I had that dream again, the dream I hate the most.
You were on an iceberg and I was warm somewhere else.
Okay, I was warm somewhere else, but with someone else, and you weren't even on an iceberg and I wasn't even warm.
Someone else. That's the part I tried to keep quiet but that was hard because when I tried to keep spinning that yarn I couldn't since I left out the only true part, about someone else, and the someone else part is the needles.
When I wake up to tell you,
you who are not on an iceberg but here,
that I am sad to have been warm somewhere else,
that's a distraction from the someone else,
I just want you to touch my skin because your skin is the skin I would knit around myself if I had yarn left from the story I had to tell you, about someone else.
You couldn't have been on that iceberg, and I wasn't warm with someone else,
because you are real and your skin is already knitted around me and you share my bed.
I am glad you are not only in my memory that makes mean dreams.
You were touching my skin before I opened my mouth to tell the story
of the dream I hate the most.
I cannot even remember it now.

Going on a date with my man
and as I close the door behind me
what catches my eyes in front of me
is a beautiful orange butterfly
moving up and down the
trampoline over the fence with the net.
Less up and down, bouncing is for kids,
up and against.
Look at that butterfly honey, it's trapped,
fixing my eyes on the wings,
my feet planted on the step.
My man, elongating my arm as I stick upstairs,
heads downstairs asking
how is it stuck?
It got in on it's own
and that net won't keep it, nets are for kids.

Our fingers slip apart,
my man downstairs waits.
Me on the ledge, is that even a butterfly,
or a moth?

Kyle Gilmore and I are engaged!

Looking Forward To

A butterfly landed on my arm,
maybe looking to pollenate me with
the freshness on its wings. Its
only success was that it left behind
something that resembled freckles
on my skin. I have always
envied those dark marks on the
handsome boys that sit on benches
nearby, the sweet guys who cut
across the grass lawn getting
dusted by the sun where their rolled
up pants and deep neck shirts let
their bare (bear) limbs get scattered
with light. I do imagine those
freckled boys stopping just long
enough to grab my hand, to let their
fingers land on my arm like a
curiouser butterfly. I'd prefer his
freckles on my skin to my own as it were.

Signed Over the Bumper Stickers

I sold the bus today.
I can’t decide if it’s good to have ripped off the bandaid,
or if I needed more time for a real goodbye.
     Who did you sell it to? I always imagined it would be someone really
     ignorant, or some guy who knew what to expect to fix. Which was he?
Neither, just some guy who knew he wanted a bus.

He and his son just bought some kayaks
and needed a roof to put them on.

I got a picture of him. We were talking and I had to ask for just one more thing. There he is. Perfect, huh?
Definitely one of those pictures where you already
click
              Okay, I’m ready for the
I already got the
              Oh, uh
shot.
              Okay, that’s good then. So.

He said to me near the end,
              If someone were to ask me what this guy is called,
              what would I say?
Well, I’ve always called him Bert.

              I meant
              Volkswagen what?

bus,
Volkswagen Bus.

His son was driving me to a little
restaurant so I could wait for a
ride. And I just kept turning
back to get one more look at Bert.
I remembered to get all the magnets
out, but couldn’t find
the bear one, which is my
favorite, even though I
saw it just this morning.
     It was always behind that curtain.
Yeah, on the left
side by the back seat between the windows, I know.
But here is the back of the
magnet from our Ventura stop,
at least.

              Okay, I’m ready for the

bus.

we played a game at our summer solstice party. each poem had two contributers. one person wrote out four words (or so), spaced them out over four lines, and drew a box around it to make the margins. the second person, the poem writer, had to start on the left margin and use the words the already written words as they fell on the page and into their new lines. the bolded words are the ones written originally.

Uhaul Moving Paper

Come contain me. Spend your week
with me and my spider. We love to
flop around and climb trees. We
can take my car and drive to the
mountain. And then pretend to fly.
alexf

I brewed inside your belly. To become the
grown monster I am fully capable of
being. Please drink me up so I can
spend time with you. You cow, you.
alexf

light slips off your face as the sun sets low
and I can only smell how close you are to me.
I reach my arm over, but you throw forward your chest
and you begin to throw the sheets off, too. And I can't see.
katet

Well, my skirt is supposed to stay
down. But, I was on a trip that went wrong.
Body wrenching, mind going, heart
sweling. I was wild of the thought of you!
alexf

record muppet
bat up
hip hop
toe bop
philipb

Wonder how to put the top of a mountain
into words, to spell the width of a redwood tree
how to hum the sounds of a river on the strings of a cello.
The world's crisis is the desperate effort to make
things one, just lay long and full of air and float.
katet

The delicious dirt melts in my
mouth. It's gone in grassy lands.
kindly , I got it back after
licking my dirty lips. And throwing up.
alexf

You, toss
out the
slippery one, yes?
The river was nice.
Hello, cigarette?
anthonyn

"Call me Ghostman," he whispered into the ears of
everyone at the party. He
stripped down, from neck to ass and danced
naked. Then he stopped, deer in the headlights. "If
the pictures from this party show up on
facebook, I'll kill you all!!!"
katet

Your smile. A sultry
crescent pressed upon my neck. True love.
Freedom to create space between your
world and mine. Do believe in love at first sight.
stephaniec

Through the tunnel, I slink down the hole...
Come, quickly!
Foxes await. Let us
share a bitter beer.
emilyt

When I'm in this house, inside these
walls, I feel
more freedom than when I'm
expected to dance in the tulips, to lay
under
the sun. I'll show you what it is
that I enjoy...
katet

Say you'll grow old with me. Let's laugh in
fields of lillies and dance like
a child. Freedom
to bother the mundance patterns
of the word.
Let's bear hug 'till dusk and romp like lions
'till dawn.
stephaniec

Touch my arm,
colour me green
smell me,
and hold me tight
philipb

on a table a
fat woman fell
and now my jenga
will
never return.
somoneattheparty

Jimmy legs are the legs I dance with.
They are gonna dominate your
pink Floyd Albums. I wish
you were here. why?
emilyt

What is making this ruckus?
Model trains whistle and shriek
a turn too fast, fire erupts,
caboose is chipped. All is lost.
johnl

Woman Prophet, Prophetess

Give me a bite of that thought,
I'd like to grab on for a while.

        But you've got to put down
        that daffodil, girl.
        Put down your flower
        to stomp with these boys,
        take of your shoes to
        walk in this grass, girl.

I can tell you about these
mountains, sure, take you
there no charge. I can throw
my voice into the canyon,
hop scotch that thought
across the river
and call it back to your
feet. Give me a taste
and I'll chew it out.

        But the sun in on its
        way down and we
        are stacking up logs.
        Girl, sit back and
        warm your mits.
        Let your jaw at
        rest and sit by the
        bonfire, girl.

Boys, I can keep my own hands
warm. I can
start a fire. Boys, I can
see the sun slip off and
walk barefoot
all along these trails.
I'm going to
chatter my teeth on
that thought while
you're around those flames.
Listen to me and
let this thought
sink deep under your skin
and I know you'll
get up and dance.

http://gaylord.ou.edu/poetscorner/test/thompson.html

Taken For a Ride

You’ve got some pretty legs
but you don’t have to move them for me.

      JP takes his spot against the wall after bumping into my chair,
      and locks his wheelchair in place,
      brake, brake.

Ain’t goin’ nowhere now.

Is anyone eating this bread?
The birds will love this,
hungry little fuckers.
I bet they’d rather have oatmeal,
those precious little birds.
The don’t take up much room,
and they sure are a joy.

There aren’t many obstacles between
me, that fence, and those little guys
and I seem to be hitting every one of them today.
Ah, well, beggars can’t be choosers,
can you little finches?

      Woman hops out of a truck cab and stands at the
      curb looking at the friend who dropped her off.
      What do you want? Jeez, what are you waiting for? under her breath.
      What is she doing? in my direction, or to JP.

Wanted to get one long look at your ass
before she left.

      You’re in great form today, JP.

What?
I was just wondering why I’d still be sitting there.
Hell, I am still sitting here.

      brake, brake.

But I used to drive a cab, about 11 years.
When I started out, no experience,
I had lots of interesting stories.
Then the people stopped seeming
so damn rare and fascinating.

I thought about driving again
but my legs don’t work,
as well as I bet yours do.

I am crazy about birds.
Birds with little hopping legs.

Cracker Jack Ring Finger

I pawned my tick-tock-stopped watch
for some quick petty cash.
I’ve got want
but lack
to please you.
More want,
less lack now
with the change from my own wrist.

I want to buy you a ring,
or some swinging pendant
to fit on your rib cage of a jewelry box,
clavicle lid lock clasp a string of young girl pearl.

I want to find you a dress,
or some rich mess of garment
to pin up over your shoulder blade hangars,
hip bone belly pleats a slip of sheer silkish pearl.

I’ve saved some cracker jack trinkets
in a box in a stash.
But you have want for more than those
and I feel lack to please you.

Deal maker, deal breaker.

Glowing in the dark
is a deal maker.
I could handle it if he howled
like a wolf when he opened his mouth to laugh.
Screaming in the shower is another maker,
mostly since it’s not a breaker.
Since it’s a hypothetical situation,
I suppose I could love a man
who squats only and refuses chairs,
or grows facial hair in quarter inch strips
Carrying eggs in his front pockets
is a maker.
These are all endearing quirks
and between loving it and leaving it,
with the man of dreams,
I would stay.
He can’t ever kiss me, okay.
He loves country music,     okay.

The one that makes the game seem
like it’s not fun anymore
is hard to say with any dignified sense of humor even.
He is better than me at everything,
that’s the breaker.
If?
Even if he were gracious and humble
and pained by it,
his being better than me,
especially if.

Keep the Suitcase Open

Mama needed a weekend.

She left lasagna in the oven,
instructions on the counter,
and departing words on the doorstep.

Mama needed a day without pearls.

She packed only two outfits for her trip
and took quiet pleasure
in the wrinkles and creases.
She wouldn't touch an iron for a while.

Mama needed to wake up one morning without the boys.

She drove quietly with the windows down.
She left the radio off, humming instead
with the engine.

Elementary

In the second grade we made buttons
in the school library after recess.
Our teacher intended
for us to scrawl with Crayolas
some V seagull soaring high,
so she’d know we had dreams to succeed.
Looking back on it,
this is what I’d presume about her.
My button was a call home
to momma, me in tears, teacher in tears.
Next to a daisy, “God is Science!”
Far too challenging for my peers,
how is someone meant to respond to that?
It is just unrealistic, and it’s unclear
what message our little artist is pushing.

In the fourth grade we traced a partner
on long strips of brown butcher paper.
We were supposed
to follow a dull pencil in one line
around the arms and legs of each other
so we’d know about bodies in the same shape.
Kiana, my best girl, laid her yesterday relaxed hair
on the strip and spread her fingers wide.
When she got up, “Why does your hair leave oil?”
Not the last phone call home to momma.
Far too much attention to Kiana’s blackness,
and in front of so many other peers.
It’s just a little invasive, disrespectful,
and it seemed like Kiana was uncomfortable.

It was here I learned.
Separation of church and state,
how to talk about skin differences in public.
I still think God is science.
I’m still curious about the body,
how my white body leaves different marks
than Kiana’s black body on a sheet of paper,
and how the worst thing to do is close my eyes
and tilt my head to the side, trying to find
my teacher’s vocabulary, or the right crayon,
as if I wanted to be on the safe side.
Looking back on it,
That is what she’d presumed about me.

Redwood Tree is Written Sequoia Sempervirens in Cursive

I crawled like a mole beneath the needles.
My fingers clawing through moist soil,
my hair catching on roots as big as arms,
my shoulders speckled with dirt
where most girls likely have freckles.

I heard twenty times from your mouth,
at least,
that you wanted to climb that tall tree.

I am Atlas on my tip toes pushing the weight
that feels like it crushes me,
though my spine is very straight
and probably very elegantly poised.

I writhed like a worm beneath the trunk
and with all my might
brought the three hundred and seventy feet
you had your eye so keenly fixed on
crashing to the forest floor.

I wanted to see you at the crown
of that tall tree.

My hand, from all that work,
was too dirty for you to hold.
I heard twenty times from your mouth,
at least.

Even That Little Bird

Coffee Shop, VENTURA, CA. Saint Patrick's Day morning.
One way conversation, but directed at Laura, Alex and me.
Woman, mid 40's, zebra print pants with the fly broken, sunburned face, big hips, yellow lips
from sucking yellow lolipop.

They say I'm crazy.
And I say "Damn right! That's why I take these pills!"
Everybody's got a key.
The neighbor's got a key
in case of a fire.
The police got a key
in case to help save me,
or just break in a window.
The landlord's got a key
in case to kick me out.
The boyfriend's got a key
to let himself in with his stuff,
and out with mine.
Everybody's got a key. So
always bring your driver's license
when you leave the house cause if it's gone,
it wasn't you that took it. It was someone else.
My daddy has two houses,
and he doesn't even give me one.
Or a key.
He doesn't give me nothing!
Good thing I got a heavenly father
to take care of me.
He cares for everything on earth.
Jesus Christ, even that little bird.

We Woke Up Parched

This marks a day of change.
change of day, pants on two legs at
a time, right side of the bed
I made to lie on
    and onward and upward and up
up up on your feet little
       darling eyes opened!
Follow the pound of my voice drum
                             that can't go over it
can't go under it, around it,
has to beat through the new dawn.
Arise alive!

Be thirsty for the river rising
over your toes
    and onward and upward and up
up up on your feet little
       darling legs dancing!

Drink deep today and drown
your tongues, until songs
force a chatter between
      your tooth tooth      teeth.
Breathe until notes resonate
        upwards and outwards
and into the dry bones valley,
until the parched ones
rise up anew on
their foot foot                feet.

In girlhood I would wake
to feel the sun upon my cheek

a rosy blush
I only thought
would come to rush
         when the bath ran too hot.

Stalling

ripe fruit  fall fast  parch red ground

bend slow  tips reach  knees low bound

pearl hair  old back  late crisp grass

rot pear  old bones  wait not found

Willing

I will swallow you, Jonah.
You will find yourself in the pit of my belly
and you will be closer to me.

I will feel the pressure of your hands,
the undecided steps of your feet.
Hum my favorite notes,
force them deep in my ribs,
and you will know my song.

I will feel you stir until you are weary,
the still weight of your frame given in to rest.
Open my jaws wide
guide the small rays into my stomach,
and you will wake to my light.

You will explore me, Jonah.
You will find yourself in the pit of my belly
and you will not forget me.

Master of Foxhounds

something
punched my ankle and bit my heel while stripping the shoe and sock from my toes.
the bottom half of my leg trunks
are naked, and something,
      THAT THING,
has buried itself in my digits.
that hasty
little


eager
      little arrowhead
       (hidden for one
                thousand
       years until now)
beat me to the chase.

Dark Roast

The taste of that darkness
knocked me back into my chair.
My tongue fought against the
backs of my stained teeth,
struggling to break from the prison
of my jaw, so rigid.
Even the strongest muscle,
which my body has prepared
for these very battles,
is crippled by the bitter
sip of espresso.
No one warned me
that this small ounce
of mature flavor
is aptly named a shot.
A shot through my palate,
once soft before the shock
that heavied my mouth like cement.
A shot through the maze in my brain,
caffeine setting fire
to those once dumb parts.
A shot through my heart,
hardly equipped for these impulses in excess.
A shot, an injury, a bitter realization.
Is this a thing, a dark thing,
that becomes less terrible with age?
I cannot imagine that now,
my tongue still seeking
an unstained cavity
for just a moment of distraction.
The taste that remains is dull,
and throbs mildly in my veins.
A very forgettable pain.
The foreign baristas, those robust lovers,
have mastered this sensory weapon.
They have tamed the beast, or learned to live with it,
to learn from it,
letting it only control the moment.
This was my first encounter,
and so young.
I hear you grow used to the flavor,
with experience.
A taste easier to swallow,
in time.

So I brought it here to you.

I pull my knee down
like a mountain
below the sea
and these tiny clouds
are a crown
around the space

the waters pool
on the shore
my stomach
like a tide drawn
high and out
by breath

that motion
coming and going
leaves a mark
on the rocks,
woven lines on my fingers
from warmth of friction

drops of water
make the fields of grasses
tumble down the
sloping hills
my shoulders
my hair

this hot season
that makes steam rise
from everything
makes flowers unfold their petals
my lips part

And you tell me
that you aren’t compelled
to be there.
That you are comfortable
under your roof under the stars.

I am
not
so separate.

Turn

There is a hint of frustration in the air
on this burnt orange day,
which is technically, by the calendar, fall.
With my eyes closed and my feet stepping forward
I anticipate the crunching of leaves,
but find June bugs beneath my shoe instead.

I don’t know why complaints are our songs instead
of celebrations that the warmer air
has allowed our trees to keep their leaves
with green for at least a handful of days.
Yet we are always looking forward
to the autumn when those leaves let go and fall.

I find that I am not alone in that we have all fallen
out of love with September, who has chosen heat instead
of the familiar chill. Move forward
with the time. Get your proud nose out of the air
and let us celebrate our old days
together! If you love us, forget the sun and leave!

The autumn months are better because of the leaves
in piles, that seems to be begging for someone to fall
into like a child. Better because the days
of work are shorter and the nights see company instead.
Better because you can fill your lungs up with the air,
and its coolness powers you to keep pressing forward.

We need the hope of everything going forward.
It’s why we are so attracted to the changing of the leaves
and the feeling of thinness in the air.
The constant changing so familiar to fall
helps us to take delight in our own seasons instead
of dreading the differences of coming days.

We are holding out that today
is the last day of the summer. Move forward,
like clockwork! It is our secret desire that instead
of pretty green branches, autumn would make way for red leaves.
Do not make us wait any longer for the fall
that makes us want to taste the air.

Those cold days bring more than just a change to the air.
Our souls can move forward with the coming of fall.
It gives us peace, instead of fear, for the shedding of our own leaves.

Night Light

The sun brings out a certain quality in you.
Your eyes seem brighter, your laugh sounds lighter,
but the shade shows me something more true.
I notice the shadows hugging the lines
that make you look more like your age.
Don’t call them wrinkles
because I put them there!
I brought those smiles to your face.

I love how romantic and tender you get.
The glances you steal have a charming appeal
when candlelight brings out your blush.
But when the light in the room gets dim
I can feel your cheeks warm at my touch.
Don’t dare to cover
yourself with a sheet!
I love those curves at your waist.

There isn’t a thing in the world you could do
to change the way I look at you.
Not in spite of your changing face,
not with conditions about your shape.
There is no one more lovely,
No one more true,
No one could age with more grace than you do.

Feast Your Eyes

I just can’t wait
to taste
this dish.
Oh,
there’s such beauty
in this room.
Did you set out flowers,
or is that just your perfume?
Your apron
must have come undone!
Please, let me assist.
It’s hard to tie,
so sorry
if I linger on your hips.

You’ve got flour in your hair
and some sugar
on your lips,
but perhaps you wouldn’t mind
if I removed that
with a kiss.

I hope you don’t misunderstand
when I say
this kitchen is so small.
Let me suggest
we take this meal
to your room
just down
the hall.

El Hombre Gris, Neruda, Viejo

Sus palabras son extrañas
en mi país, mi mente,
a mi comprensión sobrio.
Sus versos de la liberación
del agua en rios libres,
poesía con el corazón
de un niño enojado:
un niño confuso que sabe
la realidad del universo
y su vecindad.
Me hace que desea
una voz
más riudosa así que pueda
susurrar mis ideas
con la convicción
de ese niñito. Pero,
¿qué de ese hombre que hace amor
a cada mujer,
a una tierra que escuche,
a las paginas que entienden sus intenciones?
Deseo que conocerle también.
¿Cómo es posible que
esas dos mentes
existen por el mismo hombre,
el las mismas líneas de la pasión?
Lo sé cuando
estoy asustado perder
todo lo que amo y odio.
Lo sé cuando
lucho para la belleza
con mis palabras,
de mis palabras,
para cavar por lo menos
un sepulcro hermoso
en los márgenes.
Lo sé cuando
puedo encontrar humor
en esas tragedias
una causa para luchar más
en ese amor.
El mismo amor
del niño,
que vino sea el hombre,
que vendrá sea su libertad.



Una traducción para los que no hablan el lenguaje del amor:


Your words are strange
in my country, my mind,
to my sober comprehension.
Your verses of the liberation
of water in free rivers,
poetry with the heart of
an angry boy:
a confused boy who knows
the reality of the universe
and his neighborhood.
You make me want
a louder voice
so that I can whisper my ideas
with the conviction
of that little boy. But
what of that man who makes love
to each woman,
to an earth that listens,
to the pages that understand his intentions?
I want to know him too.
How is it possible that
those two minds
exist in the same man,
in the same lines of passion?
I know it when
I am fearful of losing
everything that I love and hate.
I know it when
I fight for the beauty with my words,
in my words,
or at least to dig
a beautiful grave
in the margins.
I know it when
I can find humor
in those tragedies,
a cause to fight more
for that love.
The same love
of the boy,
who grew to become the man,
who will grow to become your freedom.

Drive Through

Babel, The Last Kiss.
"So is that all that happens?"
I don't understand why our culture needs action
It's precisely those kinds of movies that have the highest potential
to make people think and challenge their beliefs in the moments of silence and awkwardness they incite.
and we want better endings
we want twists
and drama
we don't want reality
unless it's not really real, unless we can vote with texts on the endings.
we are so impatient
so selfish
so simple
so decisive
and it makes me so disappointed.
it makes me want to stand up
and tell people to shut up and listen
or watch
or
to just keep running their mouths
as if no one were listening,
until they started saying things they truly believed.
then I'd be satisfied.
because it's all bullshit
and because I can't even enjoy a movie about pain anymore
I'm better off watching the news
wham bam thank you ma'am
crisis in the middle east
death in japan
terrorism
thank you, that was quite a show.
I'm glad I know the ending
fuck
that's why it's scary writing poetry
it's scary speaking my mind
it's scary to be quiet too
because it's just not big enough.
fuck

So Clever With Things

I mean too much to myself now.
I cannot compromise those beautifully unique things about myself
to satisfy even a lover who will share my heart.
And please, if you know and love me,
don't praise me for the sake of praising.
It exhausts me to give thanks for the sake of the gesture.
Just shower me with kindess,
genuine acts and words of your appreciation
with no agenda for cordiality.
I am not stuck in my ways,
oblivious to a changing world
and my dynamic nature.
I challenge you to help me grow into new desires,
out of bad habits.
I will change with you,
but I will never leave my deepest person behind.
I pray that you discover
that intimate part of me
and that you embrace it tighter than I ever could,
love it more deeply than I know how.
I am delightful, I know that to be true.
I hope you understand
that this deliberation is not an aim of conceit.
I just recently discovered my worth
and I hope you burn to take me on.
I am sufficient.
I am more than enough for any man.
I will love you more than any woman can.
I just ask that you respect and adore the creation I have become.
I am an entirely wonderful creation
ready with love for you.

Trouble Taking Compliments

We're a troubled society
with low self esteem.
An insecure posterity
that can't trust what we've seen.
We seem to lack sincerity
in even the smallest of issues.
We suffer anxiety
over the styles that we choose.

So just take it easy.
Believe what they say.
Let someone tell you
You look gorgeous today.
Forget their intentions,
there's beauty in humanity.
Strokes to our egos
aren't just fuel for our vanity.

We teach our children the art
of putting others down.
They can't like themselves
for our disapproving frowns.
There's a delicate balance
between expressing humility
And learning to accept
praise's credibility.

So just take it easy.
Believe what they say.
Saying thanks to a compliment
is more than okay.
Forget their intentions,
there's beauty in humanity.
Sometimes we deserve
some uplifting flattery.

I fear those impulsive stumbles
of thin words and empty observations,
The air of comfort smothered
when receptiveness falls in doubt.
Concluded by farewells and ends
between fairweather friends,
blank conversations fall
from moment to memory.

Sing Me to Sleep

If words fail me,
you are to blame
for your eyes that steal my thoughts,
my second-hand professions
of love.
I'm beautiful when you look at me,
so don't avert your gaze.
Is it selfish that I need this love,
this feeling of content,
of sudden, overwhealming perfection?
I can only hope my kisses reveal my desire,
my heart for your embrace.
For the first time,
I feel like there is no mistake,
that these butterflies found me
where I should be.
I am delighted that you see something wonderful
in my flaws,
those less than lovable traits
I had to point out for you to notice.
I'll claim that sparkle in my eyes
as utter surprise that you,
charming, curious you,
would allow yourself to think I'm beautiful.

Possibly you'll think of me,
devise some simple fantasy...
or maybe I will always be
the one you fail to notice.
Regardless of the things I do,
the words I say are all too few
to earn the love I ask of you,
but that won't stop my trying.
Perhaps I've set my aims too high
to wait in hopes that you'll comply,
but on my dreams I'll yet rely
with faith in one more day.

Flash Photography

I comb the uniform shelves
for a mirror void of the cracks
of contemporary stylized judgment
said to make the image of one's self
believable
peeling the reflective tape
from the glass of the image maker
realizing there is no more
to glamour
than the lighting in a given room

Jordan.
I love you and your birthday. Happy day my friend. How does it feel to be old? One more year till you can buy drinks in England. Or just buddy up with Hob Nob Rob....


17 is awesome.

John Hancock

Kind, clever, caring, creative, and passionate as fire's red...
Above all things the world today could stand a bit more passion.
Thouroughly boundless like a fairy who suits her fickle fancies as she pleases...
Holding back my curiosity is a feat I find nearly impossible.
Even though I love to love, after a second glance you wouldn't know that I have never been kissed.
Really...why rush when I have books and music, poems and skirts, and plenty of boys to flirt with?
In truth-believe it or not-boys do make the best friends.
Noon time dates for chicken curry and rice, so spicy my eyes water,
Entertain persistent dreams I have with all those nameless boys...
Though I'm sure they remember me and my curls in a day when straighteners are household appliances.
Honestly.
Ordinary girls have rooms just like mine, but which of them has my books, pictures, letters, journals and keepsakes to fill them?
My name changes daily from person to place but some things surely will not...
Pink will always make me feel pretty.

Bedtime Stories

This arrangement of ours is temporary,
this moment fleeting at best.
In our cleverness we have crafted
sensations of mutual fondness.
This thread of reason is tearing the seams
but the look in your eye seems genuine,
I have always been fooled by deception.
Tonight we are fools for love.
These declarations are biting to hear.
The shallow words pierce through my heart.
Our mere expectations will not be sufficient
to fabricate something of depth.
These dreams are mechanically driven,
this dance merely renders illusion.
I was fooled by your cunning deception.
Tonight we are fools for love

It's fantastic how illusions rise:
our eyes create perfection,
confections of our sleeping dreams,
the schemes of our desires.
Innocently hopes unfold,
made bold by misconception,
perceptions of how things should be,
pleasantries conspired.
Higher than reality
we place these fabrications
of expectation, feeding hearts
this artful complication.

adkjdl

As I Recall

Have you seen the city
from the highest story
of the building standing there?
I climbed them once,
those cement steps
with bold inclines,
to reach the skyline
where the heavens meet the streets.
And in your eyes
the lights of the city
tell the secret story
of the boy standing there.
I knew you once,
your carefree steps
and bold inclinations,
when you loved the skyline
and found heaven in the streets.

The Highest Bidder

I want to hear you talk forever,
The clever things you say
inspire me to hold you close
if you wouldn't push away.

But you're bold and keep your distance,
Your resistance to my arms
just complicates my courage
and cripples all my charms.

I just can't divert my thoughts from you,
Construe a new emotion
to hide the fiction of my mind
or blind my heart's devotion.

Because your eyes are so resilient,
You're brilliant when you smile
like everything you see you love...
Just love me for a while.

a kiss left your mouth
and was given to mine
where it danced on my lips
and our hearts intertwined
leaving me breathless
and blind with elation
hungry for more
of your sweet invitation

Catch a Falling Star

Laying on my back at night
I've tried to count the stars
and pick apart that veil of light
to find what we made ours.

I'd take the silver moonbeams down
and tie them in my hair
so heaven's light would be the crown
of our glittering affair.

Upon my collar I would place
a strand of starry pearls
for every kiss upon my face
that made my dreams unfurl.

I'd pick a corner of the sky
and wrap it close around
so I'd always remember why
the love we have was found.

When the sky is stripped above
the blanket covering me
will beam the splendor of our love
for all eternity.

It's easier to love you when your words are naked and plain.
I don't trust imagination to manage affairs of the heart

But the River

I find my reflection in the water below
but the river is blind to my face.
It makes no attempt to study my skin
or the wrinkles that whisper my age.

I cast my legs in the water below
but the river does not sense my filth.
It makes no attempt to push me away
but gently washes the dirt from my feet.

I sing out my stories to the water below
but the river is quiet and calm.
It makes no attempt to silence my words
or hush me whenever I speak.

I drink from my palms of the water below
but the river does not keep a charge.
It makes no attempt to equal my debt
but flows freely and quenches my thirst.

I am home on the waves of the water below
but the river has no expectations.
It makes to attempt to structure my dreams
or cage me against my wishes.

skywalker135: i'll waste time on you anyday girl
katapillerscheme: ooh la la, now that's a friend

hehe, thanks Chris.

my first assignment...a collaboration I guess you could say...the lovely Evan Park to thank.


Light Up the Sky

Your lips roll off mine
with the words of your heart
like beads of rain from the sky.
I can taste the stars and the moon
in your eyes that shine
like light in the distant heavens.
Those eyes, brown as the color beautiful
could shatter the world if you blinked.
Close your eyes my love
and break the ground
that keeps us here on earth.
Kiss me as the clouds roll back
when the only sure thing
is you and me.

This Day In Age

I'm glad we don't fit
the old time image
of old time lovers
and old time ways.
I was starting to get tired
of those old time stories
where the hero never fails
to save the day.
So sing to me
a new age lullaby,
let's rewrite the books
and change love for all time.
Let's paint a new picture
of how love should be
and promise eternity
that you'll always be mine.

loosechangeman02: you are so nice and cute and silly and friendly and OMG i love you


I don't think I've ever talked to him without having a smile on my face.

Butterfly Kiss

We shared a tender kiss,
a butterfly kiss,
and our lashes locked
like our fingers
as our palms embraced.
Your heart must have been beating
in your hands
because I felt the warmth
flowing through your veins.
Your lips met my ear
and you whispered
so the stars couldn't hear.
It was a like a sea shell
that tells you the secrets
of the world
and of your heart
when you rest it to your cheek.
And I wished
you would whisper forever
and tell me the secrets
of our world
and your heart.

The Dreams of Your Face

I sometimes wonder what life would be like
if I was always asleep,
or my eyes were always open.
If by closing my eyes I dreamed of you
and by being awake I saw the world around you,
I would never stir in nights,
or never blink in the sun.
The life I would know
would be love
and your face.
Nights and days
would be one in the same.

Time Heals all Wounds

I haven't cried a tear
since your hand touched mine.
My eyes have been dry
since your fingers crossed that line.
Even my watch is stuck
in that moment of time,
It's own hands
will tell the story
of the moment that yours touched mine.
My luck that it's frozen,
the watch stopped,
but just in the moment
my heart started.
How can I cry
for the lost time?
My tears won't fall,
knowing that your hand touched mine.

mabeldurr: sometimes it is good to feel liked

I Can't Get My Feet Off the Ground

This bold streak runs thinner than the blood in my veins.
I try to be daring but fail for the pain-
too scared to fall from this heightened sensation,
too scared to fall from my mind's own creation.

this one is the only one not written by me. but since he is one of my best friends, I will pretend it is mine...

this is written by David Burget
The Lady Over the Sea

these voices raise questions like oceans raise waves,
your face like a memory, lost in the haze,
i look to your picture, lost in your smile,
my heart will stand idle, and wait all the while,
an ocean the barrier so placid and blue,
my strength to cross it, i find in you,
it starts with a memory, and turns to a dream,
what happened then, is not what it seems,
these visions bring answers like sad songs bring tears,
what rain falls from my cheek, you must find sincere,
you laugh and you smile and you twirl as you dance,
you say i dont love you, just give me a chance,
i found you so lovely, i lost you the same
.....
-to be continued by David Burget who is wonderful in every way.

Sharing a Wall

I would wake up to the sound of Tim
hitting the wall in the house next door.
When he needed medicine or his mother's help
he wiggled on his mattress
and the headboard jolted the wall.
I never liked the abrupt awakenings
that kept me from sleep at nights
but because the duplex walls were thin,
I didn't only wake to Tim's fits.
Through the single layer of dry wall
I could hear his laughter,
his stories,
his music,
his cries,
his dreams.
Countless nights I had woken up
to the awkward cries through the wall.
Through those nights I grew to love
the lullaby of Tim.

Through Clenched Teeth

My mother is making me apologize
for pulling your hair on the playground today.
I was just playing, and I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Don’t tell your mom on me.
I am sorry.

My mother told me to apologize
for being so late today.
We had a conflict with time
and traffic didn’t really cooperate.
Don’t hold it against me.
I am sorry.

My mother taught me to apologize
even when I don't want to.
But Boss, I had the best intentions of doing my task.
There has been a mistake.
Don’t let me go because of this.
I am sorry.

My mother hoped I would apologize
if I ever got into this sort of trouble.
But really, I am not sure the wreck is my fault.
Accidents happen.
Don’t call your lawyer.
I am sorry.

My mother wished I would apologize
to all the people I have hurt through the years.
I have already said the magic words.
I shouldn’t have to say it twice.
So she doesn’t ask me again,
I am sorry.

Heaven on a Magazine Rack

It pains me that you bought that lie.
The magazines that preach a Modern-Gospel
cost you more than your wallet should be willing to sacrifice.
Five point sermons full of self-improvement commandments
grace the covers and find their way between advertisements.
Did you realize that each time you touch the glossy finish
of the pages, you leave a little of your self behind?
You come off with each page you turn,
but I assume the glossy finish that remains on your fingers
is what gives you your shine these days.
That, my friend, is a bona fide tragedy.

katapillerscheme: always thinking on your feet
HockALuigi: that's why my brain is attached to my hips


kris...nice try. I really do think that was an excellent line to finish with. but no way can you top the ultimate. keep going for the gold though, or the pink(lemonade in the shade?)

Night Life

The girls stayed up late last night.
Or, later than their Mother knew.
It was one of those evenings
that the crickets played
their square dance music
and the fireflies had a social
flitting by the porch screen.
Those fireflies were the life of every party,
with sparkling personalities
stealing the lime light
and playing hard to get.

The girls made themselves comfortable
on three cots lined up on the back porch.
Whispering and telling secrets
they waited for their mother
to fall asleep inside the house.

At the sound of mother's soft snoring
the girls creeped from their cots
gathered by the swinging door
and slowly pushed it's hinges,
cringing in anticipation
fearing they would wake mother.

The girls were silent and cautious,
wallflowers standing close to the screen.
Then the crickets struck up the music,
the fireflies began their dance,
and the girls took flight
chasing the streams of light
through the yard,
joining in the firefly follies.

The Mighty Jungle

underneath the darkened
green canopy
upon the shimmering
dew dropped earth
unaware of the light steps
of the young wide-eyed hunter
thumbing redwood arrows
a stout
iron gray elephant
rests

Mask Vignette

He just meant to be the messenger.
The more messages he shared, the more he felt why he was needed.
She was the kind of girl who could take the wits from a man.
He was certainly dumbstruck.
“He is safe.”
Or so thought his friend when he was asked to win her for him.
He pretended to be speaking for his friend but after her kiss he couldn’t play on.
Had he stolen her from his friend?

     brief pleasure

     a one night stand

     under thin sheets
     in chilled darkness
     bodies embracing
     frozen in
     between space
     kept in rest

until


     child mouth wants more
     flavor ice

One Thousand Ways to Lose a Love

She stopped on the sidewalk by the oak tree and counted the leaves as they fell from the shaking branches. The air was still and chilled. As her body shivered she closed her eyes and imagined herself lying on the cement below the bow among the fingers of the limbs covered by the leaves that fell this time of year. She was trying to distract herself from this day when Matthew called to her from the peak of the oak's body and startled her from her momentary dream. He paused before he spoke again, giving her time to regain her sense of reality. "Here is comes. Try to catch it, Sarah." he yelled as he threw the frisbee from the tree. She made a step to catch the disk but her cautious steps weren’t quick enough and it fell against the concrete with a hollow sound. "Maybe we can work on your arm a little...you will get better at throwing it, catching, too. I promise. Just let me teach you." He hopped from the branches and landed on both feet. He walked to stand in front of her. "Sarah,"
She remained silent, her eyes transfixed on his feet.
"Sarah. Will you look at me?"
She hesitated to make his eye contact, but brought her gaze from the ground to his face. He took a step towards her and was now only inches from her body. Now his eyes faltered and he paused before he spoke again.
"Sarah...you know that I would do anything for you? I would get a thousand frisbees from the thousand tallest trees and carry them down one thousand times and walk one thousand miles to your door and stand, and wait, and call to you until you opened the door and let me inside. "
He brought his arm from his side and offered his hand to her. His pleading eyes were peircing in the stillness.
"Sarah...why won't you let me inside?"
In silence they stood. Matthew brought his hand back to his side dejectedly and took a step backwards. He looked at her once more and conceded to her silence. He stepped backwards, his eyes never breaking from hers until he fumbled on the frisbee laying on the ground. He bent over to pick it up, and when he stood again, his head remained lowered. He quickened his pace and began to run, away from Sarah standing there.
She was breathing so deeply that with every exhalation a cloud of condensation formed in the air around her mouth and nose. She felt a pain of regret. The words came to her mouth with the warm breath she released, but by the time they escaped the trap of her mouth, Matthew had long been out of sight.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Matthew...I just can’t open the door."
She stepped forward, and grasped her arms around her shoulders, pretending to feel the chill of the breeze through the wavering branches of the tree that stood above her. But in the secrets of her heart, she felt a longing for his arms to be wrapped around her, and the chill that kept her frozen there was the fear she had to fall. She was frightened by the nightmare that if she let herself love him, she would only lose him, or worse yet, hurt him. She stayed away and safe by counting leaves and walking too slowly to pick up the things that fell.

Green Beans Aren’t Just Cheap Food


Parker’s wife sat on the porch snapping beans. In her 34 years of living, snapping beans was the only practice her family exercised cooperatively. Her mother was a non-practicing Jew and her father was a stay at home dietician who believed in the food pyramid according to cost efficiency. Her mother spoke a language of gibberish she fondly called Yiddish. When speaking to her husband she took care to be misunderstood. It was a game she played “in fun” but it was know by all that she just resented her husband’s stinginess and raily body. If she couldn’t buy her lamb chops and veal, he shouldn’t get the pleasure of understanding her. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a non-cuisine-experiencing tooth. Father in earnest believed that the best meal could be purchased and prepared for under $3. He designed charts and shopping guides, which were hung from the walls and ceilings by recycled Scotch Tape pieces. He didn’t believe in waste and was bound by his conscience to maximize resources. His life practices conflicted with her fantastic dreams but there was a point between their worlds where the reality of their extremes collided.

Mother had a rebellious spirit so from her youth on she made an effort to be a challenge. Her parents were casual attendees of the synagogue only making appearances on Jewish holidays that excused their absences from their workplaces. Mother inherited their defiance. She developed exquisite taste for apparel, food, music, and art. The only aspect of this equation that wasn’t balanced was her choice of men. After all, she found her husband who was by no means anything worth bragging about.

Her husband, on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, was a simply spoken fellow who didn’t mind being told what to do. He quite enjoyed his wife’s deliverance of opinions.

They were not a picture perfect couple but they respected each other’s differences. It was quite a prosperous arrangement. She carried the whip and reigns while he pulled the cart, uphill and barefoot. They almost understood each other, or managed to build an oddly balanced life together. Even the stork was so perplexed by their relationship he was hesitant to drop their new child at their doorstep, but mother forcefully demanded the child. Mother knew what she wanted and father just followed her lead. However, as different as they seemed to be, they shared a common pleasure beyond the enjoyment of their daughter.

Father was the leader of the family’s grocery store excursions, being the wallet carrier, breadwinner, and health guru. This was the only circumstance in which mother’s aggressiveness was pacified. The corner market was the parallel universe wherein mother had no interest in dominance. She held their little baby anxiously, awaiting her pleasure. Father loved green beans and his treat to mother was what every Jewish girl ought to eat: ham. Green beans and ham cost all of $2.35. The perfect meal.

To prolong the delight of their shared pleasure, Mother and father made an event of snapping the beans. Mother would dress up and take a seat on the front porch of their house, sitting in a rocking chair to keep the baby silent so that everyone might consider the wonderful event taking place without distractions. Father would sit beside her quietly gathering the snapped ends of the beans and setting them in one bowl and the beans in another. They didn’t speak much during these times for they didn’t intent to ruin their closest moments with words. However their daughter heard loud enough that this time was something special.

Since these weekends spent silently snapping beans with Mother and Father clumsily loving each other, Parker’s wife made a tradition of the occasions. On this particular day years later, after she grew to be a woman herself, she snapped green beans bought from the corner market and waited for her husband to return from the city. She sat and dreamed of the sole act of togetherness that her parents shared snapping the ends and pulling the ends from their awkward love.

celtic 206: maybe we are walking in the shallow water until we are ready for the ocean

Xandr05: fierce is the word gay's use for hot/neat/cool
Xandr05: that's so fierce
katapillerscheme: neat
katapillerscheme: he had a fierce look in his eyes
Xandr05: gotta say it with a lisp
katapillerscheme: he had a fierth look in hith ice
Xandr05: there ya go

A Friend

I don't know what to say to you
to tell you that I care
to show you what you mean to me
to make your heart aware
of all the charming, selfless, daring, caring things you've done
to share with me your loving smile
and give me strength in times of trial.

Through the Grapevine

Poetry rests upon the earth
among the beads of silkened dew
covered by the viney growth
awaiting the hour of moon's descent.
At the touch of sun's warm rays
against the face of the dormant sky
life begins to stir beneath
the bed where Poetry did sleep.

The drops of dew are guided down
from leaves that stretch their fingers out
to catch and hold the stirring wind
that races through the twisted veil.
Milky clouds go quietly by
waltzing with stiff legged blades
of grass that stand alert and stern
to guard the dance of Poetry.

Poetry does walk amidst
the grapevines climbing playfully
to kiss the fruit upon each branch
and taste the sweetness of new life.

Channel 32 on Highway 9

Your radio tuner just won't change the station.
You don't really have anything against jazz
but the big band blocking the intersection
could be a road hazard
for people who accelerate
when they tap their toes to the beat.

How many tires will blow out before your bank account falls in?
These off-road reunions are getting too frequent
but at least you don't have to buy the hotdogs
for the tailgate parties
on Highway 9.
Can you buy hubcaps in packages of 10 like the buns?

You had never been on a safari
until you found the jungle in the median.
To save the whales
they started hanging traffic lights from trees.
You never expected to watch the Discovery Channel
from the interstate, did you?

Just remember that musicians roll in enough dough
to replace your tires
buy the hotdogs and buns
adopt Free Willy
and take you on a wildlife adventure.
Take pictures at their next concert.
The Discovery channel may do a special on them.

Late at Night He Writes to be Forgotten

At 10:00 pm the candle flickers
and the wick abandons the flame
that lights the dusky room wherein
the newspaperman sells his name.
He writes the stories to fill the pages
of headliners that made news that day
but no one sees his fairy tales
on the sections that get thrown away.

Second Hand Smoke

He was smoking in the car that night.
At least he wasn't drinking,
but smoking right in front of me?
What was my best friend thinking?
His awkward calm gave me a sense
that he hadn't made a mistake.
I guess he wanted me to see
the path that he'd chosen to take.
Forever I assumed he'd be
a person I would love,
until that day he drew away
and chose the cigarettes over me.

A Dream to Build a Trip On

My best friend and I plan to go to Australia some day.
We dream of travel and adventure,
the sun on our backs and the wind in our hair.
We want to rent a shack,
which he and I will cover with psychedelic colors.
Both of us are terrible painters but it is our shack to share,
and we will be the only ones to see the clumsy walls.
But Australia won't be about surfing and the waves,
the kangaroos and dingoes,
or the hundred sunrises or sunsets,
but that he will be with me
and we will share those moments together.

Bend the Spork With Your Mind

Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
the long forked tongue of the serpent
slithering under the mattress that Connie and Body spooned on
after feeding each other chicken without a fork.
They studied their images in spoons that reflected like mirrors at the fair
past the fork in the road
where the blind man makes music slapping spoons on his knee
as busy people hurry past flattening forks on the pavement.

As they walked, Petra boldly reached out and took hold of Bean's hand as if they, too, were lovers or at least friends who liked to stay close enough to touch. To her surprise, he did not pull his hand away. Indeed, he gripped her hand in return, but if she harbored any notion that Bean was capable of romance, he instantly dispelled it. "Race you around the pond," he said, and so they did.
But what kind of race is it, when the racers never let go of each other's hands, and the winner pulls the loser laughing over the finish line?

-Shadow Puppets by Orson Scott Card

Each Morning

My dream is to find love.
I hope to wake up each morning
in the arms of someone who cares
about me as deeply as I do for them.
Someone who isn't embarrassed or hesitant
to feel hopelessly devoted to me,
who will hug me
and kiss me,
and mean it.
My nightmare is to meet loneliness.
I fear waking up each morning
in the arms of a cold feeling
that drags me to despair,
losing me in a sea of discouragement.
Where people don't see me
or touch me
or kiss me,
and mean it.

katapillerscheme: you know what i was thinking yestderday? i just didnt tell you
BuRgEy100: what is that?
katapillerscheme: that you are a handsome guy
katapillerscheme: AND you smell good
katapillerscheme: just in case you had forgotten or something
BuRgEy100: how.... embarassing
BuRgEy100: i am not handsome
katapillerscheme: are you telling me i have...bad judgement?
BuRgEy100: FUCK YA YOU DO!
BuRgEy100: OH MY GOODNESS!
BuRgEy100: I AM SO SORRY
BuRgEy100: I MEANT FREAK

haha, so you give a boy a compliment...and all hell breaks loose.

Modern Nomad

I pack my bags
and board a bus,
a plane,
a train to somewhere
I've never been
and haven't seen
until I make my way there.
I'd say it was an easy life,
not having a fixed home,
or anyone to answer to
except my stirring bones.
But honestly,
between you and me
I wish I had an anchor,
some place,
some thing,
someone to miss me while I'm not here.

Forget Me Not

I was asked to forget
the rainy nights,
the bitter fights,
the burning lights gone dim.

I was asked to forget
the empty lies,
the foolish guise,
the broken ties of friends.

I was asked to forget
the awkward smiles,
the painful trials,
the endless files of sins,
of which you know,
I will always know,
those things I was asked to forget.

Two Minds of One

He has the most beautiful hands.

With all the strength of his body,
with all the charm of his character,
with all the gifts of his talent,
with all the shadows of his mind,

his hands speak more than his words ever could.

Keep the Suitcase Open

Mama needed a weekend.

She left lasagna in the oven, instructions on the counter, and her departing words on the doorstep.

Mama needed a day without pearls.

She packed only two outfits for her trip and secretly took pleasure in the wrinkles and creases. She wouldn't touch an iron for a while.

Mama needed to wake up one morning without the boys.

She drove quietly with the windows down. She left the radio off, humming instead with the engine.

Double Exposure

Your little baby is growing up-
he has his daddy’s eyes.
But don’t forget that precious smile...
he was blessed with his momma’s wild side.
Your baby who needs you was born independent-
he’s already out of your arms.
Learn the rules of shadow tag,
it’s as close as he’ll let you come
to mussing his hair and pressing his clothes,
goodnight kisses will be far between.
He will always love you, he just won’t want to show it
until he is as old as me.
So keep this picture on a shelf but hold him in your heart
until he lets his daddy’s eyes shine,
his wild side is only the start.

Xandr05: lol, i love the debate thing
katapillerscheme: haha...thanks. you were great
Xandr05: he was kicked in an alleyway with steel tipped boots
Xandr05: all because he wanted a rainbow
katapillerscheme: everyone hated that queer

i am glad no one kicked you, and i am sad that you lost the office.
wait...it wasn't real! but that's what you get for being gay. (kidding!!)
i miss you, alex. i really do.

-a smidgen of the lovely aaron daniels-
loosechangeman02: katy, i love you so much
and you know what
i am proud to say that
i think that i am going to run around the house naked and scream, "I LOVE KATY THOMPSON!!!"
katapillerscheme: hehe, come and run around MY house naked and scream "I LOVE KATY THOMPSON!!!"


loosechangeman02: i never had a date that invovled going to arkansas
i can tell this is going to be fun

I remember as a kid, I was always so anxious to pull my teeth when they were loose. A nervous sort of anxious...I was very much against pain. I guess that would justify me being a wimp. Secretly I admired the brave kids. The ones who would yank out random teeth, just because they could: "So what, they aren't loose? Well...I'll just show that sucker! Tooth fairy here i come! Cha ching!!"
On the other hand, I was a "waiter". I was afraid to pull them out myself. It just...wasn't my thing.
Totally out of character, on Friday I helped a girl pull out her first loose tooth. No telling what came over me, but I was this little girl's cheerleader. This tiny girl, Marissa, is possibly the gutsiest kid around. She had a tumor on her pinkie, but it didn't phase her at all. She had a pink cast, so it was cool. You should have seen her with that tooth. Well...you should have seen us with that tooth.

I have a funny feeling. A good feeling! It is just a feeling that everything is going right. I can't help but wake up and smile. I am so happy, and about nothing in particular. We will see where the feeling takes me...I guess I can get used to this.

loosechangeman02: Katy... she is an excellent source of protein. Like in English class she would sit across the room from me and we talk and talk and talk in our secret language of nothing. Sometimes when we were reading books we would look at each other and laugh for no reason what-so-ever. That is how she is. It's like we are neighbors now and that is freakin' rad. Sometimes I will go to her house, I haven't yet, and we will just hang out. What I am really trying to say is that, Katy is a damn freakin' AWESOME girl. She is so cool the way she wears her glasses, and when I say "Katy" I mean "K-T."

thank you, aaron. father my children?

leah is here!
wow. july is an incredible month for leahs.
halelujiah!

I'll Pick You Up at 7?

he slipped her daisies through the mail slot
pressed his eye to the peep hole
and listened to her singing
on the other side of the door

she buckled her mary janes
moving with the second hand tick
waiting for a knock
on the other side of the door

her pearls gleamed in the moonlight
the smile on his face reminded her that she was lovely
tonight she would tell him
this was a gift she would treasure

her eyes twinkled in the moonlight
the smile on her face reminded him that she was lovely
tonight he would tell her
she was a girl he would treasure

I believe that all men are created equal and that everyone has within himself the power to make a better world.
---The Lone Ranger's Creed
adios and thank you for the inspiration and the quote, Cody Hill!


Happy Birthday Leah! You kick my ass! 15 years. ow ow!
You are my hero, lu, and I love you.

Oh, Mexico
It sounds so sweet with the sun sinking low
Moon's so bright like to light up the night
Make everything all right
-James Taylor


Sing it Sweet Baby James

We are back from Mexico, but part of me wishes we had never left.
It was an incrdible time of playing, watching,
talking, singing, swinging, laughing,
hugging, working, relaxing, learning,
teaching, changing,
and I couldnt have had more fun doing it.
Maybe it was because of the 100 Mexican children,
always at our feet or crawling into our arms.
Maybe it was the 100 screw holes into sheetrock,
or the 100 strokes on each mudded and taped seam.
Maybe it was the 100 times Aaron growled
"You gonna' eat yo' cornbread, boy?"
Maybe it was the 100 times we heard Fabio say "Amen"
...at our share times.
Maybe it was the 100 dishes we had to wash after every meal.
Maybe it was the 100 tresses we made into a jungle gym
to jump on, a seat to talk from, a bed to lay across,
a support for the roof of a house we built.
Maybe it was the 100 times we had to walk from our dorms
to the 2 houses we worked on.
Maybe it was the 100 times the electricity failed us.
Maybe it was the 100 cows that were hunted.
Maybe it was 100 bottles of joya we drank with delight.
Maybe it was the 100 degree weather that kept us hot and still.
Maybe it was the 100 words we knew in Spanish.
Maybe it was the 100 crashing waves at the beautiful beach.
Maybe it was the 100 pictures we took
of the 100 colors in the sunsetting sky,
or the 100 stars we could count before our eyes got lost,
or the 100 smiles that never tired,
or the 100 people who brought the smiles,
or took the smiles,
or loved the smiles.
Maybe it was the 100 things that God blessed each of us with
at each moment that we were too dizzy to see.


commentary:
All these maybe's add up to one thing i am sure of:
I had an amazing time.
I learned things about myself and about people I love. I learned to love things about myself and people I didn't love. I learned how people feel about me (more good than bad). I learned how I feel about new people in my life I can love. I learned about God, and in ways, I am closer to him than ever, but still, I find myself distant. However, I also learned that God is patient with my imperfections, and he is teaching me to be patient with mine as well as those of other people. I just love God, even when I don't feel close to him.
So, Mexico was beautiful and lovely. Different, yes. But wonderful all the same.

today, i got my first sunburn of the summer. ouch.

Main Entry: de·tached

Pronunciation: di-'tacht, dE-

Function: adjective


1 : standing by itself


As a tool of survival in many societies and tribes, the members therein practice exclusion of the weak. Survival of the fittest-Darwin would be proud.

On sport teams, when a player is injured, he is sidelined. Obviously, because he can't perform the duties required to be on the field.
In schools, students are put on probation from extracurricular activities when their grades or behavior don't meet certain requirements.

In litters of piglets, the runt is pushed aside when milking from the mother. With the exception of Charolotte's Web, the runt has a slim to none chance of survival.

In army batallions, when a soldier is promoted or leaves for some reason, the soldiers of the betallion hold a "Hale and Farewell". The leaving soldier is praised and presented with gifts and sappy goodbyes, being wished "best of luck" by his fellow soldiers.

When a person finds themself in a position to leave a place, they often experience some sort of hale and farewell. A comfortable good-bye party with friends, a formal farewell at a workplace-some form of closure. But often times, the misunderstanding occurs when the friends say the good-byes too early.

It hurts a little less to let someone go when you break away slowly.
What's the purpose in maintaining what was there if it will soon be gone anyhow?

It hurts no matter how slowly you let go.

When you take off a band-aid, you can follow one of two techniques. You can peel the band-aid slowly from your skin, or rip it off in one quick motion. Of course, there is no right or wrong method, however, it is my personal experience that when you peel a band-aid slowly, it hurts as you go. No matter how quickly you take it off, you are still left with a sting. Sure it will end up off your skin by some means or another, but I would rather experience the fast flash drive-thru of pain with a side of ouch, than a sit-down, 5 course menu of agony, followed by the house specialty sting.

The tribesmen don't often consider the pain of isolation until they find themselves in a similar position themselves, excluded from the tribe and written off.

The benchwarmers on the team, or the players on probation watching from the sidelines, don't feel as much part of the team as the players in uniform on the field.

The runt piglets experience a death by starvation and malnutrition.

In the army batallions, they hold the hale and farewell a short while before the actual departure. For several days, the soldier walks around with good-byes and a feeling that they are already gone.

When friends say good-bye too early, thinking to avoid some pain, the person leaving becomes detatched. In the time between when the person leaves and the good-byes are said, or more often felt, it is a terrible thing to be standing by oneself.

Has the Sun Set?

I really wish I could see the stars from here.
What does the earth look like from space?
I wonder if you could see all the lights
from our houses and businesses, and Las Vegas casinos.
It seems silly that we clutter our own sky with so many lights
then wonder why we can't see through the haze.

commentary:
summer breeze was fun, of course. i think more than anything, i really enjoy watching the people watching the music. don't get me wrong, i really do love the music, but i consider it to be more of a background to the real entertainment. i didn't see Leroy there though. i was a bit disappointed, but andy almost filled his place. thanks for going with me andy!

katapillerscheme: you make me happy robby!
AtTheShow719: katie you make me robby

christie! hey woman.

As of May 27, I became a working girl. I'd like to say I felt an earth shattering change, but coming home after that first day on the job, it felt more like a birthday, only I had turned 100 and still had the little kids at my birthday party. I work at Summerscope, which is a kid's day care sort of thing through the summer. So far, it has proven to be tiring work, but the kids are great, and it's an exciting job.

I looked forward to the day they would look forward to me. Growing up as a kid enrolled in the summer camps at my own church, I had plenty of camp workers to look up to. I always wanted to be near every one of them. I wanted their attention, and when I got it, the angels sang from heaven above. Or...I stopped crying and whining, which I'm sure constitued for some sweet choirs of angels rejoicing. On the other hand, however, I always wished that someday, there would be kids who felt the same way about me. I wanted them to want me. I think that kids can see that, or feel it with their super human powers.

I have been told I have a way with children. I'm not sure what qualifies a person to be "good with kids" however, if it were a legitimate title, I think I could wear it proudly. I'd sign my checks, Katie "Good With Kids" Thompson. "Good with kids" may be translated more realistically as meaning "good with making kids be good", or "being so kiddish yourself that you meet them right on their kiddie level". However it may be defined, I think it is safe to say I have a gift. I am a tamer of the wild beasts, however, I don't abuse my authority as a grown up.

So it's off to another exhausting day of children following me closer than my shadow. Exciting....

But in all reality, I really do look forward to it.

katapillerscheme: but the worst part is that i missed most of the saturday morning cartoons!
CeLtIc 206: but its friday
katapillerscheme:
CeLtIc 206: silly silly girl

Bright Eyed Fool

You've charmed my heart into believing
love is just a fool's conceiving.
Your clumsy aim at flattery,
your blushing pink sincerity.
The silly tales I've twice now heard,
you capture me with every word.
Your childish curiosity
lights a spark of life in me.
I eagerly await your touch,
the fumbled hugs I love so much.
Your kisses dancing on my lips,
your hands embrace my fingertips.
Your laugh is light and wildly free
your smile is sweet simplicity.
I see, my love, these simple things
and can't yet say what joy they bring
for each new day I love you more.
What bright eyed fool had this in store?

Don't Forget the Sunscreen

My reflection in their cloudy eyes is cheap and far from real.
My silhouette is darker than my dreams that they conceal.
Stepping from behind the clouds, I hoped to see the sun,
The burning rays were peircing then, I had no strength to run.
The time I have is darker when I spend it on my own
yet, they make me feel more lonely than had I stayed alone...

i just want to appologize..
to every wonderful person to whom i have failed to be as wonderful. sometimes i forget myself, and in my forgetting, i lose the people i care for.
so, i am sorry..

Cmitch1028: you only find the perfect people when you dont want them

but more often, you only find the perfect people when they don't want you.

so.
im 16.
when does it get good?

make life rise into this
soft clouded dream,
that winter would bloom her full vision
playing day through moons..
every dance above dawn turns night
to dark poetry.

skywalker135: don't worry what any one else thinks, because after the show you can kick their stupid asses, just say it, get it.
because you just don't care
and that not caring
allows you to kick some major ass.

on days like these, i find my eyes hiding under a gray veil

choose your words wisely
don't you know what you speak?
your ego won't save you,
your intentions are weak.

you've rallied up forces,
an open eyed sea
of eager young faces..
dead unceratainty.

until you've heard weeping
and sobs from the graves
speak not of other's dreams..
a patient tounge saves.

lusamaha: its so sad what avril lavigne has done to ties
lusamaha: i was looking at this limited 2 catalog and they had them in there for like 10 yr olds!
katyshak216: i know. she raped their greatness and left them dirty.
lusamaha: gawd i am so tired of corporate america and their enforced conformism

the dappled gray sunrise sweeps the horizon
even your eyes are clouded by rain

to explore distant lands,
to sail to the sun,
to hide with lost moonbeams,
to speak with my hands,

to capture a smile,
to disect true love,
to swim with the raindrops,
to sing for a mile,

to dance with an old man,
to drink with a saint,
to find fault with genius,
to believe that i can

do all things impossible
for dreamless fools
who worry of failure,
to weak to break rules.

i think if dreams were colors, my pallete would be blank.
a white wall wash of empty sky,
a well of inspiration dry.
my mind is home to little more than...

my lips were dry of words to say
so i will try my hand at talking.
today was such an awkward day,
i felt a cloud was stalking
me through the maze of corridors.
it followed as my eyes
retreated to the tile floor-
the squares must have been spies
for only mirrors glancing back
could echo my distress.
his quickened pace reserved no slack,
he crept with such finesse.
i wish the beast would leave me here
to weep beneath the sky
of cement strokes, all void of cheer,
where peaceful chaos sighs.
yet in this darkness all i fear
is that the beast leave me
alone to drown beneath my tears...
my cry a hopeless plea.

this morning, i woke up in florida. it was a grand feeling to be able to walk around in flip flops, in the winter mind you, without my toes turning blue. i had forgotten how beautiful and rich tampa is. its hyper chic! i wish all you normanites could see lovely tampon. its...beautiful..and rich! i feel like the country mouse in the big city. everything has changed so much...but me...im still good ole' katy. or just...ole' katy, dreamy days like these i cant quite tell. "kinda like my life is like a sequel to a movie where the actor's names have changed". my friends sound the same, and im not sure some of them will ever find their way out. i like those constants. ive still been afraid that i will see someone who remembers me, but i wont recognize them. "and most of my memories have escaped me, Or confused themselves with dreams..."

::lyrics courtesy of the sexy John Mayer-83:: he is sucha friggen stud. im jealous of his creative way to mold words...so...here is where i can borrow them!

so fly my conscience to the moon
to dance above this memory
amidst the dreams with hazy shine
to sleep beneath the dazzling sea

underneath this canopy
of blazing lights and restless schemes
this tropical land of melodic sighs
stages the dance steps of fickle moon beams

misspelled intentions inhibit momentum, words get in the way.
i cant speak without shaking, my eyes aren't awake, but i feel what im trying to say...
my smile's not responding, my heart is choked up, i am grasping for words in the sky
and all that i see is your heart next to me, and your arms reaching out to hold mine.

Ginray72: oh honey, cowboy up!, everything's going to be better soon
Ginray72: a swift kick in the ass to your happines is all you need!

happy is an emotion im no longer familiar with. come again? smile? never heard of it.

faith is the ground upon which we stand. hope is the star for which we reach. love is the breath of this very moment.
thanks dr. macdaddy roark.

pucker up!

Hell has forgotten my name, and they are more than eager to offer substitutes. Four letters leave a bigger bruise than five fingers. They play word games…but I always lose.

lusamaha: he is really hot
lusamaha: and i think i could be happy just looking at him

Chicken Scratch

Hell has forgotten my name,
and they are more than eager to offer substitutes.
Four letters leave a bigger bruise than five fingers.
They play word games…but I always lose.
I am illeterate to the demands of my peers.
I am not dyslexic but am constantly reflected backwards
in the compact mirrors of society.
I fail their pop quizzes in survival.
They dont understand me.
I wish they didnt believe in numbers.

A vacant smile through hazy bars
casts upon the idle feild
of hallowed cries and moonlit tears
the flighting song of bitter scars

The Ecstasy Of Life

The sand was warm, as was the moist air engulfing me. I glanced above the palm trees to the blanket of stars above me, and smiled back to Orion. Behind the jagged sea wall was the city community, alive with lights and the hum of busy schedules. I felt invisible atop the shells and sand until the first blast of light exploded with the stars. Colors then collided, creating pom-poms of radiance. Joyous shouts and drunken proclamations of independence rang through the air. Curious onlookers streamed to the sands like ants from the hill of Beachfront hotels. I became lost in the show of shimmering fire across the sky. The performance was abruptly intermissioned when He ran over to my sandy hill, crashing into the dune along side me. I silently welcomed this distraction. For a moment, we just stared blankly at the fireworks through the sky peeking between the branches of the palms. His silhouette, momentarily illuminated, made home to an entranced smile… “Charming,” I whispered beneath my breath, “...just…beautiful." His gaze left the sky, and his piercing eyes met mine. Just then, as if a surge of restless energy had been jumped into my body, I lept to my feet and ran. My bare feet dug into the gritty beach sand as I charged towards the crashing waves. My ankles quickly became weak, yet the adrenaline pumping through my veins numbed all my discomfort. I turned around, though never slowing, and saw Him chasing closely behind me. From the view of my hotel room, the water hadn’t seemed so distant. Yet as the roar of the crashing waves grew louder, I could almost taste the salty water.

im sitting here. really...just sitting here. tapping my foot to music thats not playing. wow. i just looked down at my wrist and found a rubber band, that i honestly dont remember putting there. i wonder where it came from! i think im hungry but i cant quite tell. maybe im want to eat just cause im bored. well, either way, it will occupy me...but will it fill me up? not likely! i want my cell phone to ring. odd? most likely. hmm...but i dont feel like doing anything! hmmm again...

i felt foolish today because i stayed hungry

i need new feet. mine dont really work! maybe its my legs too...do you think i could some kind of bargain on a pair?

i want to kiss him...not because he is gorgeous, but because his every word is delicious. where better to meet his words than in the lips that speak them? i want to taste his wonderful

i'm sorry he's all i talk about, but lately, he's all i think about. i am known to speak my mind...i wish it would respond

today, i was looking up at the wall in the acting room, and i saw a picture frame with three newspaper cutouts. they were all critiques of the same play, directed by two students who had graduated just a few years earlier. the reviews were less than flattering, however, their names were mentioned-five minutes of fame-due glory awarded. the detail that actually caught my attention however, is that the three papers were yellow and faded. despite having resided in a dark, flourecent lighted classroom, encased in glass, they managed to loose color. but i wonder if the memories fade as the pages do. have the boys gone on to bigger and better things? maybe there are whole magazine articles about them...not just silly news clippings. or possibly, the articles are as far as they made it. did their big break mean more to them when the article was white? have they just accumulated these old articles? or do they cherish their yellowed memory?

its such a great feeling to be with someone who can talk to you about anything. there is never a dull moment because everything they say is gripping. you dont want to leave them because even in their silence, they speak so many words.

black jack 21, the face cards empty, the game wins for none. the dealer's forecast predicts defeat for all those who dare to step up to the seat. the cash chips fight fiercly to break free your grip, they crash to the table, your pale fingers slip to pick up two cards that are weighed to the table, the jack meets your gaze but the ace isnt stable. this winning hand loses, the cards can't stand still. the ace added zero, the jack fell down hill.

grand book-must have for your own collection.
"The Perks of Being a Wallflower"-Stephen Chbosky

i always wished the Beatles had written a song about me. carter, i really think they will in heaven. and it will be my song. i cant wait...im tappin my toes already

rejection is nothing but personal

i am a star!
i am now in our musical, My Fair Lady-yes Cody, it is grand! i wish you could transfer casts! but i am lousy no-part singer,a Reject! they call us Company Women, which is just a glorified name for chorus. but i am really proud to be in the cast at all-you have to start your way at the bottom and work your way up...plus the theatre isnt ready for my talent. prepare for fireworks Broadway! I also made our jazz choir/show choir. we have the cutest red dresses and tan character shoes. im excited solely for the dress, and i guess for getting to use my voice, haha....hence the whole choir position1. Im also in our Mixed Choir, and i love all the boys and girls. you are all grand! i am so excited because this year is so "performance packed". I love the stage...and even more...the spotlight!!

carter is so hot! what a stud!

a million dollar smile...
can you blame me for flashin that thousand-watter? a compliment like that is a sure fire way to put someone in a mood and a half! get 'em happy and the grins will keep coming!

and the point is...?
It's so silly to try to impress pretty people! The funniest thing yet is that they dont even notice...they are too busy trying to catch everyone else's eyes! Just don't waste your time--the people who truly give a crap wont be impressed...chances are they like the plain you better!

words to live by-
When you are oppressed by a situation, dont just imagine a positive escape, live optimostically.

cleanse my soul!
I dont want dog poop in my brownies-I am the flava forava! Ha...what a fun year!

school? yea!
Today was our first day back to school, and I must say, it wasn't half bad! I really liked all my classes, and the people in them...hmm...I can deal. I am just suprised that they offer classes as fun as they do! I had all my artsy classes today, and am absoultely in love with the whole works...choir, acting...stage! I also have my language...and im soaking it all in, so i can use all my spanish in Mexico. I am almost excited to learn! Tomorrow may not bring as much excitement, but if it flops, i'll always have my A-days to fall back on. I have a feeling this year is gonna fly right on by.