I keep seeing the image of a giant
looking down at the world
fearful to walk for crushing those
he can barely see

It comes to me
as I walk to class during the week

It comes to me
as I talk to friends on the weekend

It comes to me
as I think of anything and everything,
and for the sake of god,
I cannot shake it

It comes to me
as a whisper
nibbling at my ear
then
a *****
that burst my eardrum
telling me to
write
Write!
WRITE!

write for the sake of all that is holy,
all that you value, all that is good,
of the giant that you see in yourself,
and the ants you in see in others.

and I cower to its yelling at first,
but then I grow firmer, taller, bolder,
rising bit by bit to face the monster
living in the back of my mind

by the time I stop my growth
I am the size of sky scraper

Everest looking cowardly below
and my beast looking a microbe
at my feet.

this is when I topple

I do not aggress my shadow
for I know it poses no threat

so I fall
down
down
down
my back moving
forward
my head not seeing
where
I am to
go

I fell down
happily
hoping
for the warm covers of my bed
and a good night’s rest
to greet me

I surely did my worst
when I arrived at this place
full of opportunity
and then sat around
and enjoyed
none of it.

he wore white sneakers,
and black glasses, and
played guitar and sung
the blues

he picked each string
and hit each note and
had voice like gravel
and a heart of gold

he was old but he was
chipper, he was broken
down but he still laughed
like it was 1923

he sung to the taste of
good food, he sung to
the taste of good beer,
he sung to the soul of
his old city, and he sung
for the sake of singing
itself

he, like each man up
there, was playing for
the sake of playing.
they were a quartet
of junker cars and
busted stereos

he sung those old time
blues, back in the days
of Robert Johnson and
racial inequality, back
when the water fountains
were separate but everyone
was still chasing a dream
so uniquely American

he sings and he plays and
his guitar is just smaller
than a normal


he sings those old times
blues with a smile on his
face, even as the world
writes new songs for the
next generation of gravel-
voiced blues-singers that
seem to enjoy life just a
little bit more than anyone
else

it is good
to be afraid

there is plenty
to be afraid
of in this
world

but please

please

don’t let it *******
you

don’t hide
don’t run
don’t shut
down

simply put:
you must embrace
the fear

you must
and you must
tell others to
as well

and you all,
together,
shall be strong
enough to face the
darkness that
inhabits
this
world

and when the hour
dawns and the battle
comes to fruition

it will be the fearless
that succeed
and the meek
shall be driven
from this
earth

we face a choice
not between two options
but between what we can do
and what we must do
and I cannot tell you
which must be chosen
but you must make your decision
and stick to it

do not shy away
do not regret
the choice was made
and only the present
exists

fear not yesterday or tomorrow
worry only about today

you’re still breathing right?
still reading this poem?
still sitting in your chair?
still loving your loves?
still existing?

keep that up

keep making the choice
keep trying to be better
keep being yourself

we face a choice,
but trust yourself
to make the right
decision

and
you will.

as spring comes on the horizon
I find myself like the ground:
frozen and hard.

now that winter has been,
for so long, my world,
I am adjusted for it.

I am laid low by self-correction,
there is great pain in recreation,
as I thaw out for summer.

each year my skins cracks anew
and I wonder why there was no pain
as my colors turned dark in the fall.

boom
boom
BANG!

I see the image of a girl
pointing a gun
at my head
and at my heart

I do not know what this means
but I see her pull the trigger
over and over
as the rounds unload into me
till the twisted metal thing
makes a knowing
“click”

boom
boom
bang!

each bullet hits me
in my head
and in my heart
and in the places she shot me
and in the places she didn’t

boom
boom
bang

I do not know what this poem means
but I see the image
of a beautiful girl
without a face
holding a smoking gun
and breathing heavily over my
dead corpse.

again?
again.

going somewhere
but nowhere

having a home
but not a
house

we sleep in beds
but never rest

the dead live
better lives
than any of
us

honesty, the true and whole
expression of the being who
we actually are, is my most
key and integral tenet

I forgive the meek, the lazy,
the angry, the godless, the
misunderstood, the ignorant,
and the infirm if only they
admit to me they are those
things

+

living in a society of lies,
I have grown to value the
little grains of truth I can
mine out of this world

the reasons people are afraid
of the dark, the motivations
that drive some to attack other,
and the lusts hidden away in
trunks and drawers and dark
places are just some of the
gems I have extracted

those are too dramatic though,
they do not reflect why I value
their kind so, for they are jewels
sought out by others, for more
greedy, selfish reasons

they are my prize because
they are real. they are the
reality in room of mirrors.

they ground while the
world takes flight.

amongst them are simpler things:
true opinion, small desires, empty
thoughts, the questions raised when
the teacher turns her back, the terrors
that haunt others in their sleep, the
different paths that all minds take

these are what I seek,
what  I desire and lust
for

+

my life is spoiled, in many ways,
by the juxtaposition of possibility
with inevitability

the assumption of the later is
proved false by the first

one can never be forced to play
a game, there are always many
others, or there is always death

+

I find myself on the edge
of a blade, slowly cutting
the two halves of myself
into feuding worlds

those smart and those willing
now war against those attracted
to comfort and to chance

I stand at the center,
my form withering
as I grow

tonight, I sleep under the grey clouds,
hoping the rain will wash away the
sin

out,
out like a dragon’s sigh,
the feelings,
the killing thoughts,
the ideas,
all gone
all dust upon the wind
all no more in me.

in,
in like an ocean’s breeze,
the emotions,
the happy thoughts
the memories,
all there
all water under the bridge
all in me, for now.

there is a fire
through the fog
in the forest
as old as god

there is a breeze
which fans the flame
caressing our children
touching our dames

there is a hunter
who watches it burn,
cooking with blunder
his freshly-caught game

there is a star
that shines in the night
reflecting the fire
as a twinkling white

there is a season
when the air is so cold
that men forget treason
and together, they grow

there is an ancient fire
that through ephemeral fog
burns in the land of forests
to be seen, only by god

I took in a deep breath today,
inhaling in the cold air
of the coming winter
through my mouths
and
through my
nostrils

as the volume built within me
my chest grew

outward
outward
outward

my chest went

deep within it
a bubble of confidence
and enlightenment
floated about,
flooding my mind
with its
intoxicating
gases

the high was marvelous

the deep, if fleeting, unity
with the universe that comes
as one stands, eyes half
closed, and breathes
in the gray clouds
that seem to go on
forever

taking one last whiff
of all this greatness,
I breath out

in one short gasp
all that ecstasy escapes
as white, foggy
haze

it disappears instantly,
leaving me only with a world
in need of fixing,
one which I can only change
within the confines of my
seemingly all-powerful
imagination

rain
from
the
grey
sky
came
today
for
the
first
time
in
many
months

my
room
is
cool
with
the
new
fall
and
my
mind
is
eased
with
the
end
of
another
play

rain
from
the
grey
sky
came
today
and
cooled
the
world
and
all
of
sudden
I
seek
to
burn
with
activity
once
again

introspection
has long been
my escape
from
reality

as I sit here
gazing at the lips of flame
coming up from under
the wet log above them
I wonder why
I sit here
so alone
and
so
cold

I cannot seem to reach out

not in any good way
not in any bad way
only haphazardly
and impotently
like a snake
robbed of his
venom

I fear I cannot make a mark on this world

(if you want to control me,
abuse that fact)

I fear that I am not worthy to be remembered,
not worthy enough to even look at,
to talk with,
to be more than that ******
in the corner

even when I am the center of attention,
nobody wants to look.

I see the people across the flame
sleep comfortly
in the arms of those
they barely
know

the warmth they feel,
does not seep over to
me.

not even a smile,
not even a hello.

but I bring it on myself,
I know.

so I cannot complain.
I will not complain.

but I am still sad,
and this poem
is my only way
to get it out.

I feel the shivering of this night getting to me.
this cold world we live in haunts me, every day.

I am told
there is warmth
somewhere

and as I gaze upon
that somewhere
I have never felt more
far away from it

this
must
be
the
waters
built
up
behind
the
frozen
face
now
flyin­g
over
the
Atlantic
back
home

the troubles were gone then,
if only for a moment.
flown off towards the brilliant blue skies,
we took the time to turn up the music
as loud as we could stand
and drive as fast as we could
through those winding
Kentucky hills.

I was at peace,
for as long as I could
keep up the pace,
which turns out
was not very long
at all.

failure is like a bird
fluttering in and out my
window
singing it’s chirpings
like they were
actual music

his wings are ugly
he has scars and
his feathers are unkempt

there is failure I say
as it flies away
again

it’s not exactly bad
to see him once in a
while but lately I’ve
been seeing him a
little too often for
comfort

but life is has its risks
and if you want to see
the sparrow of success

or

the bluebird of happiness

or even

the vultures
of determination

or

the eagles of
faith

you’ve got to put seed out for all of them

so as the bird of failure
flies away into the void
I spread sunflower seed
and fruit pits hoping that
someday I will see the red
bird of love

to be chased
is the best feeling
I can think of right
now

to be hunted
that may seem bad
but try it:
feel the adrenaline
pump through your
veins and then come
and tell me it’s not
wonderful

to be wanted
because I am who I am
not for what I have and
to know that someone
cares enough to chase
me through my hoops
and ladders just to get
a chance to say “hi”

chasing
is all I’ve ever known
and I only imagine the
wonder of being chased
back

I
suppose
I
should
think
about
death

but
really,
it
barely
phases
me

I
have
it
or
I
don’t
and
when
it
comes
at
least
you’ll
have
this
foot-
print

the traveler rarely thinks
of all the molten emotion
that forged the mountain
his trail cuts so easily
across

stupid

stupid
stupid
stupid

you idiotic
little piece
of-

arg

why?

why
did you
let this
happen?

again.

love

you know
better than
to let it
happen

you know
what can happen.
what does
happen.

you know this
you know this
you know this

but you let it
happen again,
didn’t you?

when will you learn?
when will it hurt enough
to make you stop for good?
when will you realize
that you can’t win,
that things don’t
change,
that your dreams
will not be
reality?

when?
you idiot!

so sit there,
smiling like a
fool
trying to act
like you’re not
dying inside

we both know
how much it hurts

so stop!
stop sitting there
looking so happy!
so content!

she’s gone!
gone for good!

and! hey, what’s
with that gun?
why, why are
you pointing it
at me!?

forgiveness,
hear my cry,
as I writhe again
in bed
a spurning of
doubt
fresh in my
mind.

forgiveness,
see me now.
as pathetic as
I have ever
been.
I wonder if sins
really are
punished.

forgiveness,
feel my strife,
is your heart like
stone?
and cannot find
mercy for a man
over-punished?

forgiveness,
smell my fear.
a dank musk
of my being,
no number of bathes
may wash
away

forgiveness,
taste the bitterness of
me
and search your soul
to find some sympathy
and respond to me
at last

why do I hear nothing?
I cry
and still the silence
carries on

forgiveness,
has no cry,
it has a heart,
I know and remember this,
but it is not a lax
judge

forgiveness,
hears my cry,
and shows me a
stone-cold face
in the starry
night

I feel a small tingling
as new thoughts flood
my mind
I see again the boy I
once knew: successful,
happy, and forgiving
of himself

I know the feeling of the dusty toy
left near the christmas tree, and for
the moment, not needed or loved or
wanted or remembered

still hoping that one day, later in time,
my child will return to play once again
and I sit ever still for fear that if my
love comes back, they’ll wonder where
I’ve gone and give up hope far quicker
than I did

write without talking
there’s no art in that.
talk when you talk
not when you
write.

they don’t care.
they don’t, can’t, won’t hear.
because words are not a voice
and poetry is just an illusion.

the paper will feel nothing
as you tattoo your soul
on its skin.

if want to feel, touch.
reach out with your longest
arms, find something to hold
if you want that tactile release.

poetry is not the answer.
there is no catharsis in it
anymore.

forget it.

maybe if I got a girlfriend

maybe if I wasn’t doing
all this work for myself,
but for someone else

maybe then I’d do it,
work my *** off,
dig in and get it done
and be able to smile
about it at the end of
the day

because I work hard
when I think I can
succeed

I pour my heart into it,
my mind, my body,
everything

and when I do that
I’ve seen what I can
do

but presently,
I am not enough
and
no one is a real
enough goal

so I sit in thought,
wondering how to
trick myself, a boy
too smart for his
own good

I cannot change who I am
therefore I must change
who I am not

I wish I was a praying man
so that I could tell you it’s for the best
I wish I was a thinking man
so that I could give you some actual answers
I wish I was a loving man
so that I could prove that there’s still good in the world
I wish I was a better man
so that you would know it’s alright

I wish I was a younger man
that would jump up and show you the starry future
I wish I was a jovial man
that would smile and infect you with happiness
I wish I was a weirder man
that would cross my eyes and still be so pleasant
I wish I was a better man
that would make you know it’s alright

I wish I was something more to you
but I know that I still mean the world
I wish I was an answer for you
but I know that I can only help you so much
I wish I was a closer friend
but I know we both have our separate lives
I wish I was a better brother
but for now, this is all I have to give

I look into the past
seeing the wars and battles
of my fore-fathers
and my fore-mothers
and think

with every step
into the future we take
the less we want to
take a step back into
the past

then I look into the future
seeing the wars and battles
of my children
and my children’s children
and think

with every step
away from the past we take
the less we would want to
take a step into the future

then I look at this moment
sitting here, frozen in time,
half-finished poem fresh
on the screen and think

today is no different from tomorrow
and tomorrow is no different from
yesterday

frozen in time
I pray for the future
pray that the mistakes
of the past provide
no hindrance and
that the mistakes
in the future do
not hurt those
still to come
along

the poem is the line which starts it
that and the title
and the stanzas
and the word choice
and the meaning
and the message
and the theme maybe too

what is a poem?
is it best short or long?
how bout in rhythm or even in
rhyme?

what makes a poem?
is it the poet or the words?
or is it something we do
not know? That’s past us,
at least,
for now?
----
100 reads! Thanks guys! 5/9/10

you see
the problem is
you don’t
really
understand anything you
say

you preach
you lecture
you bash into the heads
of the innocent
and the uninformed
but at the end of the day
you lay at night
wondering
what any of it
means

that’s why you can’t get me

I disagree with you, yes,
but I understand what I
know and what I know I
can prove to be true

at least to me
and that’s all that
matters

but for you
the problem is that
you never thought
this stuff
up

you were told
and you nodded
in agreement
without the slightest
idea of what the hell
was going on

but you nodded,
you memorized,
you recited,
you repeated,
and now you come to my door
so sure that you are
right
that you’ve never even
stopped to wonder
why

dwelling in the teary memories,
doubts of my past and lost decisions,
I freeze as the world moves on.
even the stones of the wall
and the branches of the trees
move into the future faster than I,
so I cast aside my worried mind,
take heart that I can get past this
and jump into the snowy day
to prove my boldness correct.

you miss a lot
when it’s happening
as you hurtle through
the wonderful moments
of your life

looking back
you can see how it all unfolded

the little glances and motions,
the afternoons spent in thrift stores,
the evenings spent in movie theatres,
the conversations till the sun came up,
the jokes shared, the laughs enjoyed,
the almost, nearly, so-close chances,
they all flew by the first time around.

she’d laugh at me now
because she always knew
but I was too dumb
or too nervous
to know

(but I knew,
deep down)

and it tell the truth to you
it’s been almost four years
since I first fell in love with her
and I never stopped, not for a day

not through the cancer,
not through Christina,
not through depression

she was my core,
she was my life,
she was something I knew
I would always have,
even if I didn’t
have her,



so even if I missed some things
while they were happening
I want her to know
that I wouldn’t have seen anything
if she had not opened my eyes
in the first place

and for that,
and many other things,
I will never miss anything
ever again.

to each his own trotting legs
to each his own working hands
to each his own wizened mind
to each his own deep decisions

we are given two things
in this life:

a chance
and
a choice

in my case,
I got lucky with
the chance
but
was poor
with my
choice

so I offer myself up,
as an example

look at what can happen
look at the fat,
the pain,
the self-
hatred

fear it
fear it I tell you

remember me
and be afraid
of what can
happen to
you

down looks the eye
spiked through with
a blade of black steal
and on wings of clouds
it shall ascend into a
better place that cannot
exist for you

you want to talk about a good day?

well let me tell you then

a good day is
getting to use notes on a test
and having those notes
but not needing them

a good day is
burning stuff in chemistry
just because we need to **** some
time

a good day is
eating your lunch,
comfortly in a private space,
when all of a sudden
she
walks in
and decides,
for the next hour,
that’s it just going to be
the two of us
talking,
chatting,
and having a good
time.

now that is a good day

one that I’ll hang onto
for a long,
long
time
and my glow from it
will continue until
either
a
******
or
a
destruction

so many people,
like ants,
waiting
for god’s
magnifying glass
have made me realize
how lucky I am
to ever have been happy
to ever think I may be
happy again
and
to ever realize
that life
is something
that with a
quick mind
and
little luck
I just
might
be
able
to conquer it
at last

there is inspiration
welling
up inside me

not for art

no

not for
art

instead,
for creation

for birth
for construction
for development
for growth
for building
for adding on to
for heuristic intention
for the laying of new roads,
pathways, bridges, and towns
for the betterment of myself
and others

there is inspiration
growing
like a fire

a spark has come,
lighting the tender
thistles
in the base of my
soul

climbing up through
my legs, then warming
my belly, while passing
my heart and burning
up my fingers

it hits my mind in a rush
of emotions

I smile,
ready to pounce on
opportunity

I’m going to a play tonight
don’t know the name
but I know who made it
(Me,
in a way)

I’m going to a play tonight
one I made possible,
I proved it could be done
but this is a fire created not by me
but by the torch I handed off with a smile

go alone
my son
you can only
go alone

the simple future awaits you
the complex past can wait

go alone
my son
you can only
go alone

for in the future a kingdom waits
and in the past is purposeless nostalgia

we’re going to be in the streets
marching, singing, dancing,
we’re going to be the new generation

beating against the cars and ATMs
running amongst the faceless people
we’re going to be in the streets

like a blazing fire
like an incoming flood
we’re going to be the new generation

they will be afraid of us as we stampede
they will call us names as we ***** about
we’re going to be in the streets

when we topple them they will curse us
when we replace them they will blame us
we’re going to be the new generation

yet the world will move on as normal
and the new order will come astride
we’re going to be in the streets
we’re going to be the new generation

let it roll
let it move
let it grow
let it show

show you how to
roll
move
and
grow

let every little tingling idea
cropping up like weeds in
the back of your mind grow
and fester into something
great though not necessarily
good

let it grow
let it find its voice
let it find its way to show
the world what it
knows

we all have the seeds
but only a few possess
the will to plant them
and even fewer to let
it grow as it turns into
the monster it must be
before it can become
beautiful

let it roll
let it move
let it grow
let it show the world
let it show the world
let it show the world
what you let it do

I go down the list

rehearsal:
check

printer:
check

vacuuming:
check

­ homework:
still to do

I smile

sometimes I get a bug,
a bug to really get things
done

it usually only happens
when I’m alone (nobody
to judge or interrupt my
work) and usually when
I’m gotten down worse
than I ever have before

so I get things done

I check my list again

work hard:
check

be better:
working on it

feel good:

I, uh...

next item
please

she’s trying to study
but she can’t

there are beautiful clouds outside
and trees growing in the sun
there are people playing Frisbee
and birds fluttering in the breeze
and even just a spot on the ground
that’s a little more interesting
than the other ones

that won’t do though
her work is due in an
hour

she sits up in her chair
pulls her notebook closer
leans down, writes for a second,
then looks out the window
again

what a beautiful day
she thinks

she bites her pencil
examines her yellow nails
and looks out the window
again,
at the ground
this time

what a beautiful day,
she thinks,
but I really must get
back to work

I had forgotten
what it was like to bolt up
at three AM with the want, no,
the undeniable need,
to write
the feeling
you had at that moment
because it was all clear for once
everything made perfect sense
and you needed to take note
or else you’d forget it
forever

I had thought
I couldn’t have feelings
like this anymore
that through
growth and aging
I had become outgrown
or immune
to such strong
forces
and
yet:
here I am,
writing down
this moment of intense clarity
so that I won’t forget
that I am still human
that I am still feeling
that I am still making it
even if I felt lost for
these past few
years.

forgive yourself,
I realized,
and I had to take
note.

low

deep

soft
and
yet
cold

a
single
place
that
can
hold
only
o­ne
but
thousands
visit
each
and
every
day

the
sun
always
setting­

the
day
never
ending

the
place
we
all
know
that
we
all
hate
and
yet
love
in
a
way
that
keeps
us
from
letting
go

“hell,
is your destination.”
he says
to me
so sure in his
rightousness
that he does not
consider
his acid-throwing
even possibly
wrong

“you sinner!
you blasphemer!
you blatant and
obvious servant
of Lucifer!”

“burn,
you shall,
in the depths
of the devil’s
cavern!”

“you should know
better
than to ally with
anyone else
but Him”

“beg God,
beg Him,
for forgiveness
and maybe,”

“just maybe,”

“you might
live in limbo
or correct
yourself within
purgatory”

“confess yourself,
young sinner!
confess yourself
and be free!”

he yells to me

so what you say,
I respond,
is that
I cannot
be anything else
but hell-
spawn?

for what?

for doing what
I think is right?

for coming up
with my own ideas?

for thinking that,
perhaps,
I can be happy
without an
imaginary
friend?

“IMAGINARY?”

yes!
yes,
imaginary!
fake!
ma­de-up!
a fallacy!
an abortion
of some terrified
cave-man’s
brain!

He
is not
real
but we,
we are!

“you’re going to hell”
he muttered
under his
breath

no I’m not!
I responded
I’ll just be
dirt and
dust and
be fine
with that

what better heaven could there be?

it doesn’t feel like we're a not together
and that is saddest part of all: that
neither of us wanted this but both of
us needed this and if it hadn’t happened
god knows where we’d be today but
it’s still sad sometimes to think about
her and not feel distant but knowing
that a distance greater than any
physical measurement separates us
now forever

truth
cannot be spoken
with a silver tongue
the way a lie
can be swallowed
by a shallow
throat

that is to say,
a lie can
be swallowed down
by the dumbest of people
without struggle or
pain

but,
the best speaker,
the most eloquent poet,
will always have trouble
making others accept the truth
because no matter how perfect
or pretty you make it,
that truth is still bitter
and even a blind man
can still taste it

he walks out onto the street
pulls a cigarette from behind his ear
places it gently in his mouth
rests the garbage can
lights his smoke
and pulls the can
back to rolling position

you can only see him
by the faint glow
at the end of his cigarette
and eventually even
that is gone
and the universe goes on
as it was

Good morning America!
Welcome to another day!

feel free to be yourself
do what you want
follow your dreams
be who you want to be
but be careful now:

be sure you’re being who
you really are

and for god’s sake please
don’t do anything
stupid

or embarrass
us

oh that would be
most dreadful

but anyways-

Good morning America!
Good morning to you!

all you happy-faced,
pale-skinned,
judeo-christian
suckers

I hope you enjoy this day
exactly as we tell you
to