Ever wanted to stand in the spot light?
To have your name praised,
To be known
And have your face recognized?
Ever wanted to ride on
Angels wings
And stand on the shoulders
Of giants
And see you fellow humans
As ants.
That's glory for you.
Glory is a drink that goes down
Cool and crisp.
It has a pleasant after taste,
A bit bubbly, like champagne
But too much of it
Cannot be good for you.
So ride on those wings
As much as you can.
Because you don't know when the
Last swig will be.

I could eat the cookie
But I already feel queasy
But you didn't have to cut me off
The song sings
And I type whatever comes into
The cauldron called my brain
Hey, that wasn't supposed to be poetic
But yet I feel as though I can't stop
Being poetic it comes like the
Air I breathe
It comes from the higher power
And I being the speck of dust
Am happy to oblige
So this is lunch
Thursday
And I sit and type
Whatever comes to my mind

I sent it to you,
Somewhat encoded in an email,
But you never read it.
You said you're too busy,
I'll try to find some more time,
And sure you said it,
But meanwhile my cry for help
Is unanswered, and tell me,
Did you ever make me feel special?
Whenever your response comes,
If it comes,
I live to dread it

"She leaves at about two o'clock"
" whoops sorry"
"You think it's five?"
"You'll come home early?"
"I've got the info on my computer"
"I like paper"
"Slipped out somewhere"
"We could go at one forty"
"Cool"
"They pick up the trash as they walk along"
"Very much a servant"
"It is not up to me"
"I didn't ask that"
"Sometimes"
"You just have to make it yummy"
"No all the time"
"Yeah"
"I do try to limit myself, it hurts your teeth"
"I eat a lot of it"
"You would use it out at the graves"
"So she could eat that too"
"We won't drink it all"
"We need to stop by Sam's to pick up my cooler"
"That's the idea"
"They won't go out to dinner with us"
"I'd be happy to"
"There's an Applebee's there?"
"We should call and make a reservation"
"He's got a special place in his heart for Applebee's"
"I'm happy to take him."
The car ride
And I'm writing poetry
When they are the poets

She chatters on and on
About her guy,
Though they're not dating yet
They're as close as the fingers on my hand.
And I'm the awkward thing in the middle
Not even an object just a thing
Doesn't she realize I'm jealous?
Yes I guess
I am a single pringle
Singing a single jingle
But that's not really me.
I don't want to be stuck
And I wonder
Has this ever happened to me before?
Has this ever happened to you?

Now is the time,
When I realize that all that walking
All that sobbing,
All that pillow hugging,
Is because I probably have depression.
Or my life is just a pile of shattered glass,
Not easily fixed.
It needs help from the outside world.
Will the world help me?

My brain is a cup
I fill to the brim

I wrote this poem while I was asleep
About swimming birds,
And Cheshire cats,
Purple trees,
And broken hearts.
I wrote this poem while I was asleep,
My head hurts
My eyes are as heavy as
Stones
And I cannot
And I so not want to move.
I breathe
Silently,
And I wrote this poem
While I was asleep.

It's been months since I've last been
The water took the melody line
And destruction became the harmony
Leaving dissonance in its wake
And trees bent to play that
Minor tune
Mud rose inch after inch,
Outlining the beat of this
Soaked symphony
It's in duple meter
No scratch that, it was in triple,
The tempo was about 200 waves per minute
The screech of wood scraping
Wood had short solos
With arpeggios
And the sound of sirens and
Screaming crescendoed this
Soaked symphony
The different pitches were so ranged in tonality that people had
No chance to save the time
To pick up things they need
The splash splash splash was the
Ostenato in the background
Perhaps a pedal tone
And the drip drip drip
Made anyone who heard the piece shudder so violently
They were shivering and
Quivering
Like an arrow shot from a now
Thus the effect of the
Soaked symphony
Played in the orchestra pit of Lyons Colorado

Open your mouth.
I'm turning away.
Please never forget me.

I'm no longer a child
When my heart gets trampled on,
When it is crushed like
Coffee beans inside the grinder.
I'm no longer a child
When I fly alone,
My fate tied to a lifeless metal bird
To solemn to cry.
I'm no longer a child,
When I walk down the street alone,
A stranger in your neighborhood.
I'm still a child,
When Im homesick all the time,
When I cry for my mother
To hold my hand.
I'm still a child
When I'm scared of the dark,
When the comforter is more
Protection than comfort.
I'm still a child
Even though I'm no longer a child.

I sent them an email,
Old fashioned I know.
One week ago.
And they never replied.

I sent a text just this morning
Simple and short
Maybe another tomorrow
And they never replied.

I am not thin air nor thick.
I am a person and even
Common courtesy calls for response
But yet they never reply.

I hope I am not alone in my thoughts.
As the days drift by
And I start to doubt
If they will ever reply.

Why do you weak your mask at me?
Do you think I will hurt you?
Do you fear my hate and scorn
To think that you weren't worth being born?
No, I wear a mask too.
But I will tear it off for you.
For I am not afraid of you.
So why are you afraid of me?

I rarely shouldn't eat.
I'm not hungry.
But I need to save my strength,
For darker days ahead.
So I sacrifice the fullness,
Of my occupied stomach,
And build up my strength,
Or maybe just excess fat.

There is a pattern to this
Poems are the soul of the poets who
Write on the paper, not on the
Fabric, blue and pink I'll take one of
Each other looked at one another and
Knew that I was a fool in
Love that dessert, the tang and the
Sweet pea doesn't cry on your
Pillow and sheets I pulled of my
Bed head that's me
And my name is iris and
I see patterns

His hand slid around her waist,
The moonlight shone upon
The trees, spotlights,
She could feel his warm breath
Caressing her skin.
She leaned in,
He closed his eyes,
He leaned in,
She closed her eyes,
And wow, something
Electric.

I hate you
The words floating from my
Brain to the page
Like bees to their hive
Those words hate you .
My mouth drips with disdain for you
Like when you drip saliva after
Biting into a juicy peach
Hate.
I hinted
I should have written signs in
The sky.
You wouldn't have even seen those.
Even if I wrote it on my forehead
You would have been stone blind
Leave me alone.
I hate you.

Sorrow is a tidal wave
Washing over those
Trying to frantically swim away.
Sorrow is the unexpected guest
At the dinner table,
Who isn't supposed to be there until
Never.
Sorrow is the rainstorm
That won't let up.
And sometimes you find yourself
Dancing in the rain.
Feeling the cold wet
Drops on your face,
And you realize
Sorrow is temporary.

By myself
Feeling sick writing a poem
Hearing out and backto pump and
Feeling sick

You there,
Standing there
Between flesh and air
You don't share
The same cares
As I do.
You're nothing but a ghost

You grin
Stretching your chin
To try to see me wince
And convince
Me you're real.
You're nothing but a ghost.

You moan
Hoping I'll groan
And run home
And try not to be alone
With only you
Your nothing but a ghost.

You reach for me
Hoping I'll see
Your transparent fingers squeeze
And I'll freeze
Because I'm too scared to move
You're nothing but a ghost

You wail
Your voice like a gale
And I turn pale
Hoping my heart doesn't fail
Because I think you're nothing but a
Ghost
Yet you have been haunting night after night.
You have been in my darkest nightmares,
Cackling like a witch.
But you never say anything.
Because your my ghost
And I never said anything either.
Except for telling myself
I'm nothing but a shadow of time
That has passed
And I will become a ghost that doesn't last.
Forever

I'll show them,
Telling me I can't use grammar
Correctly,
Or even spelling it for that matter.
I don't know how I feel about him.
We saw Rodin
And he picked me up and carried me
Until I begged him to let me
Go.
He has a girlfriend
I'm not her, besides, he swears
I don't.
I just can spell grammar.
But I can't use it.
What's a girl to do?

I'm the one starting all the conversations
Not they.
I'm the one pumping in words
Like I was trying to pump in oxygen
To keep them alive.
Not they.
I'm the one asking questions,
Looking like an absolute idiot,
Or sounding so smart they don't want
To talk to me.
No, not they.
I depended on them.
They said burden us with your rants
Your thoughts
And sorrows.
But yet they never reply.
I am once again alone.
And could someone please tell me why?

I am born in the wrong century.
I do not want to use the
Lifeless objects
Of this day and age.
I want to go back in the past.
If I had a time machine,
This 21 century Jane Austen
Would go back to where
She belongs.
In England.
In 1803.
And live to see what happens after that.
Now it's all not fun. And games,
But there's an art
That's hidden
Beneath the tapestry of time
An art that
Is desiring and longing
For us to feel at home.
This is my longing.

They say eyes
are windows to the soul.
I see them as weapons,
I see them as weaknesses.
I see them as
caverns, so deep and dark you get
lost along the way.
I see them as mazes,
you can't even tell which way
is up or down anymore.
I think that when I look at people,
they see inside of me,
they see how scared I am,
how terrified I am,
and how frail my frame must be.
It's not eye contact,
but I contact.
For they see inside of me.

So if I don't look at you,
don't be offended,
I just don't want you to get
lost.

I thought you were taken,
As one of the only paintings in
My house.
I should not be the one to take you,
Even though you are very nice and
Friendly to me.
I'm going back to the museum
And I wanted to know if you
Wanted to come again.
I'll make interesting comments
About life and art like last time,
And stomp my feet when I see
The parking garage next to the garden
Of Rodin's statues.
Yes, I'm going back to the museum
Because I need to write,
And I need to be inspired.
So mr. Painting, would you like to come?
I don't want to just stare at you on the wall you're hanging on.
I'm not in the museum yet.
But as an artist I see art all around me,
So maybe I really am
In a museum.
But you're not an exhibit,
Not you're a person,
A friend,
My friend.
An artist.

It's funny how alone
Someone can feel in the middle
Of a swarm of people.
Who talks to me
Who asks why alone in a crowd of people

Shouldn't be doing this
Super hungry
Won't have lunch
Until I go home
In two hours
My hands a pruny and withered
Like raisins
From doing the dishes
And praying for those
Desperate enough
To come into my mjnd

Can't find the map.
Where the heck did I put it!
My grand plan,
My ten step move
Of how to be successful.
In life.
And I lost it.
Lost it.
Lost.
I am.
Lost.
I have.
Lost it.

My voice is throttling
And it seems unusual for a
Voice to throttle
But here am I
Speaking loud and soft in one
Phrase of the sound vibrating from
My vocal chords and
I hope that it won't throttle again
Just like I have been throttled and
Floored by the actions of my fellow
Human beings are what live on this
Planet is called earth and it is full of
Water rushing over my head and I
Scream fills the air as someone lays
Shot but missed the swishing of the
Basket on the front of my bike with
Wheels spinning in my head
And I would love to speak the words of my mind
If my voice didn't throttle

Do you ever want people to ask you
Certain questions?
Ever feel like you have something
To prove? Or someone
To prove yourself to?
If only they would ask you the right questions...
What do you think of music?
How does my soul seem to you?
What do you think of me?
Am I being too presumptuous?
And then those moments when you want them to ask you anything at all,
Anything so it isn't just an interview
With you on one side,
Lacking recorder or a notebook
And them on the other
And it isn't even for posterity
Yep....
How are you this morning?
Good
Did you sleep well?
Yes
Is your throat still bugging you?
Yes.
And that's the end of it. Your interview is worth three words and no more.
Even a nice, did you too? Would work.
But she likes to be the interviewee and if I want debate, contemplation, joking I best look elsewhere.

How strange is a hollow soul?
Left for dead in a berry bush...
How vast doth love creep in,
And fill the hollow soul again.

My foot hurts
But it's also the rest of my body too
I dance my fingers over my arms
And I feel like I'm sticking
My whole arm in a light socket
I bend over and my
Back creaks like a door that needs
To be oiled
My toe hurts and in turn hurts my foot
And in turn hurts my body and in
Turn makes me tired.
So thanks foot
Thanks toe
Thanks me.

Does every poem on this site
Seem to be about love?
Two bodies,
Two lips,
Two eyes looking into another two eyes,
Like they were reflections
Through the looking glass.
Why do we read of longing,
That I need you in my life,
Why do we read about boys and girls
As if they were commodities
Their stories never getting old?
Why the love?
Why amor?
Why romance?
Do tell if you have an answer

The time when your heart
Flutters like a bird
And you can't let it out of its cage
Because it won't survive.
And your palms drip with sweat,
Flowing water as if from the Nile
And you couldn't part them even if
You tried.
You eyes water and tear.
Yawning comes on like a spell
Of hallucination.
Your feet might behind tiny
Tap dances under your desk.
Your knuckles may be cracked
Your mind wanders, and if things
Get really bad, you start to doze off.

What causes these symptoms?
The most dreaded time of the year.
While it might not be cold or flu
Season, it most certainly is the
Season of
Test taking.
So cover your eyes,
Get some more sleep.
And pray that you don't catch it.

I talk to dead people.
I see their faces upon the walls
I see their faces in my dreams.
I see their faces,
In the reflection of my own.
And I speak to the deceased tongue
That hasn't wagged in ages.
Hello corpse.

What is life?
A glimpse of the present?
A present of the past,
A past of the future?
An eclipse of humanity?
A picture worth 1,000 words?
The craving of mankind
Easy to lose, hard to gain.
Once upon a time Life was beautiful.
Long futures cascaded down its back
And pasta graced its aura.
But then mankind abused it.
Beat up, battered down.
People took it and destroyed it.
It screamed out to God.
He took Life and made it everlasting.
Life shined brighter than the stars.
And it still does if you look hard enough.

Homework is unappetizing
My stomach cannot seem to digest it.
The book seems delicious enough
But the aroma of the T.V. Is overpowering
I growl in hunger for something.
So many options
So little energy

I got scorched by the sun.
It raked it's teeth on me instead
Of gently pecking my cheek.
I hurt for a while,
Licking my wounds,
Not literally of course,
And now my hurt is healing.
And perhaps mr. Sun will give me another chance.

It is morning,
The sun is awake
And mourning
Comes with the break of day,
As I wake up once more
To face the world
It's mourning
And I'm supposed to
Cry and be still,
But it's morning,
There are things in their own time
To come.

Still half asleep
Nose is runny
And I don't even want to begin
About my hair.
But I am alive
And that's all that matters
Another day appears before me
So carpe diem
Shall I live
In fear and hide in a box all my life?
Or live to watch the sunrise settle on the far side of the hill?

Hearings somewhat talk about pools
And brown things at the bottom
Of a bucket
And pumps
And family plans and I'm standing here writing this poem
And wondering what I'm doing
She is my friend
But yet I've never felt stranger
Because to her family
I am a stranger

I sit and look at my planner
Hear the scientist in my head
And wonder if it's life I dread
If I left now
What would I do?
I cannot be a hermit
I must be around those who I
Want to avoid
People

Yes they called them foolish stupid might be a better term
Why leave
They said
It's not that bad
They left because they didn't want to hear those terrible words
And I secretly agreed with them
But why did I not leave and
Become the minority?
Why did I not stand up with them?
If I am to die why not die with friends?

Silence is powerful.

I remember when we were first together
And I said I felt so happy I could die.
You said you were the right fit for me
And to you I believed.
But in reality you didn't have what i need
So I left
But you didn't have to cut me off
Act like I was a nothing.
I felt so alone.
I am so alone.
So don't treat me like a stranger.

And I wonder what I am even doing
With my life
For there is no such thing as a good
Or pretty teenage romance
Every one is lustful, ****, and super
Ficial and I wonder
Where am I
That I don't want that?
Many people do, don't get me wrong
But how many teens hold hands for
All their dates and don't even bother
Sharing their breath, saliva, and lips?

What I wouldn't give
For some news
Be it good or bad
Something new to tinker with in my mind
Something to glance at to stare at
To take in
To lose my breath at
Anything at all.

If only people saw my poetry
They would know how much of a genius I am
If only people saw my dangerous blue eyes, they would see how mysterious
I am
If only people saw my heart
They would know how kind I am
If only people saw my thoughts
They would know how smart I am
If only people saw me
They would know that
I am
Alive

I'm can't apt being creative
My thoughts are overflowing
The muse is not being interrupted
And I am writing
And God is good
Today