Poem of the Week
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* hey kids... i found some old scratch paper poetry while cleaning my house. i wrote this on november 14th, 2000 on galveston island. i was nearly two years into a tumultuous relationship and was simply scratching out words. i haven't read this in five years. it's amazing how feelings come back to you when you read how you were feeling so long ago... *
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I open my hands in blessing.
The pushing and turning of water,
white and clear,
plants of the sea like red
veins on the surface-
My arms open to feel your
reaction.
A possibility now.
Possible that you do love me.
I came here alone,
burned my feet on a
melting sidewalk,
each step torturous, but
closer to the sand.
I came here alone
to open my hands in blessing.
to bless the sea,
to bury my toes in
the cool sand
and absorb your might.
To close my eyes and
see your face,
see every vein on the
surface of your skin.
Possible that you're thinking of me.
Possible that during class
you're thinking of my veins,
my open arms,
the beating of the sea
recharging my empty soul
to pull and push you into my life.
Possible that a storm moved these waves.
Something thunderous and
deadly to run and slam
these waters,
to beat energy up through
my buried toes.
Maybe we'll have storms too.
What is the sea with no storm?
No beating?
No boy on the beach?
What am I without you?
- Tuesday, March 28, 2006 untitled
* i wrote this poem on july 14th 1994 at 2:13am in broadripple, indianapolis.*
I journey every eve-
every day
to escape and
fill my presence with souls.
I speed like blood
and arrive like Apollo-
On days like these
I am wonderful,
like a kangaroo,
I am a tidal wave
washing my thoughts
ashore-
Rolling over sandy days
and listening to shells
that say,
"Stay, please stay,"
and I go home
awaiting tomorrow
like Christmas Eve
and do it all again
in a giant vein.
- Monday, March 20, 2006 untitled
* i wrote this on february 10th, 2005. it was one of those nights at the cafe where words were being written as fast as i could keep up with my brain. *
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If you close your eyes
(which are invisible to you now)
you can feel this round planet cruise.
You can feel the volcanoes giving birth
to new land, gods, and heat.
You can feel the ground split
and wrinkle like old skin.
You can sense the trees erupting
and spitting pollen.
You can sense new storms
conjuring havoc and reclaiming
lands once sturdy.
If you stand with your head back
and eyes focused on stars,
you can feel us traveling away,
traveling closer, stretching apart
from Sirius, and growing closer
to Alpha Centauri.
Stretching. Pulling. Closer. Farther.
Nevermind your feet.
They are dead to you now.
They may carry you to islands
and penninsulas, airports, and
city streets,
but they will not speak to you
of that dark, overhead, sparkling
movement and growth.
They have enough to do.
- Friday, March 10, 2006 poem of the week archives