training.txt

Key Lime Pie Poem
Today, they excavated the lime,
burying the razor of a grapefruit spoon 
into our lush green fields. 
We anticipated it since the notice went up 
last Friday:
“This lime is ripe and ripe for use 
Its vesicles rife with gold.” 
But still, it was a shock to everyone 
when silver tore through the pulse of the sky 
and into the pulp of the Earth. 
We clung to our membranes, locking up carpels 
burrowing deep into the flesh. 
Some had the foresight to hitch a pith;
we haven’t seen them since. 
We’ve been relocated to a young lisbon 
and reassured many times
that we’re lucky to have anything at all.
But it hasn’t been the same
since they excavated the lime.  


Gas Statsion Magnets Poem
Gas Station Magnets
I do not envy paintings
Hung up in museums, gallery walls
Lined up nice and neat next to others
Fighting for attention
Praise
Or simple acknowledgement, that would be enough

Paintings live a tiresome life, created to be stared at
Analyzed, picked apart
Loved, prized until they are priceless-
Untouchable

How nice it must feel to be adored
For someone to stare at you for hours
Pay a fortune because they love you so much
A talking piece, every new set of eyes can find something to admire

Or critique

The sad truth is, when you line up paintings in a gallery
Some become neglected
"Undeserving" of love because they are put on display next to a piece that outshines them

That unloved piece can hear you, I promise
It can hear all of the things you do not say
It wonders what it lacks
What could've made you stare and praise
It doesn't want to be worth a fortune
No, all it seeks is a pair of eyes to notice it
Appreciate the details in its canvas

It envies the drawings that get to stay in homes
Hung up on a refrigerator with gas station magnets
Humble love
Oh, that would be enough


my sorrow was only flotsam poem
one day i listened to the waves, their fleeting grace, 
and lo i heard a tale;

lilies once weeded these sands, 
the water once curtsied to sweet sunbeams,
orange as mango. 
the rocks collected smiles,
left by wanderers long ago. 

‘twas not a new story to me, 
and there I offered to the sea my sorrow, I demanded, 
“where did the days go!” 
the bygone ones. u
i had forgotten them here, 
and the sea washed them away
like the reflection of the moon. 

please, do not offer me the tide 
or salt staining the sand:
my memories are gone just the same. 

waves, when i cried tears of loneliness to you
why did you not keep them, 
preserve them in your blue glass?
my song, instead, you shattered 
lost to your great mass. 

for only a day, a moment, 
i wished to reminisce.
but you have stolen more than time from me, 
o’ cruelest sea.

Icarus Poem
are we just like icarus?
reaching higher and higher, wanting more and more, thinking not of the consequence but only the reward
pleading with the sun to let us closer and closer until we burn or 
f 
	a
		l
			l?
waiting impatiently with wings newly built only to waste out one chance to fly on trying to reach the unreachable?
everyone wants to be the best, everyone wants to go higher than the person before them.
and yet what is waiting at the end?
hurt blood tears
nothing but pain.
if you manage to make it to the top there’s only a matter of time before you burn, 
and if you can’t get far enough you fall back down into the swirling throngs of water, the churning sea of all people that are trying to do the same. 


beneath their hurried feet you d r   o    w     n
your last thought the knowledge that no one realizes until it’s too late: 
We are not like Icarus.
We are not content when we fall,
and yet we had to try, because not trying would be drowning without a fight.



I Dreamed About You Again Last Night Poem
I dreamed about you again last night,
Eyes like a twilight sky and the hair of a sunrise.
You were wearing your sundress, the green one,
Long and tiered and whirling like an October wind.
And you were beautiful, so beautiful, so real
That it seemed cruel you were only in the tapestry of my dreams.

I dreamed about you again last night,
And when I awoke tears stained my pillow.
You are gone and the sundress is gone 
And your laughing purple eyes are closed now.
And it's not fair!
I should've come with you;
Instead I'm still here.
But if the Potter took one of His works of art to heaven
Would it have been so hard to take these broken shards too?

I dreamed about you again last night
And I ache so badly it's like my heart was used for target practice.
But though I feel destroyed,
I know that I am not.
Though the Potter took you away from me
That doesn't mean He isn't here to mend my shattered pieces.

I dreamed about you again last night,
But this time I smiled when I opened my eyes.
I threw back the curtains and kneeled with sunlight cocooning me,
And I prayed a prayer of praise.
God is putting me back together.
God is comforting me in my sorrow.
And I know my eyes will rain again;
I know the hurricane will roar.
But, I also know
There will be rainbows to catch
And sunshine to hold
And God, Who loves me beyond all my understanding.

One day I will need no dream to see you again
For we will be together.

a break in continuity
and thus far
my weary self has travelled
wandering the seven seas
wandering the seven continents
wondering in my head
when my untimely demise will arrive

perhaps there was no sense in ever letting go
of this comfortable, cozy life of mine
hugged in an embrace of a small world
we call home

perhaps there was never an escape to begin with
how the human mind ponders
always seeking the unknown
the hidden, the forbidden
locked away in our hearts and heads
collecting dust within the tombs of our naivety

and yet still I wander on
dragging my helpless husk behind me
leaving a trail of shadows 
always one step too slow

never looking back;
Time, it seemed
favored my pitiful plight
blessed me, so it says
with the power of dreams and youth
unknown to the rest of mankind,
no one will hear my silent cries
a curse
the price?
lips sealed and pain, everlasting

daylight
night sky
spring
summer
fall
winter
in my eyes there is no difference;
Time is a cruel one
playing, toying with fate
unbeknownst to us mortal humans
grounded, chained to this land
we call home

but I have no home
there is no home 

that belongs in this jaded heart of mine
only clouded, wispy frames in my head
of the places I once resided in
of the people whom I once knew and loved

I have no home
I am the wanderer
the stargazer
the teller of a million stories
or so the other mortals speak of

I am praised by few
I am shunned by many
they fear me
blessed one of Time
cursed to live but never perish like them
they seek my power
my curse
like hungry vultures stalking my every breath

they don't know
mortal fools
how far I've fallen
into the bottomless pit
of agony 
of terror
trapped in a cycle of continuity 
foolish mortals
as I once was
a long time ago
a long time ago

and thus far,
my weary, desperate self has traveled
wandering the seven seas
wandering the seven continents
wondering in my head
when my untimely demise will arrive
when this cursed cycle of mine will break
when I'll finally lay to rest
and cease to exist 

please take me home

Sunset – sonnet
I spin a song into the deep blue sky
From Queen Anne's lace and gleaming copper wire
And as the sun sinks honey-slow I fly
On wings of dreams, and chase that fading fire.

The stars above me shine unending peace
With radiance untouched by woe or fear;
Their brilliance asks me, softly, to release
My burdens, and to let them disappear. 

Bright shards of moonlight on the ocean trace
A path to paradise; the sand is gold
As lapping waves that gently sweep erase
My sorrows, and all of my joys unfold. 

The peace I find here, I cannot explain --
But it is here, so here I shall remain.


A Portrait of You Poem
On television, white specks delineate your fancy-free night.
Scruffy antenna, inclining towards the downtown, not believing
Its eminence. And no more innocent cells under microscopes’ light.
Scrappy memories will spew out what they look like - no fin, no wing.

‘It is not true!’ you reject violently with a panting breath.
‘Snowflakes are what they look like. Cells and stars shining in
The night sky. You know televisions won’t tell a lie, whose faith
Is deeper than mine!’ Still giggling, your bottle has no spirits within.

So I run down piles of haystacks, cross bunches of motorbikes,
Traverse heaps of shoddy books. Beyond doubt, nothing –
Nothing I pass by can ever answer why my mind strikes.
Yet I saw you scribble on a dusty window, murmuring

Obscure words. Through your intoxicated eyes, the answer  
Floats on the eaves. ‘How pathetic are you?’ Like a cynical stripper.


An Adolescent at the Edge of Town – sonnet
How to keep your mind busy at the edge
Of town, where nothing is the same as is
Was: think about the boy, think how you miss
Him so. Memorize a book or a wedge

In the corner of the page's soft edge,
Think about how the last time you will kiss - 
It will be tomorrow, is what it 'tis?
Over the mossy wall, enter the hedge.

There is no way to fight the feeling thee -
End, in it's devilish, snappy state, is thine!
Best to runaway, better claim a tree,
A small house in which to scuttle off: hide.

You will miss him, think of him with gold glee!
Rebirth of the man, down at riverside.


Love, it is the stars Poem
phrygian mode does not pour from a pianist's hand;
Love, instead, it is the conflict of the mind resolving in the flesh. 
Much the same, us stars are only as tangible as 
thought unfurling.
You have reserved 'sun' for the meekest of us all, 
but we cannot blame you for grasping Mother's 
hand when facing the cosmos. 

As the wind soughs gentle ‘round the bough
And jasmine sway—
And children play—
And all I remember 
Glows bright and soft; glows like an ember. 

For I have seen the dark embrace of forget.
Somehow, it seems better—better to regret. 
In the garden of dream, I reflect like the rippling lakes 
My heart open to each its mistakes. 
Lilies of fire opal envelop me 
Sprawled sweet beneath the walnut tree
And I waltz amongst the quiet streams 
Drifting in my beloved dreams.

Eyes Poem
I have a white eye and a black eye. 
The white eye sees truth, but the black eye can see much more. 
The black eye sees nothing 
and everything, 
creation 
and destruction. 
The white eye also sees the truth within the black.
The world around me is a blur. 
None of them understand. 
None of them See. 
I am virtually invisible, 
nobody chooses to see me. 
But I always see them. 
I wasn’t always this way. 
But I Saw the truth, 
and now I See ever so clearly. 
Everyone else is blind. 
Someday, however, they will all 
See just like me.

like the 29th Poem
cause baby i'm the 29th of February
the terrifying afterglow,
of yesterday's smile,
folded into creases of time. 

my smile is wicked and my presence is a godsend,
it's chaos out there,
franz kafka for president 

'cause who prays for Satan
when all has gone to hell? 

'cause i am the epitome of hopeless romanticism
the people glorify me as a drunken poet
delirious beyond all measure 
my words read by all
understood by none. 
i am the consequence, the result of self-infliction. 
for how many pieces can shards break into?

i am numbered in the thousands... 

'cause i want auroras
and sad prose
i want to watch wisteria 
grow right over my bare feet. 
'cause baby, i haven't moved in years,
and i want you here. 
it's the least you owe me,
after all i immortalised you 
carved your image 
into my heart pages 

'cause baby, i have always been here
my gravestone hammered into the ground
the day you realize i was there, always
is the day i stop screaming your name 
in the depths of hell

but oh, to live for the hope of it all
fleetingly, truly, solemnly,
nothing.