Tuesday, March 20, 2012


Another day, marching along in time
Like a machine, I have no choice in what my next move will be.
Repetition, repetition, repetition.
My parts are rusted, my hinges squeak
No more can I repeat, repeat.
Pieces that once shined, now black, and unrecognizable,
With bolts and screws turning loose.
Soon I'll be nothing more than useless scraps,
That will be forgotten and tossed about.


Sunday, March 18, 2012


The strings and webs that I seek after are spun by spiders that don't exist.
Or do they?
Are they invisible from only me?
Can anyone else see the quiet arachnids that exist on thought?
I can feel them creep through my brain and along my spine and out my fingers.
Their silent scuttle, the painted lines, the paths of those who have no rules.


Saturday, March 17, 2012


This is a poem written by Sylvia Plath, one of my favorite authors.
This is one of my favorite poems, too.


I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful –
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me.
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.  

Monday, March 12, 2012


Inspiration for this poem hit me while I was at work today. It was odd, because I don't normally write poems that rhyme.

Take me under your wing, she said
Teach me how to fly
No more will my soul be dead
I'll live up in the sky

The color blue will hold me there
And no more will I ache
Clouds I'll mold and fold and wear
Sunshine in my wake

Problems from the ground won't bind me
Stifling and black
Forever forward will my eyes be
I promise I won't look back

Now she stands there quietly,
With an earnest, pleading look
I wink and smile, come with me,
I'll add you to my book.

Now the evil's kept at bay
Now there's no more strife
I will give you wings, I say
I will give you life.


Monday, March 5, 2012


It's time to say goodbye again, to shallow hearts, to shallow graves.
No more will the objects of my affection be an objection.
I can now forever rest with the brimstone that resides within my brain.



Okay, so one week in poetry club, the assignment was to write a poem in a style that we weren't comfortable with.
I suck at writing love poems, so that's what I chose.
It isn't about anyone in particular, it was one of those poems where I just saw pictures in my head and described what I saw.


I'm jealous of the sun
the way it reaches down when you look up and gently kisses you on the cheek
You smile as the gentle warmth touches you, the smile that makes me smile, the guarded grin that weaves cocoons of anticipation and longing in my stomach that hatch into dark grey butterflies that travel to my brain once you leave, and land softly on branches of my thoughts

I'm jealous of the music you make, the guitar you strum.
You take a simple tool of metal and wood and transform it into something beautiful, something of worth.
You use it as a tool to make melodies that spin thought and stop sadness.
Could you do that with me?
Take my rough materials of insecurity and self-doubt, and turn them into something valuable?
Teach me to weave webs as bright as the light that touches your face, and to sing harmony to each quiet song that emanates from those around me?
I bet you could. You can do anything.

I'm jealous of the tress you sit under, as you steal away beside the sweet grass and whispering stream
They reach out their long arms to protect you from the open sky, just as I would.
They stick their roots down deep, promising to never leave, just as I would.
And when the sky bares its teeth and opens its mouth to blow you away from me, I'll stand strong.
I might bend from the gusts, and a few branches might break off, but you'll be there to put me back together again, because you took care of me when I was just a seed, and helped me put down the roots that are keeping me in place.


Sunday, March 4, 2012


I want a locket to carry next to my heart.
The locket and heart would talk to each other,
creating their own bond of metal and muscle.

When I open the locket, a new bond will be made.
Eyes, brain, heart and locket would become one, then.
But when the locket closes, the connection is broken,
and the eyes and brain are left with only echoes.

The echoes are only shadowy pulses that fade.

Only the heart and metal remember.


Quotes about writing

"Writing does more than mirror our mind, it can clarify it, sharped our thinking, and enrich our mind with an understanding that was not here before we wrote."

"Clarity is a gift writing gives to our thinking."

"When we pour water out of a glass, we are emptying the glass, but when we pour thoughts out of our brains onto paper we are filling our brain...hence this powerful paradox as we write something we create it both on the paper and in our mind. Thus, as we write we grow richer."