Why do poets always talk about the ocean's waves,
about their single file march to shore,
and yet never talk about my grandmother's farts,
which arrive in time, one after the other, with equal
     regularity?

Are these poets too holy to comment on anything
less than nature's flashiest gestures?
Are we going to spend another millenia searching
for meaning in sunsets and waterfalls?

Or will we finally turn our ear to Grammy's ****
and away from all that pretty stuff,
and hear that foul, muted trumpet sing,
marking the end of an era?

I met a man who cried at a bar.
He told me he mourned, and travelled from far.
So I bought a bottle and he drank with me,
As he regailed me his memory.

"I'm waiting for you, Dear, alone in the dark.
You're dieing, they've told me,
It rips me apart.
You bravely are holding your fear at the start,
As I cry alone in the dark.

I've come to your bedside because you've been ill,
Since the cold winter morning you first felt the chill.
I'm waiting for Jesus to make you alright.
I plead for you not to die.

I ache for the sight of your watery eyes.
I hear you breathing, it sounds like good-bye.
This is a moment I'll relive and cry.
My beautiful songbord has died.

Wait for me, wait for me
on the other side wait for me
wait for me, wait for me
wait for me, wait for me."

Speed Poems
Step 1     Read someones poem
Step 2      Pick your favorite line
Step 3      Write all the thoughts you have about that, let the line guide your thoughts **Play around with it!!
Step 4        Put in the notes whose poem inspired you and the name of the poem, tag is speedpoem

ENJOY AND SHARE AND RE-POST AND HAVE FUN

Learning Objective:
Discover hatred for a poem you previously loved

We get drunk, there's coke,
there's yokes,
there's drugs in abundance,
emotions pour out through
the broken dam, exploded
temporarily by big eyes,
slurred words, and a general,
overwhelming sense of well-being.

Euphoria brings euphoria,
I lie in your arms "just be with me."
You agree, it's easy,
almost beautiful.
We talk about how we've hurt eachother,
your brother, your ex, your roommate
we blame these people for our losses,
for our inability to just love eachother.

But then
sobriety
crippling and loud, the day is crisp,
lights are bright and suddenly
I am on an operating table.
You are brandishing an instrument —
a scalpel? Or a needle.
Are you stitching or cutting?
Your hand poised above my heart
we stare at eachother in silence.

You turn, your white coat swirls,
you leave.
But wait? Where are you going?
Is this love? Is it love? Is it?

For saying you want to be with me
and then not calling.
For the last two years,
you've been my last thought
before I sleep,
and the first when I wake up -
yet never mine,
always elusive,
always the dark matter, half-there
schrodinger's boyfriend, you *******,
*******.
**** that I love you,
******* for ******* me
and taking a piece of me
every time you do.
**** feelings, **** your hands
on my heart, your breath
on the back of my neck.
******* for making me cry
on the bus
in public, down the phone
to my exasperated friends.
******* and **** that I love you.

like the rubble of an old house
that had burnt down and left me for dead,
and I'd survived.

Drunk, weeks ago,
you said

"Whatever happens we're best friends"

your hugs felt familiar,
like home but I was wary.

I went from loving you endlessly,
young girl with an innocent pain
to coldhearted, callous

"She must of loved him blind, that she needed
to replace him with all those boys."

That was the smartest thing the boy
with straight A's in my physics class
had ever said.

When it first started it was
sneaking around in

the dead of night,
stolen kisses and

excitement.
Now,

it's familiar. Same old story,
my mother makes you tea

in the mornings.

“Does this mean we can be friends-with-benefits again?”

Well, we are friends, and we were *******, like before.
It seemed like a reasonable question to ask.

“I don’t know, I have to figure some things out.”

You had always been so sure of yourself,
‘til now - there was a sadness in your voice
I had never heard before.

All I could do was turn over, breathe your smell
and hope you were
okay because

I didn’t have the right to ask you what was wrong.