Rock step, trip-le, trip-le*
              Rock step, trip-le, trip-le

Judah bids us "Good morning!" at nine at night,
He's like Fred Astaire,
Big moves and big ears.

Dylan is late coming in,
Sliding out of his leather jacket with a sour expression -
He's too cool for this game.

Lindsey drags in the speaker system,
All goofy grins and ugly sweaters,
And she's so happy to see us.

Rock step, trip-le, trip-le

Andy with his slick moves
and slicker hair.

Matt who always smelled strange
but lost to Kevin.

Susan with her tight, swinging hips
and constant critiques.

Pete thinks he can do this,
and then breaks your arm.

Caleb concentrates too hard,
and tries not to look you in the eyes.

Josh gets bored with the basics,
deciding to breakdance instead.

Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
                Rock step, trip-le, trip-le

And after an hour of being passed from one lead to the next
Like a hot potato,
And then standing with your back against the basement wall
During the free-for-all,
You decide you rather be studying algebra
and leave.

Lindsey waves goodbye.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death
I will tremble and quake and hide behind couches.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures
My face is in the carpet, scratched by the wiry pile, and I can't breathe . . .

He leadeth me beside still waters
My tears roll down my face and I can't stop them or stifle the sound.

I will fear no evil, for thou art with me*
But ******* it I fear just about everything else, and most of all, losing you.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
And what good is that when I don't know if I will live through today?

Ty must have a poem written about him.
Preferably in small sentences.
With lots of exclamation points!
It should make people smile,
And introduce itself to everyone.
"Hello! My name is Poem!
What is yours?"
It will be short, like his stay,
So it should probably stop soon -
Too soon, like Ty.

I'd faithfully promised
Myself and my friends
That all this was over
And I'd reached the end
Of my fawning and sighing
And tripping cloud nine -
I'd said I was finished
I'd said I was fine.

But I wasn't, you see,
And it all became clear
When I saw you again
For the first time this year:
You stood so **** near me
And smiled so wide
And shouted my name
And I melted inside . . .

I can't turn away now:
You stare so intensely,
You promise tomorrow,
And I love you immensely.
Thus, after the heartache,
The fear and the pain,
I'm back with a vengeance.
I'm back in the game.

Hello, Hello Poetry!
My name is ORLA, as you can see:
There's my little name, up there.
It's funny, see, 'cause I don't care
If my poems stink or ****
As much as does my ****** luck,
Because you'd never tell me true,
You'll trend my poems, like you do,
And make pretend it's a big deal
When - Hello Poetry, get real -
I don't deserve this great fanfare,
Me or my little name up there,
Which isn't actually my name.
I go by ORLA just the same
Because I pour my heart out here,
And don't want snooping friends to hear
How much my heart is hurt by HIM
Or how I can't stand HER or THEM . . .
I actually hate ME, to boot!
You see? Now, if I gave a hoot
About what anybody thought,
What they believed, or what they bought,
Do you think I'd let this poem get
This long and tiresome? You can bet,
I wouldn't. I'd have never written
Something when I was this smitten
With fatigue, grief, guilt, depression -
But I must end this griping session:
Goodbye, Hello Poetry!
My name is ORLA - This is me.

I know that I’m not what you want,
But here’s my shoulder now
To lean on. Break it with your weight –  
I’ll steady you somehow.

I know that I’m not what you need,
My arms can’t bear your load;
They’re weak, but look – my legs are strong!
I’ll walk you down this road.

And if we come across your monsters,
Though I can’t fight, I’ll be your shield.
And if you trip on past emotions,
I will hold you ‘til you’re healed.

Because I’m shallow, weak, and useless,
I cannot understand –
But I can listen to your stories
And I can hold your hand.

I pray God sends the person who
Will save you from your fear.
But, until you find your savior,
Know that I am here.

Two once-bittens circling the elephant in the room:
you blunder around in my china cabinet
and I hide in your church, timid as a mouse.

He says we're the two loneliest people
He's ever known.

Mincing words and little smiles
Not too much teeth
A delicate flutter of the fingers
And a calculated toss of the hair
Over a craftily twitched shoulder
Take small steps
And be sure to swing your hips -
But not too much

Dear God, the claustrophobic prison
Of tiny, perfect words and
Tiny, perfect movements
You've created for yourself!
Let me scare away every man I meet
Before I put myself in such a little box,
Easily picked up, easily toted,
. . . easily discarded.

I will be me, loud and obnoxious,
I will dance in the middle of the street,
I will wave to random passersby,
I will wear funny hats and bright red boots,
I will carry plates of food on my head,
I will laugh as loudly as I want,
And I will be loved for who I am,
Or not at all.

Everyone takes the blue pill*
What was it you said once?
Security before morality and
The necessity of self-delusions.
But here's the thing:
How do you know that the red pill
Isn't just some wild acid trip
And the blue pill is the one
That keeps you in reality?

Nothing but static.

        Twist and turn the ****
              to get a better signal.
Something?

                             I thought I heard---
Ear against the speaker.
Never mind.
                                                                      I was mistaken.
                Whatever it was,
. . . . it's gone now.

You come across as confident.
I thought you had it all together.
With your huge infectious smile
You can charm a person whether

They are just some stranger or
Someone you've never met before.

But being with you for so long
Has shown to me another side,
One that second guesses every
Action, one you try to hide

Because in truth you're insecure,
Self-conscious, timid, and unsure.

Oh, darling, how I long to tell you
Your agonies are so unfounded.
You are amazing, really truly,
All you are leaves me astounded!

And, for the record, it is your
Flaws that make me love you more.

Writer, Writer, finding stories
in every twitch of every eye ---
there are no chance encounters here!
Coincidence is banned from us,
for it does not make good books.

Cause-and-effect makes the world go round,
thus questions by millions unanswered:
why thatword, why that look,
and what crucial subtext
was inferred by that three-second pause?

Does the world work like this,
like a well-crafted novel?
Are we characters moving
to preprescribed endings?

In short, I suppose, my question is this:
            are we Writers so cursed to live in this illusion,
            or cursed to see how the world actually works?

I couldn't hide,
So I denied
That I had spied,
Cried,
Sighed,
and died
Inside,
In short
. . . I lied.

                  But I tried.