As a man, I contemplate my thoughts just beyond the boundary of breaking waves on the shore. An endless symmetry stands before me. The ocean with its crash and calm takes any and all forms. Yet though it morphs its shape, its nature always remains. To be life and to contemplate life. A mere thought that has enchained the minds of greater men. In the grand symphony of time, we find ourselves in the 21st Century. Where there are those who postulate the Theory of Illusion. Each of our own odysseys reduced to the hallucinatory will of my brain. Tell me then, how does one illusion contemplate its own existence from within? My gaze refocuses out to the endless blue horizon, and I imagine the shape of it all. Though we take many forms, our nature prevails. Social animals some would say. I prefer a different metaphor, shepherds of knowledge. Though our collective knowledge flaunts many costumes, our true nature perseveres unfettered. Through the ages we carry all human ingenuity, meanings, and purpose inside some unspoken tome. It does not erode against the battering winds of time. It can not be sunken to the depths. It endures in this very contemplation. My wandering inquisitive mind cannot help but wonder what abstract thought will be captured in this very spot a thousand years from now. For some this conjures a mysterious existential dread, but I can only stand and smile. My mind lets me step outside the binding flow of time and watch the world unfold. Campfires under the crescent moon to villages etched out on verdant ground, and here now to the grand gusto of modern cities. Endless forms and shapes pushing towards our ultimate nature. To understand that purpose in the universe if left by our boot impressions on the mud. The cosmos is our endless ocean. Out there; waiting, for our contemplative minds to shape it.

I sit among you.
I laugh with you whenever the teachers do something funny,
But has anyone ever wondered,
Just who I am?
Just a poet, right?
I mean,
What am I doing right now?
The thing is,
I do that too.
I neglect the simple things.
I don’t know every one of you.
But I should.
Because each of you are beautiful in your own way.
I have failed to stay positive.
So, this is my confession, I guess.

I neglect the beautiful sky,
The clouds,
And the stars.
I don’t recognize the grass,
Someone should really kick my…****?
But, don’t we all?
I think it’s time I give myself a chance to move away from darkness for just a moment
I think we need to give this time of year a shout-out
This is the time for summer,
Swimming pools and tanning under the bright, golden sun.
This is a time for celebration.
I feel so glad.
It’s been a long year,
Tons of work and little cheer.
But,
This is the last poetry session,
And it’s time for my confession.
I’ve been in the dark a little too long.
And I wasn’t brave enough to sing you all a song.
But hey,
It’s almost “next year”
And this one has been good.
Imagine it,
It’s almost summertime, baby.
Lets stop being negative
For just one moment.
Lets forget about those cp’s and refocuses,
And just be happy.
We’ve made it this far.
For me, I got three years left,
But if my brother taught me anything,
It’s that I will survive.
He’s in the military,
And I’m at school
If he can do it,
Than I can too.
It’s time to celebrate guys.
Time to celebrate each other,
The year,
And the life ahead of us.
Its time to celebrate our girlfriends and boyfriends,
Best friends and teachers.
The seniors and their achievements.
This is the time of year
To remember all that we have fought for.
The sun is shining,
Someone somewhere is smiling.
So let’s give this year a big bow,
As we walk away from the school
For another two months.
Lets hear it.
For the last poetry slam.
Yep, this is it.
(rip paper)
This is your, our
Shoutout.

my vision blurs and refocuses around the sight of tamed blue fire. i am waiting for the low wheezing sound of the kettle as my mind wanders everywhere i wish it not to go. there was always tea ready for me at my therapist’s office; i think that’s where it started. we used to talk about my parents a lot, me and my old therapist. i remember telling her this one time: I love like my dad. I rage like my mom. she asked me to elaborate and i couldn’t give her much more to write down in her little notepad. i wish i’d said something about how sometimes i wish oranges could grow out of apple trees.

this is one of those days. every move i make has been pre-programmed. i grab a mug from the cabinet. i place it down on the counter. i am trying very hard not to cry. the teabag bobs to the surface so i stick my trembling finger in the water, i drown it until skin turns red and sore, and i’m thinking, You know, maybe I’m not so above it all (hurried whispers, clashing teeth, the hesitant theatre we make out of our long-starving hands). Maybe i need it, very badly. but then again, i’m not bad at being in love; it’s the being loved part that always gets me.

it's funny, isn't it? the paralyzing, nauseating threat of requited affection. funny if you’re the dissector and not the dissectee, that is. ****, but isn’t that what we all want? to be seen? for someone to finally notice everything we love about ourselves and love everything we hate about ourselves? would i not rather see myself through the reflection of your eyes than my own, unforgiving? sharp bathroom LEDs can’t ever beat half-dark and candlelit. see, i know that much. but such is life. some people will walk towards the light and some people will run from it.

from the bottom of my cup, the teabag stains clear water a dark, muddy brown.

All summer long
Magnolias, Cherry Blossoms
Sweet Pears and Wisterias
Gracefully dip their delicate limbs down
Shaking off soft flower petals
Happily sharing fruit with those passing by
Who gape up in awe of such generous gifts
Smooth and sweet
Their essence a beauty to behold

My place among them is peculiar
Few seedlings around here warp into my kind
A tall, looming Oak twisting skyward
Deep roots tangled so far into the earth
Hundreds of rings wrapped around my spine
So when the late August storms and brutal winters roll through
I cannot bow, my branches barely bend
By now they've known worse and are ready

As we shake off a recent rain
One Willow whispers to another
I swear it's like she never moves.
Some Laurel chimes in
Yeah I know, but good God
I'd rather break in half at the next breeze
Than end up like her right?

Feigning indifference
I begin to take stock of my leaves
Musing at the first few auburn brush strokes
Autumn has just left in my hair

The next morning, I wake to an unexpected quiet
Since when do the robins sleep in?...
My vision refocuses, and there he is
Beautiful, confident, intently gliding along the overgrown length of trail
Guiding him until he’s just a few feet in front of me

You must be joking, I think to myself
I see the axe resting on his shoulder
Perfectly content to barely balance forever  
Between his palm and the base of his neck

Only an idiot would...
He just keeps staring up at me
Why would he even want to…
But just then, hearing my thoughts
He drops the axe, soft earth willingly parts to receive its sharpened blade,
Presses a callused hand to my gnarled, scarred bark and
Leaning in closer so I can feel the heat of his breath on my chilled skin
He whispers, Because you are beautiful

And with that, I am suddenly rooted in sand,
The world slips away from beneath me
While the rest of the forest silently bears witness
To my great fall

Autumn brings rebirth
The closing out of summer
And the renewal of the cycle
Signifying a time of regeneration
With cool, crisp golden mornings

Faster time paces
As the days grow slightly shorter
And momentum challenges
The fledgling generation
To rekindle itself anew

No more a time of consumption
Or empty days of dreary longing
But a momentary highlight
That expunges the emblematic
And erases the scars of lassitude
And lethargic days that summer brings

The bounty of fall’s beginnings
Fills trees with yellow splendor
And refocuses the thirst that redefines
The topography of the soul

No longer the empty moments
Of fantasies forgotten
That sorrows never cling to
And time alone can’t quell

Only the rebirth of autumn
As the harvesting of last year
Cleanses fields and forests
Making way for new born buds
That reveal through empty spaces
Left by falling embers
Of things that are best forgotten
And glories yet to come

Autumn brings rebirth
The closing out of summer
And the renewal of the cycle
Signifying a time of regeneration
With cool, crisp golden mornings

Faster time paces
As the days grow slightly shorter
And momentum challenges
The fledgling generation
To rekindle itself anew

No more a time of consumption
Or empty days of dreary longing
But a momentary highlight
That expunges the emblematic
And erases the scars of lassitude
And lethargic days that summer brings

The bounty of fall’s beginnings
Fills trees with yellow splendor
And refocuses the thirst that redefines
The topography of the soul

No longer the empty moments
Of fantasies forgotten
That sorrows never cling to
And time alone can’t quell

Only the rebirth of autumn
As the harvesting of last year
Cleanses fields and forests
Making way for new born buds
That reveal through empty spaces
Left by falling embers
Of things that are best forgotten
And glories yet to come