As the café fills
with youthful chatter
and screechy laughter
what it’d be like to have a friend.
At the billiards
hip teens lovingly roast each other—
their style and form
bring warmth to my lonely day.
Would I ever play billiards
or is that game
reserved for people who have friends?
I sip my strawberry tea
having a good friend
To unwind with storytelling and gossip
We'd drink pink martinis
and be so chic in black.
And we'd be loud and open.
I'd be so happy
That I'd never have to write poetry again.
As the fantasy fades
I smile into my strawberry tea
Not too pink, but plenty of sweet.
This is alright. This cold drink is a friend.
RIP GUMA TASA
The clouds are boring now
as I exist in a realm outside reason and romance.
These clouds are aimlessly
splattered on a dull blue sky
by a tried Artist
Is there any hope
for the Artist
and our world he tries to paint?
Why must the artwork continue
to destroy itself!
I destroy me
by staying stagnant and unamused.
Perhaps sometimes art
must be boring to soothe the soul
Here are the pics that inspired the poem https://www.facebook.com/janasillyness/posts/723417637792968
This small town has no more stories to tell
So what are you doing to me?
Small talk and pretend
as if we can save ourselves from mediocrity
A forbidden dance
between the school maiden and the passing cowboy.
No! Please! I am too lazy for adventure.
Put your hands back on that steering wheel,
you are not insane enough for me.
The snow is what’s keeping us alive.
I haven’t felt my face in weeks.
The sun doesn’t shines here anymore.
No hope, no prayers in this desolate town—
and that’s all right with me.
I don’t know myself and I don’t want to.
Inspired by E.L. Doctorow's the Hunter
I feel within my gender
in a realm of passion
and Russian literature.
A king of dreams and strife
leads me to myself
as our culture dies on the other side.
Who are we to **** our culture?
Or it did perish in Hiroshima and Nagasaki?
Did you know that those atomic bombs were made with love
—or if you will, a broken heart?
Can you imagine—a love destroyed a culture!
Imagine, if my love destroyed our culture?
My language is young and not so wordy.
complex ideas give birth to simple sentences
This style is a pleasure for worldly ears.
Your style is old and dramatic—
who are you to bore an innocent girl
with your dry stories
of bourgeoisie boys and sand people!
My king of dreams and strife
translates poetry into destruction,
while you create sorrow within our dying culture.
Inspired by my EN473 class here at the University of Guam.
When I found the door
I found the vine leaves
speaking among themselves in abundant
My presence made them
hush their green breath,
embarrassed, the way
humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,
acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if
the conversation had ended
just before you arrived.
the glimpse I had, though,
of their obscure
gestures. I liked the sound
of such private voices. Next time
I'll move like cautious sunlight, open
the door by fractions, eavesdrop
Let's stay in this prison of blankets
and un-remember our meaning
to this existence.
I have walked all the parks
and I have swam in all the seas.
I have slow-danced in all the bars.
I have seen all the cosmic dreams.
My bones are tired of adventure.
My soul is tired of the new.
Let's ignore the changing colors and trends.
Let's arrest ourselves in this bed.
Somewhere where the jazz is fine
and smooth kids wanna spend time,
I had lost my ignorance and my pride.
Patience bit me. I grew a mind.
The world is a vampire and we only knew
after a thousand cups of coffee
and a thousand classrooms.
Let's forget. Let's die.
Got this poem out of me in order for me to concentrate better on homework. I originally wrote it on paper but as I typed it out I can see how not a poet I am.