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 Aug 2012 Lauren Smith
kilo
haikus
 Aug 2012 Lauren Smith
kilo
I.

you're cracking me up.
you are not cracking me up;
you have caulked my cracks.

II.

countries like play dough:
controlled by the hands that mold,
not mountains that fold.

III.

to those that marry,
happy anniversary!
enjoy your divorce.

IV.

then i had a dream
that my teeth were falling out,
how ******* cliche.
water is my escape
from my problems,
from my responsibilities,
from my list of things to do.
Swimming sends me to my own world
away from my life.
Feeling the rush of the water
Flowing by my face as I swim
across the lanes
only turning my head from time to time
When I am swimming
all fears, all mistakes disappear
into the depths of the pool
While visions of my future
of where I want to be
Of who I want to be
rush into my mind
until I have to leave
the pool is a fortress
for my thoughts of the past and future
Within seconds of getting out
reality snaps back.
until I hear the goggles snap
And I go swimming again
A boy, sixteen,
Like he's seventy.
Things he's seen,
Bares with levity.
Two eyes, too young,
To be witness
To a crime
That's so hannis.
Still he talks,
To his family.
Recalls the day,
All this happened.
Just eleven,
Saw the burglar coming,
Kicked down the door
Took mom to heaven.
Dad ran in,
But had no chance,
And in a moment
His life had passed.
The boy was left,
In the closet.
Held his breath,
Untill he lost it.
Tears streamed down,
Dropped from his cheek.
And out he ran,
While he weeped.
The killer noticed,
And quick two shots.
The boy was hurt,
The bad man dropped.
The sirens heard,
Police had come
To save the day.
Cuffed the man,
Took the boy away.
But alas,
The boy's still haunted,
To join his parents,
Was all he wanted.
This is a poem.
And there was a tree.
And a person underneath.
Gravity happened.
An apple fell.
It rolled on the ground.
Many things roll.
Like a ball on a smooth surface.
That was a comparison.
Poems work best with relation.
Some people love.
Some people fear.
That is enough for some.
Black and white is simple.
Some like complexity.
Metaphors.
Obscurity.
And in the end.
I guess what every author wants.
Is someone to take the time and read.
If only from beginning to end.
This is the end of the poem.
And they say we are the mad ones. Rebellious in spirit, and reckless in life. We walk with fire beneath our feet, careless about everything. They say our eyes are blindfolded from reality and we live in a dream. Burdened by their words, we find ourselves following their black ties and white lies. We begin to see with their obscured eyes and hear with their clouded ears. But I say to you, do not fall prey to their snaring teeth. They do not make you, create you, or shape you. We are the pearl of mother earth; a beacon of light bestowed on those in the dark. Tumultuous and free, we are creating a world of color in front of us. Hold the torch up high and set fire ablaze to our trail. Make love your religion and insanity your hymn.  Live vicariously through words, poems, music, and the soft whispers of another. Open the books to your lives and begin writing. Do not swallow society’s propaganda or be tamed by their whip.  You are spirited, talented, and wild with passion. They will give you a map with lines and arrows. Unabashedly you will throw it away; your compass lies near your heart and will guide you from here. Nestle all fears in your coven. Fear keeps bad company and chases away your dreams. Capture your dreams and bear them upon your chest. They are the scapegoat from reality. Love as if you never have before, for it is the only thing that holds us together. Without it, we are mere beings living in a structured frame. When you wake, hold each day as its own. We are wise, beautiful, and simply wonderful. Sing a tune, laugh continuously, dance circles around strangers, and kiss a friend.  Be joyous. But most importantly, be mad.
 Aug 2012 Lauren Smith
Nessie
it was awkward
but there was beauty in it
you never see beauty in youth when you're young
you don't know the dust you'll taste
that those tears will grow some unfortunate flower
that one thing that happened
will quake and rock in your heart til you die
that no one will kiss you like he did
that no one will care like she did
that you will die one day
and that  you are  unstoppable in the meantime
and you dont know it'll be okay yet
they'll be   more  gallons of blood poured
and you dont know that a little child is watching you
you'll be their  world
until they can make their own pitfalls
and you will grow and
live and laugh and die
and it will be graceful
and  you will never have to see this ugly
beautiful world
ever again
I didnt know
I still dont know
my heart it overflows
with hate and gratitude and happiness
you have no idea
the rage in my fingers
in my heart and mind
I speak for them
for the fallen
for the ****
for the shallow
and the ugly
you will end
but you were beautiflul
while you lasted.
That unexpected surge of passion
who knows from whence it came
But we just had to have each other
over and again

Barely time to make it through the door
before clothing it got shed
no time to waste on buttons
things just got ripped off instead

fumbled for a light switch
staggered 'long the hall
moonlight through the windows
as family photo's started to fall

dining table cleared
in a single one armed sweep
who cares about the noise
it's too late to be discrete

skirts lifted to save time
******* just pulled to one side
belts undone, zippers ripped open
so suddenly inside

a display so animal in nature
as your nails dug in my back
groans of passion fill the air
patience was all we lacked

Eventually its over
****** acheived, ****** shared
panting in the moonlight
bodies naked, passions bared

This doesn't happen every day
and maybe never will again
That unexpected surge of passion
who knows from whence it came
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
In high school
we learn of logarithms, iambic meter
how to balance an equation between zinc oxide
and excess hydrogen gas--
only to find there was no reaction to begin with.

We're told colleges get to know you
through three letter acronyms-- ACT, SAT, GPA
And the students they want know everything
that they'll forget once they turn thirty.

Little do we realize
that if our Geometry teacher were to write an analysis
on the coexistence of good and evil in To **** a Mockingbird,
he would likley receive a "D" under the scrutinizing eye of
the honor's English teacher

Nor do we see that the art instructor would freeze in her tracks
faced with an assignment filled with the insufferable fate of
chemical stoiciometry

Socrates once said that the youth today
will be the demise of civilzation.
We contradict our parents, are smug in the face of authority
and tyrannize our teachers.
Funny he said this roughly 2,000 years ago--
I think my dad said something like that last year.

But, until the day we grow up to pay taxes
and marry someone we despise,
we're just stupid teenagers.
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