"dorms" poems
I've looked bad but felt good
I've looked good but felt bad
I've looked bad and felt bad
I've looked good and felt good
I've failed so many times I can't count
I've learned so much I can't find individual moments
I have gradually increased
But I am finding myself
I am finding the confidence to strut out of my dorms like I'm walking on the runway
I have found myself so sad my body has become immobile
I am growing stronger
Physically. Mentally. Spiritually.
I am finding God in the most random moments, but when I do it is glorious
I find myself alone too often
I find myself feeling alone too often
I find myself hiding too often
I'm ready to let my potential loose
And become the lion I am meant to be
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 9:09 PM UTC
I have longed for this year since fourth grade
When I learned what a val-e-dic-tor-ian was
And realized I wanted to be one.
I have longed for this year since I was fifteen
And wanted to leave home
Go out and explore the bigger world
Free of parents and noisy siblings.
I have longed for this year since my first college tour
And I saw the hubbub
The libraries, the labs, the dorms, the giant sweatshirts
And noticed how small and quiet my high school was.
We picked out caps and gowns
Red
We lead the pep rallies now
The loudest yet
We're taking physics, and calculus, and the SATs
Feeling scholarly
We picked out how our names appear on our diplomas
First M. Last
We have our licenses
Drive to school
We fill out college applications endlessly
And endlessly...
We picked our prom theme
Great Gatsby
We're getting lazy very quickly
Senioritis
Graduation keeps us going
Graduation is the goal
Graduation is the light at the end of the tunnel
Graduation in June
Graduation in red polyester
Graduation in the sun
Graduation is the end
But wait.
Hold up.
Stop.
Stop.
STOP!
Seven more months with you?
You, who I've stared at for four years?
You, whose smiles make my day?
You, whose face I look for in crowds?
You, who are the most amazing person I've ever met?
You, who I haven't even asked out?
You, who have no idea who I feel?
You, who might by some miracle possibly feel the same way?
You, who I'll regret never making a move with for the rest of my life?
You?
Seven. Months.?
HOLD UP SENIOR YEAR SLOW DOWN GRADUATION THERE'S A BOY.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
These golden sunglasses
Appeared on my doorstep
The last day of
The spring semester,
Sitting in a plastic pumpkin.
They weren’t mine
But when they break
I get them fixed
And when they don’t sit straight
I keep them
Because they remind me
Of how finals were over
And I slept through so many goodbyes.
The night before
We lay in your room
Sounds flowing through us like
Waves in the ocean,
Then moved to the grass outside
Watching more shooting stars than I could count.
The wood by the dorms was dark
And we ventured in in fits and starts,
The shadows of authority figures
Dancing around us.
The gazebo was silent.
And we journeyed across campus,
A pilgrimage through abandoned constructions
To see the church alight in the dark,
But the power was out and it was nothing.
I woke up in the afternoon
And knew that spring wouldn’t be back
For us.
The sunglasses weren’t mine
But someone left them at my door
And I keep them.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
Twas the night before finals
And all through the dorms
Not a student was sleeping
Not even a nerd
Everyone sat with their books
And their coffee
Cramming until they
Thought they would burst
When 4AM struck
A sigh could be heard
As finally the students
Put down their heads
For at this point in time
Not a **** did they give
For an A or an F
It didn’t matter
Unemployment was inevitable
And sleep was a given.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
Weekdays - we wear cattle trails into the green-space because
They taught us the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.
They told us to stay in school.
We made ourselves fit into the small boxes with bunk beds
Like the kind we always wanted as kids.
Now we nod to the cement snaking around the dorms - residence halls -
and erode the grass underfoot, single-minded.
Weekends - we stumble-snake on sidewalks because
They give us a straight line to follow back to our boxes.
They told us to get involved in the community.
We let ourselves spill outside our borders and backpacks
Like our cattle trails will fill out overnight.
Now we laugh at the cement moving in waves - or staying still -
and breathe on the stars, multi-minded.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 9:11 AM UTC
By Joseph Childress
I have a few free words
To say
Before I'm closed off
In Pelican's Bay
Unnatural Life
An imprisonment threat
To society
With a promise
Kept
Behind steel cages
The metal ribs dishearten soul
Confined solitary
On compounds
That house double dorms
Of noise and solitude
Silently roaring
In a single cell
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
I won't remember the parties
Or the school events
Or the games
Because I never went to them
But this is what I will remember
I'll remember the late nights of homework
And having to wake up early the next morning
And being exhausted in my 9am class
I'll remember the stress that ate my *** alive
To the point where I would cry for 10 minutes straight
And then get back to work like it never happened
I'll remember having an anxiety attack after leaving my professor's office
Because she made me feel stupid about how I wrote my speech
And the moment I stepped outside
I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding
Then, I started hyperventilating and crying
I'll remember working out in the gym
Because according to my doctor I was obese
And well exercise is a great stress reliever
I'll remember losing my grandfather my junior year
And being so sad and depressed that some days I wouldn't even go to class
And having to go home for the first time and see him not there
I'll remember going through a break up the summer before my junior year
And having my ex try to gain my trust so that he would get another chance
Still confused on whether I should or shouldn't by the way
I'll remember growing closer to some of my friends
And some of my friends distancing themselves from me
And barely spending time with my friends from home
I'll remember contemplating on dropping out
Or going to another school
Or trying to make my other dreams come true
I'll remember being in the financial aid office more times than I can count
Because I'm paying out of pocket for my education
Student loans, Pell grants, and financial aid
Still isn't enough to cover my tuition
I'll remember being moved off campus into smaller dorms
Sharing a room with my best friend
And fighting off creepy crawlers and critters that found their way inside
And missing classes because transportation either ran late
Or didn't come at all
Who knows what else I'll remember
Not done with college yet
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
I was not passionless, you were my passion, as much as it may sound like a glorification or romanticization. As much as it may have scared you that I may have been in love with only the idea of you.
But the proof was undeniable, those two years were based off more than just an idea, it was something more, a feeling, it was life. You were my life, literally.
You were one of the few things that kept me alive at the time, when I was so terrified of death. With those nights we first spent together, on the golf course, holding hands, and watching that shooting star fall. The nights we would spend in my room just you and I, how I asked if I could lay on your chest, those heartbeats I heard were of the calmest moments in my life. The hours and hours of videogames we would play together, laughing. The things we would watch together as we ate away at what seemed like was our problems. The feeling of your cold floor as I'd walk barefoot to make us tea in your dorms, when I'd lay in bed with you, how cold my feet were as they touched yours, how cold they no longer were after.
And now that it is once again cold, I can't believe that it was only romanticization, regardless of my claims of being a hopelessly romantic writer, I refuse to believe that. That warmth was not a lie.
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
I viewed our pictures,
Our visual memories,
And felt the chill
On the back of my knees,
of that cold winter morning,
Where the dorms were cold,
and classes cancelled,
and we walked out in the snow,
near knee deep,
and photographed the children playing.
Where we ran into Snowstorm,
Shivering in his sweatpants,
While doing the same as we.
So we drank our whiskey,
warmed by our hot apple cider,
and hot cocoa with schnapps,
While you viewed my photos,
Telling me,
“they’re your best you’ve done,
I love you,
I’m cold, let’s warm up
Like lovers do,
On winter nights.”
And convinced each other
We’d be the ones to hold
One another tight when
Our lives ever got out of hand,
To this cold again,
Together.
And with lights fading,
And buzzes deflating,
At last you told me,
Those pictures weren’t
As good as I meant them to be.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
I grew up
reading books about
boys
who say things like,
"You're so beautiful,"
or
"God, I can't believe
I've never known you
before"
and they kiss the girl
and they fall in love
and maybe there's a struggle
somewhere in the middle
but everything is
o k a y
and in the moments after
hearing how beautiful
and wonderful
and amazing
she is,
the girl is happy,
the girl is loved,
the girl is l o v e d.
The last boy who told me I was beautiful
didn't listen
when i said
NO
and I sobbed in my own bed
for three nights
and I couldn't touch my sheets
for five
because it takes a long time
to get blood stains out
when you use the cheap washers
in the dorms.
The last boy who told me I was amazing
left me at five in the morning
and said he'd call
and even as he looked me in the eye,
I knew he wouldn't.
The last boy who told me he liked me
said so as he tried to push my head
in a direction I didn't want it to go
and it seems
that all of these compliments
are meant to be segways
into getting something more.
These compliments
have turned into warnings,
red lights,
get out,
get out,
he only wants you
for your body
and I don't know
how I am ever supposed
to believe someone
when they actually mean it
when all I know
is sugar-coated bullets.
I am reading a book
where the boy whispers
promises between kisses
and I realize
I have never kissed anyone in
the light
and I am numb inside
and I do not want to be called
beautiful
anymore because to me
that means I am
about to be shot.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
Your life was created
you deserve to be celebrated
Each soul is living heaven and hell
this makes many stories to tell
The wise man lives life simply
the ignorant can't even be fitting
they're so about possession
this world needs recreations
The legend gives life form
coming straight out of the dorms,
with a poetic soul to give emotion
and a rockers heart to devotion.
the man is like a shaman
yelling on stage yeah man!
with the smell of marijuana in the air
there is no time to spare,
Give in to the alternate reality
where its nothing but being happy
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
Do you remember Mexico?
How old were we then, twelve?
That place was so loved
It smelled like dust and slow-cooked beans
We caught a toad
We painted dorms
El Sauzal, the willow, the willow
A beaten-up concrete playground
Bright, yellow sun
Red, sticky Fanta
Worn-in smiles adjusting to the smell of strangers
I fell in love with a Mexican boy
We didn't even play soccer together
Watched a movie in a language neither of us spoke
Climbed trees with leaves that needed a rake
Cleaned a nursery room
Told scary stories around a red campfire
Letting the world seep into our veins
Saw the dolphins when we camped at the beach
Named and re-named the tick-ridden dogs
The water was wetter
The air was headier
The sun shined more unrelentingly, more heavenly
The blisters harder-won
The rain more of a blessing
The life so much more tangible and delicious
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 7:34 AM UTC
There’s a bus station inside of me
My emotions are always on time
But my actions are arriving later than ever
I’m the punk kid in the corner of the 23
Trying to escape home
When really,
I’m the elderly lady, nervously riding the 26
Trying to find her way back home.
Home.
We wander aimlessly around university boulevard
Pretending like we are college students
Knees shaking like my 3rd grade hands when
Dad taught me how to play poker
Growing up is a gamble
Except you have nothing to bet,
But everything to lose
College is a card game,
but missing some of the 52’s
And the 21’s,
barely 18’s
The first time I got blindingly drunk
We were all just 18, just graduated
and we were drinking like it was
going to be our last drinks
We said “I love you”
Like we were about to be sent to war
Society, war field
Knowledge, machine guns
We said “I love you”
Like we were ghost
We never were so able
to see right through each other like we did that night
We grew up hearing the scary stories
Of our battered haunted houses
"Love."
It wasn’t the tequila talking
But courage we found in fear
Fear that our mother’s would
**** us if she knew what we were doing
*
growing up*
We stay up late in the dorms
spewing our dreams out of reality
I learned at a lecture once
That when galaxies form,
Masses spew out of control
Smashing into each other
until millions years later,
They find their orbit
We’re becoming ourselves in the most
violent of ways
Smashing into things until
we get it right
One time, I saw a toddler on the bus
Peeling off his own scab
In all his gore and glory
He held it up in pride,
"Look ma!"
its amazing, that any age
We find new ways to make ourselves bleed
Just to make sure we’re still human
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
Every night I brush my teeth,
I lift up the blankets that hang over the side of my bed
and hesitantly peek underneath.
I sigh with relief.
No monsters tonight. I tell myself.
My finger lingers on the switch that turns the night light on.
Part of me knows I’m being irrational.
There is no good reason for a grown *** man to be afraid of the dark.
I tell myself, in my father’s voice.
But there’s a part of me, much deeper, underneath the fear even,
that enjoys playing this game.
It makes me feel young again.
It reminds me of a time before dorms, term papers,
bosses, deadlines, and death - looming eerily in the distance
Getting closer every year that I look over my shoulder,
before we learned that life wasn’t meant to be enjoyed,
only suffered and survived.
A time before the march toward Oblivion, in funny looking suits,
with high hopes that we can trick someone into thinking that we belong here
In this grotesque parade of strangers in masks.
I hide under my covers with a flashlight and old comic books.
Holding back laughter, with imaginary fear of waking the ghosts of my parents
who I often thought of sleeping in the other room,
just like they did before they died,
One of old age, the other in a mid-life crisis motorcycle accident,
Leaving me the empty house with her romance novels
and his extensive **** collection.
I remind myself that I have work in the morning
which quickly drags me down from my euphoric nostalgia.
I put Spiderman back in his plastic case
and stick him in the dresser drawer
full of all my guilty pleasures and memories of yesterday.
I then remove my mask and crawl under the bed,
where no one thinks to look for us anymore,
and drift into fantasies full of all those familiar faces
of my Neverland.
Dec 20, 2009
Dec 20, 2009 at 6:02 AM UTC
I eagerly await another day of attempting to meet new people.
Students amble through our campus, up and down the hill,
Listening to music, staring at the ground, or caught up in their head,
Past a new potential friend: me.
I’ve got my friends, ones of the highest quality,
In the city, just half an hour north of me.
I don’t see them much, though, and I have no way to leave.
We can’t speak much, either; they’ve got jobs and loves and lives.
So, to maximize my social potential, I put myself to work.
I’ve mastered the art and science alike of socializing;
“Use this register”; “smile at this distance”; “speak to listen, don’t wait to talk”.
Studying it all extensively to figure out what’s best.
They’re everywhere, I hear, in the dozens, maybe hundreds.
Folks just like me: trying to overcome the awkward and build a bond.
So where are they all, and why do my paintings remain unseen?
Why do my endless chemistry attempts produce no reaction?
Well, a girl said “hello” in the stairwell as I headed for my dorm.
She smiled, seeming to be one of few to acknowledge my attempts.
Just a friendly gesture, sure, yet I think of it often, her unaware of its value.
I cross paths with many daily, yet I’ve seen no interaction like it since.
I let my confidence carry me toward new opportunities and situations I desire,
Yet, whenever I go to approach them, something nags at me.
A hand that pulls me back; a wall that stops me in my tracks.
It’s Anxiety, and he’s back, worse than ever.
Within this conundrum lies a great irony; a twist that tears at my conscience.
The closer I get to making friends, the tighter Anxiety’s grasp grips me.
“No, what if your words are taken wrong?”. “The bond won’t last.” “...But your eating…”
The reward, even if achieved, seems not to be without caveats, he claims.
He’s right; at a distance, I am safe; nobody can see me struggle to eat,
Yet this sentences me to suffer the animosity of my esophagus in solitude.
I am shielded from criticism, watchful eyes, and the projections of my mind,
Yet I am my most isolated in the most social of the places I’ve ever lived.
So, I eagerly await that new day of attempting to meet new people.
Fellow loners who walk ‘cross pathways, through buildings, and to their dorms.
Cradling their digital safety net in-hand, perhaps fearing what I fear,
Past their new potential friend.
Jan 31, 2025
Jan 31, 2025 at 8:41 PM UTC
2/20/2015
"*Lust too is a jewel
a sweet flower and what
pure happiness to know
all our high-toned questions
breed in a lively animal.*"
Adrienne Rich
So these days i find myself
scouring the somewhat stolid sure shores of
of seeming lust, which Adrienne Rich says is a jewel.
I don't see it
this lenten weekend.
I didn't give anything up,
maybe i'd switched from walking out of dorms into
walking out of cars, right? I laugh as I say this, not really ready
to say I am empty since I was taught to never lie and I do not feel this
after all,
More like a solid breathing discomfort at the squelching snow
on my solid leather workman's boots
lighting a cigarillo with a spark lighter and wondering what
you're up to.
My love's not so easily gained, i'd written once in a diary entry
and I suppose maybe it isn't,
but maybe it is the weather because
things didn't go as fast as I had liked this past
baptismal season but they still seemed fine.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
if i could say that i wanted to go to college
i would also tell you that i want the obscene white lighting in the dorms
the sticky notes on the doors
the toothpaste on the bathroom mirror
and the hair on the floor.
i want the dry-erase boards
with the list of rules
for the kitchen
(because college girls
are nasty *************
and let **** mold all over the place)
i want the plastic bowls
and the old coffee cups
and the rugs that smell like dead popcorn.
i'll even take all the cliches
all the girls in ugg boots and yoga pants
all the weird kids who follow you and talk to you all the way down the hall
the ****** professors
the too-hard classes
and the cafeteria food
i want to go to ******* college.
a real one
a four-year school
i want to live in the ******* dorms
i want to be out on my own.
baby wants to be
a college baby
baby is tired
of being a piece of ****
i wish i wasn't
trapped
here
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
Horror floats on the air
colliding with our ears in spurts,
the news of African strife, sounding
like sticks on a snare drum, threatening
to burst the comfort zone
of our drive home from church, so
we stop at the store to buy milk
and eggs and flour.
147 souls lost:
Girls in a school
trying to grow
to learn
to change
Kenya.
Terror awoke them in their dorms.
A broken voice of a dead girl’s father travels
through the radio to Nebraska,
*I called
and called
my daughter,
and finally
found
a computer
and
saw
her
name
on
the
list
among
those
shot
first.*
Turning the radio dial down,
We are holding hands
in silence.
One of us suggests we bake banana bread
when we get to our home.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
I'd like to tell a true story to you, dear readers. It's not exactly a nice story, but it's one I've only told to a few, so I think the time has come to make it public, especially since I know that the only person involved that would read it is me. This is a story that has changed my life, for good or ill, some experience that curdled my perception of how the world I live in works.
One night, years ago, I wound up at a house party in beautiful St. Augustine, and I was sober when I got there, very late, as I had promised to be the dd. But, we walked from the dorms back to Riberia Street, so I had no responsibilities once we got there. So, while drinking and partaking of other choice substances, I met the now famous Emily, she who I first started really writing for, she who set me free from some pointless idea of what was necessary. Dear God she had perfect ******* and could kiss like French writers wished their wives or lovers could kiss. I fell in love with her that night....and also was wounded at the same time.
Emily had three friends, a Latina from Miami called Natasha ironically, a White girl from up North named Lauren Ruotollo, and another chick from up that way who introduced herself as Kiki. I was in the middle of a conversation with Emily, when I had to *** So, naturally I walked off the porch and did my business on the side of that house, and while standing there I looked to my left and saw a random dude shoving his thing into a girl's mouth propped against a tree. I thought nothing of it in that moment, and went back to talking to that perfect Emily.
What felt like hours or honestly was only minutes later, on the back porch with my tongue in Emily's mouth and my hand up her shirt, Natasha and Lauren found us; hunting for Kiki. I found her out back, not ten yards from where Emily and I were standing. She was the girl taking it hard from random ******* who left her with not even a thank you. Her skirt and ******* were racked up over her stomach, and when I picked her up, she coughed up *** all over my shirt. I carried her to Natasha's car and put her inside, yelling to God that He owed me one. Emily, Natasha, Lauren and Kiki then rolled off into the wee morning hours, and a little piece of my soul died.
I went back inside that house and couldn't find that empty piece of **** So I snorted an entire 8 ball and took off my *** covered shirt in the middle of Riberia and burned that ****** then and there.
So when you ask me why I have some problems that didn't come from the Army, I'll tell you this story.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
It’s elko noice to be back in the sprawling, claustrophobic infinity of college.
I love the energy, the hubbub, the moving-ins, the lines for everything and the freshmen’s hovering parents. We loiter, my roommates and I, sipping expensive, store-bought coffee, around the dorms, the bookstores, and shops, soaking up the frenzy.
A mom sweetly says to her overwhelmed son, “Relax,” passing-off his stress, “enjoy this, engage those five senses and take it all in.” I smiled to myself - there are at least 21 senses, like equilibrioception (balance), thermoception (for heat/cold) and nociception (pain) - just to name three. I thought, “Welcome to college kid.”
The first weeks of freshie life can be lonely - if you’re single. You search for someone to like - it can be very arbitrary and looks based. Last year, around campus, all you could see was the tops of people's faces. When everyone’s masked, eyebrows say a lot, so if you had beautiful eyebrows that went a long way - of course, hair was important too.
There’s an eyebrow studio, down below the green, where students could, as the epitome of style, get their eyebrows threaded hoping they’d look more interesting, and more bonkable. That place was booming.
Masking’s still a thing for fall ‘22 - in classrooms, instructional spaces, and high-density events - at least at first, until they see the spread - but there’s way less isolation. This semester there are exciting, new questions for potential ‘love’ interests to answer, like - “Have you ever dated any simians (monkeys)?
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 8:27 AM UTC
blood boiling
causes chills along my back
hairs rise along lanky arms
skin pale, eyes swollen and red
eyebrows furrowed, permanent expressions of hate and anger create wrinkles matching the set dad has
he's blind to the fact he's creating them on his little girl
pain is associated with the secretion of substance P, and is relieved by the secretion of endorphins
anger is associated to the spewing of your words and the sternness of authoritarian disciplines, and is relieved in a year, with college dorms and distance of 453 miles
or relieved in an instant by running away
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Is it wrong for me to want to leave? Is it wrong for me to want to go to a technical college and get away from my family? To live in the dorms and study to become a video game designer? To become something I want? I live in a small town that is definitely not like the cities. It's slow and quiet here. However, I know that my desired profession requires me to get out of here, to leave. So instead of being an idiot, I'm planning on building independence. However, my family thinks it's stupid, why go to a technical college when I'm good where I'm at? Or at least that's what they say. I hate that no matter how many times I try, they want me to be something that I'm not. I can't deal with the stress of medical life, I know that I have no patience, I prefer to do something that I'm told, I don't have the smooth cunning of a lawyer or the nerves of steel like a police officer or marine. I love video games. I want to learn it and produce my own creative ideas. I have so many of them, they could even be bestsellers. I'm a procrastinator but if it's something that I'm interested in, I believe that I can finish it way before deadlines. I'm not one to go for the money. Frankly, I believe that if you're happy and you're always struggling, then you don't need anything else. I know it's a stupid fantasy to some but I want to live out my dreams. I told my family and all they do is look at me and say it's stupid. "Why don't you be a dentist?" "Be a doctor", "money is the important thing in life". I hate that. They are just trying to use me, I believe. It's always been that way. They only want to live off of my success, they never cared about my happiness. I know that nowadays it's different. I blame the government. I'm sorry but congress is borrowing too much money, our US dollar is devaluing and debt is growing. The world already knows this. We're being laughed at as we speak. I just want to live out a dream though. I want to be happy. So is it wrong to be happy? Is it even wrong to be me?
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
1/29/2015
princeton thursday night
all out of coffee
and, sitting by wood slats of the
sad sunroom i
smile at a dead beetle
set the record down on
helen forrest and all she does it talk about
how she loves so madly
the sun sets on the west
sourland bramble downwards the cul-de-sac ridge
was in my line of sight long walks
but pulmonary bruises like the radiators
and that was in what? october? april?
no. april's too early
i close my eyes in bed and
i still hear that ****** song
enraptured i sink back and
i open again i open!
i can't afford to die or lose
same thing, just yet
i have dorms to sneak into and
cigarettes to put out,
more lifetime flatlines to complain about and
drain pipes to stand next to and
grass to sink into when it thaws and
unexpected phonecalls from past men
to receive.
month long in absentia you never called me first and now
i gotta go flip this record over, man.
stand up down the stairs off the bed
remind me not to blink for too long.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
varsity jackets,
badges of glory,
guarantees
left by old, old money.
state champions'
tendency
to wander
pass female dorms,
late at night,
reasons of, not far
beyond her.
homecoming queens,
smiles permanent,
eyes glassed,
twisted sovereigns.
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 4:19 AM UTC
... flowers and clouds, and softer things
such tenderness wherewith life begins
in stately dorms or bourgeois homes,
or utterly destitute honeycombs,
and passes from versions of innocence
into states of constant sufferance,
painted with smiles and laughs at places
also with meaning but only in traces
-in manner of fame and ranks and degrees
or heartbreak, poverty, loss and disease..
With silent craving for deliverance
from here to blissful ignorance...
we drown, float and drift onwards,
packing memories into pictures, songs, written words
- like treasures, reminders and proofs of past
we make them live longer than we last,
so we may go through them in wrinkled skins
when the counting down of days begins
to end 'up above the world so high
like a diamond in the sky...'
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC