her virtue, they could stand to inherit,
Inheriting her in return.

I’ve searched, I’ve lost, I cannot find,
My friend and constant companion.
Where he went, indecipherable to me,
I’ve lost him yet again.

So back I go to the world of ticking clocks,
Of passing time and children growing older.
To see if he is sill-bound still;
If he lingered when I left.

The window’s threshold does not halt me,
Or the fairy that ensues me.
Distracted- shut her in a drawer,
Find my comrade- Laying on the floor.

Shadow! I have found him now,
But why refuse to stick to me?
No facile falling into place,
No soap will stick his feet to mine.

I jump and squirm and shriek at him,
And dampness fills my eyes for him,
Until a sweet voice breaks the dawn,
Needle, kiss, and thread in hand.

She ties us close at tips of toes;
And Shadow fights for Shadow knows!
He, who long has gone astray,
Life of elusion left to boast!

The entrance winds behind an imperceptible dirt road,
And if you pass too quickly, its glamour won’t yield;
Tricking you.
Chances are slim that you will pass it again.
But if you peek, and pry, and probe-
Fooling the glamour to slip a little,
The part in the trees will open to you.

Through the leaves,
Over the natural bridge,
And you come upon it.
Indian Steps.
Where smoke curls amid your hair,
And drumbeats school your heart’s own thrum.

The lake will lap on stony shores,
And voices, oscillate past you.
Here, the only shining thing is the sun through autumn leaves,
The only siren a steady note,
Drawn from the deepest woods and threaded through a flute.
The trees’ leaves embrace its call,
And give it back, lovely in their mimicry.
Just like the others who catch their eye here,
You will always choose to stay.

October, with lilting melodies that play,
Rocking my frame with frisson,
Has yet to send the warm winds away,
And succumb itself to autumn.

The season change has just begun,
We’ll watch it turn in equinox,
As I bid goodbye to the sun,
And again await its warmer rays.

I sometimes think the trees can scream
So loud as to change their color,
In desperate need to re-achieve the dream,
And catch the sun’s eye with their flame.

In groups of three,
Me, Myself, and I.
In three sentences,
I miss. I live. I sleep.
In three words,
Not Quite Enough.
In three syllables
Ex-Haust-Ed.

I am weary.
I must stretch my limbs,
And never let show,
The knots they bear.

I am tired.
The wells beneath my eyes are tinged,
As if to mimic a bruise,
And seem to have no intention of clearing.

I'm wiped.
Ready to let my heart relax.
And if anyone wakes me up,
I'll knock them out.

Quiet
...resolve
The voices are the tiniest hum-
-clashing as only voices can...
They all lift;
And.
Are.
No.
More.

I once knew a man,
One who played all the instruments,
And sang all the tunes,
And cried with the lullabyes when children bedded down.
And when I last met him,
On Father's High Hill
He told me, "Music is the only language you are born with."

I once knew a lady,
One who met with all the people
And loved with all her heart
And laughed when she saw the children run.
And when we last spoke,
In the summer's suburbs,
She told me, "We live to await the next emotion."

I once knew a couple,
One who lived with all their might,
And climbed every cliff,
And carried all the children in thier shoulders.
And when we last past,
In Leconte's thickened forest,
They told me, "Trying times are not the times to stop trying."

I once knew all of those people
And sang and loved and lived,
And played with my fellow children.
And when I last saw them,
Through the course of my life,
I would reply simply, "That's a truth to live by."

Two siblings walk, hand in hand,
Shoulder to shoulder,
their footsteps paving grass and stone
in wary gilding.
And when other footfalls trace their steps,
the feet will slip,
And the trail will have gone.

The siblings work in synchronization.
Unique independence,
Contrasting, and Dissimilar
both harmonizing in nature;
They tie knots in eyelashes,
Weave fine chain with obsidian,
and break nails with simple deeds.

I, with hands of hardened base,
and fingertips that stroke Saguaro spines-
Will reach for straw figures
with blank, witless features,
And cold tin men,
with ice coated *******-

And a sharp-edged shadow will bark at my heels.

A hole lay, just the size of me,
in the base of a willow tree.
A rabbit hole, no hares to see,
Where hares and rabbits ought to be.

I slip within, the darkness thick,
The floor is hard, the walls are slick.
I'm cramped inside, my breaths are quick,
My teeth make lips too ripped to lick.

I'm drawn in deep, like moth to flame,
I'd never dreamed before I came,
Cautious; things don't stay same,
The giggles shudder in this game.

My company creeps and scurries near,
we fall and crawl in puzzled fear.
There's something else that lingers here.
The bugs and rats have stopped to leer.

Crying! Squeaking! Scurry back!
Stampedes of pests stream, strong and black,
Over, under, they trample a track.
Gone, they go, escape attack.

And when I brace to feel the bite,
I grasp at sudden strands of light,
The night has broken, dawn brings light.
The willow splits to weep, contrite.

I free myself, and give a whoop,
the trail within had made a loop!
And nevermore I dare to snoop,
To peek within the willow's stoop.

There is a stream that drifts below me,
Not lingering, it seeps away.
The water creeps around the rocks
and ebbs with mindful swiftness.

I close my eyes and listen;
Ignore the wind that sticks my skin
And if I hear the brook below,
Then perhaps I will return to you.

I crane for twinkling, water moving,
Hear nothing, not at all.
No whisper of the whipping wind
that dances on the water.

Water flows, as infinitely restrained,
As blood that surges from a wound.
It hurts to see; this hurts to hear;
Just nothing, loud as silence.

Words that warm my heart and soul
Are cut into glass as cold and clear as
the stormy skies.
Sent to me in black and white,
   -emotionless, uninviting.
Yet they heat my frozen limbs,
And send the blood racing to my fingertips;
   -white and cold as snow.
To my face which glows with blushing light,
To my toes which curl in happiness.
A coil restricts my chest, it seems.
And breaths grow shallow and daunted.
My ribs will break, my breath will go,
And I will live vicariously through you;
Your words in cloudy skies and black ink,
   -And cut glass.

Everywhere I walk-everywhere I go;
the titles follow like aftershave.
They're not warm, they're not soft,
They're not enveloping,
They give a bland emotion to their matter.
       This is Big.
       These are People.
       They are Insignificant.
Titles follow everywhere.
like shadows to our frames.

I stand behind a pane of glass,
it's tinted, from outside.
Friends in front will speak to me,
But they see only their tinted reflections.

I've often wondered, while I walk,
and watch as people pass,
Why when their glance turns to me,
None will meet my eye?

I'm a listener, you should know,
I listen, rarely speak.
My life's a bore, why should I?
But I wish that they would care.

When I do speak,
they look away, and they cringe inside.
I know its lame, I know, I heard.
And I wish my mouth stayed shut.

I'd meet a lesson kindly,
if it'd dilute my window's tint.
But for now, I watch, as clear as day,
While they speak to me through darkened glass.

In absence,
A lost key is only
                   A catastrophe,
When the door is locked from the outside,
And everything important is within.

That is when we are reaquianted,
With an old concept.
One that can occur to anyone-
                              If they have the mind to lose the key.
It is the called,
                  The snowball effect.
When we are to leave without our prizes inside.
And all that is taken for granted,
Is kept beyond the width of a door.

But most of all, there is one,
Who will again take for granted his prizes,
And lose them along the way.

And although, these are not materialistic prizes,
They are prizes of greater worth than any
Kept behind that blasted door.

When these, his friends,
Give sacrifice, and he cares not to thank them.
When these, gifts to an undeserving man,
Are asked yet again, and these favors are not repaid.

This, is the snowball effect.
Something that can occur to anyone,
                    -if they have the mind to take their prizes for granted
Or ever have the idiocy to lose the key that unlocks them.
For locked out he may be,
This man has lucked out.

We all hear of wishes
But there are two types out there.
Those which all wish for
And those that wish for similar reasons.

I wish I could fly for its freedom.
                                               I wish for wings to escape from here
                                                                                         and start over.

As I've said before, and I'll say it once more,
My heart was born in the ground,
Raised by the sea,
And housed in the trees,
And that's why I love them so.

In separation,
My soul was lifted on wind,
Traveled by light,
And slept in the clouds,
And that's why I love them so.

For my heart and soul are one,
One that has yet to meet me.
One that carries nature on his shoulders.
And that's why I love him so.

He and I are separated still,
Distanced by time,
Lost in the woods,
And brought closer by opposite currents.

We are carried by will
Followed by fate,
Inspired by others
And freed by blue skies.

And that's why I love them so.

Billowing, bounding, bumping,
through a cracked, white door
a bouncy, fluffy, white puppy flies.

The ground is soaked, saturated.
From the ever melting snow.
Water rises, water falls,
with a step upon the grass.

The breeze blows cold, shivering,
Stings my face in welcome.
It should be so, I think to myself.
The snow is melting still.

The puppy barks, sharp and clear,
but I bear no notice there.
For on the wind, there's something strange.
A smell that's out of place.

It makes me miss the summer sun,
It makes me miss the green.
Miss the sound of a rushing stream,
and a cloudless, sky of blue.

A smell so strange, I chase it,
As it whips away with the wind.
It stops me at the glaring gate,
And laughs in a freeing voice.

Come back! I wish it,
But in vain, I smell it nevermore,
I miss the smell as it's gone,
Flower petals mixed with rain.

My soul, so dark, what things it lures!
What things that writhe into my pores!
With teeth like stones
they devour my bones,
And slip past my heart's ice locked doors.

My soul, so dark, with evil it teems.
It blinds you and, and breaks you, with ravens' black screams
Stream into flood,
It chokes you with blood,
And send shadows to skulk and to stalk through you dreams.

My soul, so dark, what demons it hives!
What demons that pose as emotion's disguise!
It robs you your trust,
It's blinded by lust,
And forever it lies, and it lies, and it lies.

My soul, so dark, what hell it demands!
What hell, that will grab you with soot-covered hands!
Its fires go on,
In the dark, in the dawn,
And the devil will curse you and laugh his commands.

My soul, so dark, what sadness it sighs,
What sadness that fills out your head with its cries!
The heartache that breaks,
From tears, into lakes
And strength that burns up, withers, and dies.

The snap of sparks from cloth on skin
                         lifts
The hope that         from dark to dim.
The sound of rain-
                                 and groaning trees.
A storm's great bowels, a rumbling breeze.
The lilting scent of sweetened air,
Skin on skin, that's soft; that's fair
A sky that waves with colors afar,
A glow that blinks in a child's jar.
The whipping  rise of adrenaline rush,
                                                           ­          The peaceful repose of a library's hush.
The winter's bite; the wind's white claws,
The child shrieks, the crow, caws.
                                     on
The hair that stands                  at night.
                                            end
The awe that strikes the morning light.
    The two-faced smoke that ~swirls~
                                                                ­that chokes.
That clever doubt, that probes- that pokes.
The pitch that screams a piercing beat!
                              ~the air that soothes the ceaseless heat~
Cigar smoke, and creaking doors;
                                                          ­stealth that fails by squeaking floors.
A favored picture, in weary frame,
The roll of tongue on a lover's name.
The smell of coffee, fresh and
                                                     deep
The Forever Memories our minds will keep.

Steeping hills send water flowing,
Tinkling,
Down the street.
Snow whirls in shrinking circles,
Crying,
In the heat.
Icy branches sag with sadness,
Dripping,
In defeat.
Snowmen's smiles slip and slide,
Frowning,
Incomplete.

Boiling winds chase the cold,
Snapping,
With their teeth.
Flattened grass curls and coils,
Wincing,
Into heath.
Crystal icicles loose their grip,
Crumbling,
Underneath.
Cold, white gold sits warm and and alien,
Sweating,
Off the wreath.

Summer dares to show it's face,
Grinning,
In the light.
Winter goes to silent slumber,
Waking,
For the night.
Autumn's drenched in vasoline,
Slipping,
Out of sight.
Spring is patient, next in line,
Waiting,
To take flight.

Mom-
Our home is a gray and white picture you fill
With colors that shine way too bright to stay still.
Paper and lead are just desolate lands,
Yet grand and amazing, like clay in your hands.
The tree is towering shadow at night.
Then you dash it, and flash it, and coat it with light.
The house is wasteland of all that is lost,
But you clear it right out, like the fog on defrost.
The food is a pile of mush in a ball,
Then you turn it to pie, with a touch of the fall.
When anger is raging, and storming with pain,
You meet it head on, and turn it to rain.
When sadness is settling deep in our eyes.
You see it, and show it, and ignore all the lies.
So if ever you feel that we don't really care,
Read this, and you'll see that the love is all there.

Born and brewing on the road
A choice on me has been bestowed
To grant one side my presence there
Take time to choose; contrast, compare.

Offers, one side, an easy life
Let's sing all day, and play the fife!
The other, it seems, is harder still,
Yet full of life; a forest's trill.

"Come here!" one says, "there's much to do!"
"Have fear!" one says, "it's brutal too!"
"It's crueler there," says one, in rebuttal.
"It's cruel, but fair," one says with a scuttle.

Forever struck, undecided on the road
For which side is better; my humble abode?
Made soon is this choice, for ahead comes upon
Two lights on the hill, like a double edged dawn

Quick like a deer, I unfold into action.
Be part of the woods? Or a slave unto fashion?
To the judgement of others, their eyes on my back?
Or the home of the hunters, to survive their attack?
To the glistening great cities with the smog thickened air?
Or the rolling green trees, all alone in despair?

So towards the lights I will run, on the road I will ride.
For I will always remain with one foot on each side.

Ashes scatter in the trees
As I fall upon my knees.
Whispered words of muted grief
To me the sorrow's been bequethed.

From the metal can in hand
You catch the wind
Like powdered sand.
Goodbye to you
My dearest friend,
I'll see you soon,
Around the bend.

Farewell to tears
That never dry
Everytime 
I say goodbye.
Ashes fall
Spirits rise.
Life goes on
And heartache dies.

My breath is like a ripple in a still blue pond.
      Going out but never coming back to me.
It's a never ending labyrinth  in this hall of smoke,
      All I want is for someone to set me free

With blackened face and fingers I search desperately.

But the fire's all I see and all I hear,

There is fire in my face and hair, there is fire in the very air.
                        Yet the fire's not the only thing I fear.

Burnt and broken I may stumble out,
                                                            ­     But dead alas.
My lungs  logged with firey smoke and falling ash.                            
  I  am blinded from my walk with death forever.
        My mind is bleeding like a beating by the lash.
                        I'm a goner, I'm a loser to life's wrath.

A ceiling of texture, ominous and cream
Four walls of difference surround me in a dream.
Songs from my memory lead my poetry
a ceiling of texture, keeps me in my dreams.

Five clocks stare, but only one has no hands.
Every one is different, but only one correctly stands.
Dimmed down and dangerous they watch  me, faces white
Five clocks stare with their fingers pointed, ******.

Strange, misshapen chairs, and a maimed and mangled cat
Nothing give me comfort, nothing gives me that.
I am out of place here, lost in my own head.
On a strange misshapen chair sits that creepy little cat.

Ticking clocks and memories surround me in a dream.
In a living room of senselessness I couldn't even scream.
So don't try to find me. I'm lost subconsciously.
Ticking clocks and memories haunt me eternally.

Have you ever heard that growl
That comes from some beast's mighty bowls
A rumble from way down the street
That makes you shake from head to feet?
Have you seen the woods at night
So dark it's seems there's never light.
Have you walked right down a trail
Dressed in red, so small, so frail.
Have you ever felt such fear,
You wish to see your mother dear,
One last time before the beast
Takes you in and makes a feast?
Food from the basket in your hand,
Have you ever seen such teeth on Gran?
Or claws so thick, they're rip and tear
Just by passing through the air?
Have you ever heard it told,
Where beast keeps Red within his hold?
The woodsman fell asleep that night,
But never had the beast to fight.
So Red was eaten with the bread,
She'd saved for Gran, who'd been long dead!
So now, I think I'm willing to bet
That you haven't heard that ending yet!

The wind that dances with trees
drops Summer's snowflakes, golden leaves.
And on our heads it blows the breeze.
Softly whistles, turns, and flees.

The ground where sky and soil meet,
plush and green beneath our feet,
And when you sit, the softest seat,
It stretches long below the street.

The willow, tall, he bravely stands,
Ole Rue he's called across the land.
And if you climb, and take his hand,
You'll feel his face, as smooth as sand.

From your window in the mill
You'll see the willow on the hill.
The wind, the ground, all silent, still
Until you're back to feel their thrill.

To watch from below,
                  life expanding in every direction.
  I walk down a path of stone and soil,                  
     placid in comparison to the trees around me.
          I sit upon a stump, the wood colored with                                        
            darkened stains like abstract art of the gods.
I star out at the picture,                    
                                                                ­  unbroken,

and at its base,                              so vast, many arms
                                a willow;
wrapped and woven around its trunk would not      
                  touch on either side.
    Beyond the old willow, far distance mountains      
dressed decidedly as lingering fog, lay cluttered in powdered blue peaks along the horizon.
           I stood up, and approached the old      
       drawbridge, the metal rusted red on blue  
   railings. I smiled up at this miracle, where the    
      hands of Man and Mother Nature clasp
             in an embrace of grace and beauty,
                    and passed beneath it.
It was then I came upon the cliff,
                                             which drew up in a boast and dropped in a dare.
The ferns, in their envy, stretched to reach as high    
      as the speckled rocks that towered against a      
                      painted, sunset sky.  
   I pressed my toes to the cut and shrapnel of the  
   cliff, and descended, a leap if faith. For it is said, 'When a man jumps from a cliff, he could fall...or he could fly.'

Lost? No, wandering.
Alone? No, independent.
Afraid? Undoubtedly.

                                            Lost is never lost for long.
                                  Alone may never feel so wrong.
                                Afraid can never seem so strong.
                                              Never will never belong.

Separate? No, different.
Peculiar? No, quirky.
Crazy? Undeniably.

                                Separate's just a calloused touch.
                              Peculiar's just a weathered clutch.
                                        Crazy's just a mental crutch.
                                       Just has never been so much.

Style
        Texture
                    Shape
                 ­            And grace
They put the smiles on your face
                              Brown and
                   Green and
      Blue and
Grey
Eyes like that just make your day
Curly
       Wavy
*****
     Straight
You love all that, you think it's fate
                   Curvy
              Skinny
          Thin
Or not
Who cares about heart, you think she's hot.

Yet talent
   Skill
Passion
   Love
They're the things that life's made of.
Caring
                            Giving
                   ­                              Loving
                 Heart
They bring us together, not apart.
  Spirit
   Strength
    Sensitivity
Faith
Someone like that will keep you safe.

But money
Fashion
***
And greed
Those aren't things for which we were freed.