You said that you loved me
Last january
We stood outside covered in snow
I remember feeling happy
All of february
When we went for long walks in the cold
The wind was so harsh
Until we entered march
and the sky slowly changed from white to gold
It was very painful
when you left in April
Off to see the world a new way
and I waited for you
Every second of May
Looking up and down the road all afternoon
and the joy in my heart
When you came in June
Slowly faded with every lie
I barely recognized you in July
You asked for time to adjust
I gave you all of august
It passed in a confused blur
In September I saw you with her
Sorrow took me over
All of October
Losing you while wanting to remember
Having flashbacks all of November
The cold came back, more falling snow
In December I decided to let you go
You said you loved me
Last January
and I´ll never forget it I swear
Now I know love is never forever
A lot can change in  a year

March was the month that she was gone, and you weren't.
I was here and she wasn't.
And I'm sitting next to you in class, trying to pretend that I don't know that this is wrong.
But you know me better than that.
We hold hands while she's missing you.
We make plans because she's currently not kissing you.
And I'm dreaming.
And you're falling.
Or maybe I'm dreaming that you're falling.
Just for me.
You don't know what a night I've had.
My eyes vomiting tears into tissues because of your smile.
March was the month that you decided that maybe I was worth a little more of your time, and I wanted to throw away every clock in the world so you couldn't keep track.
We played games like little kids, we were just a never ending game of tag.
Chase me, I want you to chase me this time.
I keep tripping over my thoughts about you.
You make me never want to get up.
Let's fill the holes of what could've been with laughter excreted from lovesick lungs.
If oxygen cost money, I would buy your love instead.
March was the month that we both forgot the world.
March was the month that I forgot I was the other girl.
Now I can't help but to think about what she would do, if she knew,
Just how much
I wanted you.
March was the month that I remembered that you were my forbidden fruit.
My fifteen minutes of fame was up.
March was the month I knew, that by April, March's love, would be dried up.

Written by Alyssa Szczelina
4-18-15

I feel like there is rocks in my aorta
There is sediment blocking my capillaries
There is pebbles filling my lungs
There is sand irritating my eyes
There is gravel eroding up my esophagus
There is a landslide coming out of my mouth
There is an earthquake rattling my stomach
There is a boulder weighing down my mind
There is a hole in me no mountain can fill

My mind sings the same
Peaceful songs of Spring Winds.
My thoughts slur drunk on this
Ectasy non alcoholic daybreak
Cloud cover morning
Olive umbrella angelic
Above my dizzy head full of
Music and imagined rhythms.
Slow and sleepy I pass by people
With fogged samsara desires material
Illusory physical elation temporary and unrealized lives littered with impernance they go for the quickest fix for their ocean scale emptiness.
My feet tread clouds and sidewalks both,
My ears hear voices and the enchanting hidden hysteria of life both.
My day is sadness and enlightenment both.
I accept the frailty of my flesh and momentary flash existence of this planet and other planet and Janet the Janitor of nowhereland the books in my bedroom the growing hair on my head this March and next March the midnight coffee in my cup and daisy growing outside the dry cleaner down the street. I accept it all with adoration for the simplicity of living and the Babylon sprouting inside my soul my lungs my heart.
Bus truck semi truck Cadillac station wagon pour in metallic blur beneath solace sunlight, everybody is as happy and hollow as I am though perhaps less content with that circumstance.
God is the conceptual flower in you and me
We dance,  its fundamental I realize now to keep on dancing and keep on laughing.  Else the world be swept in nihilistic tendency and we become outlived by
Our fears.

there's an ache in my chest
in between all of our ribs

for sunlight kisses
and the warm wind's breath
on my neck

It was a Sunday afternoon when I
went for an impromptu drive,
keeping my foot on the gas and snaking
among the one-ways and the
downtown traffic as I
made my way to the river.
I put the heat on
ever so slightly just so
I'd be warm enough to roll
the windows down and feel that
fresh spring air on my face.
I wore my retro hat backwards,
and my Raybans covered my eyes,
my cool demeanor and slouchy posture
in sync with the steady rhythm of the
90s hip hop booming through my
speakers.
I watched the sun as it made love to
the river's chop, and
I snuck a glance at the stolen kisses
the green grass shared with the
tall trees on the shoreline.
Beautiful yellow and purple buds
splattered the bushes like
Impressionism,
thick dabs of color that all blended
into a beautifully disorganized
vision of the season of
rebirth.
I sprouted wings and flew outside
my body as I inhaled
pollens and flower nectar,
as my skin reddened under the
bright sunlight,
my self got lost in the time and space
continuum that swallowed me
like ground swallowed up the last
traces of snow, replacing my ground
with the warmth and
rebirth that spring always brings
after a long winter.

Wake up early,
with the mess hair curly,
face blur and silly,
speak out loudly.



Going to school by Rapid,
dont want to be stupid,
the test were repeat,
cause shy to ask and speak.

‘Twas the start of March Madness,
And all through the land,
People sat by the TV
With pencils in hand.

The committee had chosen the teams with great care
And everyone hoped their Alma Mater was there.
The teams were selected and placed into regions
With top seeds rewarded for having good seasons.

Badger fans from Wisconsin were
All dressed in Red
With Final Four visions
Dancing  ‘round in their heads.

Kentucky fans claimed
(As they most always do)
The Championship would go
To their Wildcats in blue.

The Blue Devils from Durham
Were also quite hot
And the Duke fans were certain
They would win the top spot.

‘Nova fans were excited; their hopes are alive!
Remember the upset?  1985
An 8-seed back then, this year they're a One!
Villanova Wildcat fans are sure to have fun! xxxxxxx already done.

Now the ‘play-ins’ are over.
But I’m not sure who won
Doesn't matter, the winner
Will be trounced by a One.

I, with cold beer and my bracket,
Settle down in a chair
I’ve picked all the games
Now I’ll see how they fare.

Now Badgers, Now Boilers,
Now Hawkeyes and Bucks,
On Hoosiers, On Hoyas,
On Shockers, and Ducks
Go Flyers, Go Sooners, Come On Musketeers!
Go Cardinals, Go Cowboys….   Gonna need some more beers.

Then all of a sudden arose such a clatter
On the tube Sir Charles was starting to chatter.
“I’m the Round Mound of Rebound, - there’s no one like me!”
“Watch all my commercials, NCAA on TV!”

From Thursday through Sunday
On to Sweet Sixteen,
Elite Eight, Final Four and
All the games in between.
The nation is watching from East Coast to West
Which of the 60+ teams will be best.
With OTs and upsets and a blowout or two,
I am glued to the TV and
I’ll bet so are you.

I closed my eyes for a second, and then fell asleep

But was quickly awakened by my doorbell's loud beep,

And what, to my wondering eyes should appear?

But Sir Charles himself;
 And he asks for a beer!

"I'm not a role model, I just like to dunk.

I took a look at your bracket, and
Most all your picks stunk!"
I turned to ask him to fix it,
But he'd disappeared.
Yes, Sir Charles was gone,

And so was my beer!

Now my bracket is busted,
I’m all out of beer
Merry Madness to all,
I will see you next year!

"A Visit from St. Nicholas", also known as "The Night Before Christmas" and " ' Twas the Night Before Christmas" from its first line, is a poem first published anonymously in 1823, and later attributed to Clement Clarke Moore, who acknowledged authorship in 1837.   from Wikipedia.

Unfortunately, Mr. Moore never had the chance to experience March Madness.  :-)

antlers
fourteen points
cernunnos stirs
while the daffodils
reach their thirties
orderly routines
-
stones start skipping
replete potholes, puddle-filled
paving the way
capsizing axles
-
sipping steam from fog clouds low-hanging
not really minding that my shirt is wet from the concrete