ORLA - Hello Poetry

ORLA Oct 2012

I can't breathe properly.
There's something stuck inside me,
Where my heart should be.
I think it might be you.

I couldn't eat today,
And I went on three walks,
And danced the whole time.
I think I've got it bad.

You distract me like a love song
Playing in one earbud
Through every conversation,
All day long.

So pardon me if I start smiling
For no apparent reason,
And don't ask me what I'm thinking
Because I won't tell you.

The corners of my eyes
Seem to think everyone is you,
And your face is etched
Into the insides of my eyelids.

On that note, I'm sorry
For the constant ringing in your ears,
But I can't seem to stop
Thinking about you.

ORLA Oct 2012

Dear Sir

The preacher man is up there hollerin':
Spittin' hellfire don't fall here, only grace,
But ****, such a hot, fiery grace it is,
People screamin' all over like they was burnin' in it --
Maybe they are,
Burnin' up with thirst, cryin' out about
Walkin' through a desert, tryin' to get to that livin' water . . .
But not me.
I don't see no desert, and I ain't thirsty
'Cause I got me the biggest old lake o' water,
And it's just jumpin' and dancin' there under the sun:
It's all mine and I can drink it, or swim in it,
Or just lay on the bank on my back and soak in the smell of it.
So no, I ain't screamin',
I ain't hoppin' up and down like my feet was on coals.
I'm quiet, quiet, cool and quiet,
And I'm the most alive out of all o' them,
Livin' and just so **** happy
'Cause you are my livin' water
And I love you.

ORLA Oct 2012

Conundrum

I would love to write a poem on Nature,
My Romanticist tendencies ache
To ponder, in verse, the meaning of life
As reflected on the face of a lake.

I would love to write a poem on History,
An epic that sprawls every age,
Which narrates the tales of the heroes of old
And the magnificent wars they would wage.

I would love to write a poem on Religion,
And debate the existence of Heaven,
Expound on the seraphs and the names of the stars,
And the numerical meaning of "seven".

I would love to write a poem on Anything;
Any one of the former would do.
But, for some reason, I'm unable to write
About anything other than you.

ORLA Oct 2012

Pagan Equinox

Eight times a year I go barefoot to wish upon the moon.
I leave my sterile religion folded neatly in my bedroom closet
And go hunting for fairies in my nightgown,
Following druid shadows across the sloping midnight lawns.

ORLA Oct 2012

Dr. Suess Did It With Fish (A Short Treatise On Love and Socks)

Fake love, true love, red love, blue love,
***** love with cherries on top.

Love is a four letter word - like a curse.
"****, ****, ****, ****, love."
Go put your wishing-well penny in the swear jar.

Love is like pasta,
A flavor-holder for tomato gravy adjectives:
"unconditional", "passionate", and "infinite".
I'll take mine al dente.

You're not "in love", you're "on love",
Because cloud nine gets you higher than *******,
But you fall harder when you come down.

Why write about love?
Why not write about socks?
I'm sure they're almost as universal.

They sure hurt less.

Except when one gets lost in the dryer
And you are left wondering
What you did to make your left sock hate you.

ORLA Oct 2012

Caffeinated Wishes Just Before One

I'm jumpy, sick. It's one in the morning:
two cups of coffee and your eyes
are keeping me awake.

You were watching me and
I was watching you tonight,
but then you left in silence.

I wish I could read you.
There are so many things to wish for,
like better grades and smaller noses,
money, fame, and peace on earth.

I wish that somewhere out there,
beneath the pale moonlight,
sunshine on my shoulders made me happy,
and I could fly, I could fly, I could fly . . .

Sleep? No thanks, I'll sit here,
under blinking fluorescent lights
and type bad poetry into this box.

(No copyright infringement intended regarding the published lyrics referenced in this poem.)

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