simple little poems

I stand here admiring my African Violet and getting the bed made just right,

mourning the loss of my other plants in the separation

while worlds away people are murdered and tortured for just being in the

wrong place at the wrong time and a child cries because his belly is empty and he doesn't have any clothes, while I get berated for refusing to force vegetables on my daughter and letting her go outside without a coat in October because she says she isn't cold.

That's life.

Work in progress...

Emily Dickinson, I love you!

It's not really supposed to be sad...  but thanks for reading it anyway

My nickname for you is Deep End.

Could be a lot worse, what with incontinence threatening us old fogies.

I stand here mourning your African violence and their getting the bad: right made by might,

mourning the loss of their other plans in the desperation

while words away dreams are murdered and nights tortured for just being in the

wrong head at the wrung time

and a child cries because his belly is empty and he doesn't have any clothes...

... while you get liberated for refusing force on your daughter and letting her go because she says the October vegetables aren't cold.

That's work.

Life in progress...

Emily Dickinson, you love me.

Your broken heart I cannot mend,

But listen here: This is not the end.

Life is cold and bare

wherever the oceans tide goes

my journey is so far

only i know who can reach

The wind blows the snow across the path

Hitting my body as a I walk through the sleepy campus,

Makes me wonder why we have to go to school on Fridays.

Now in haiku:

snow storm blasts my face
sleepy morning trudge to class
Can't the wind sleep-in ?!!

You go man!  I like that!

Now, translated again into haiku (in your voice, like before):

That haiku is soooooo true about my thoughts translated into your words.

Leaves fall like foot steps in the wind

Racing for warmth and shelter

In the cold air before the storm.

A train whistle blows in the distance

Growing fainter as it moves away.

And as we say goodbye

I'm warmed by the shroud

Of that final embrace.

Hitting the "like" button.

Thanks!

As the bell begins the the fight,

Player 2, let's say Toon Link, runs towards Ganondorf,

thinks how to blast Ganondorf off the stage, let's say Big Blue,

and Ganondorf smiles at Link,

and punches him off the stage before Link could do anything.

And the match is over just in a flash.

Okay, yes, I played too much Super Smash Bros. Brawl.  So what, it still a poem.

As I sit at home,

studying for my math test.

I watch the snow piling on the road,

thinking I have to still work today,

in spite of the snow.

Now in haiku style...

busy snow blizzard
covers all - yet just like me,
each flake seems lazy

young little snowflakes
gather and cause big trouble
with their big party

When the notion of a God particle is quaint

And our descedents zip around the planet

Like space aliens from impossible galaxies,

When our descendents zip around the universe

They'll still crave the feel of a lover's skin.

Ghost in the machine is a cold existence

Regardless of ecstacies of the soul

Or pyrotechnics of the intellect.