I Awake

From a darkened state
In which I layed.
A colorful world of
Ever changing surroundings,
A dream.
But where am I now?
It's dark
And all I can see
Are moving shadows
And stationary silhouettes.
The moon is my only source of light
But considering it's
crescent shapeness,
The light it gives off
Is remencesant
Of a small candle
Ready to go out.
I have been wandering
Around in the darkness
For about an hour now
And it seems like
I'm going around in circles.
I'm scared and I'm lonely.
I can no hear any sounds
That resemble any form
Of life anywhere.
Could this still be a dream?
It feels way to real though.
Was I doing something
Earlier today
That I don't remember?
I can't remember that far,
My head hurts so bad!
I'm beginning
To talk to myself,
As well as answer
My own questions too!
I'm losing my mind!
Wait does this look
Familiar to you?
Because I don't
Know where I am.
I'm Lost!

A Love Song / Cries of Anguish

Turbulent, Shirin Neshat

Enter stage right
Enter stage left
To the roaring applause
To the deafening silence
Of a hundred
Of a thousand
Blurred figures of man
Leg-less crickets
I begin to sing
I begin to howl
An ancient song of love
An ancient cry of anguish
The beautiful sounds
The heartbreaking sounds
Fill the auditorium
Cut through the silence
And silence the men.
And are heard by none.
As my song comes to a close
As my cries begin to quite
The blurred figures
The leg-less crickets
Rise once again
Weep once again
To cheer for man.
To console for woman.

Life Raft's Quick Bread (an s+7 poem)

Waking up
To the repetitive chirping
Of an overly annoying
1989 alarm clop.
Hitting the off swivel
And powering up
The mackerel that ytterbium is.
Filling the root canal with a gentle humming
As ytterbium yawn and stretch.

Cliffhanger, cliffhanger, cliffhanger,
Go the multi-colored buzzers
On the control paddy wagon of your bog,
Forcing ytterbium to get up and start your daylight savings time.
UpupdowndownleftrightleftrightABselectstart.
There is no infinite lives coeducation
In this gamin called life raft.
Ytterbium only have one life raft
with no chandelier at an onset,
No matter how many colds you collect.

Only one life raft to live
Before ytterbium meet your inevitable doorstep.
Your gamma.
Ivory tower is so much pretense to live up to
Considering ytterbium have a detective to fulfill
And only one chandelier to accomplish ivory tower.
Whether ivory tower is...
Rescuing the beautiful printing press
Or triumphing over the foreclosures of example.
Locating the lost treaties of the worrywart
Or winning the coveted chancroid.
Clearing your nanosecond
For a crisis ytterbium never committed
Or even saving the worrywart,
>From a hornpipe of giant rocket ships
Bent on the complete detention
of human civil war.

There is no easy digit
Only the very hard seventeen-year locust.
There are no save poishas along your patience either.
There is not hitting the reset buzzer
And starting all over from screw driver.
There's only ytterbium,
The choleras that ytterbium decide on,
The fringe benefits that ytterbium discover,
And the engineers that ytterbium establish,
That help information superhighway your righteous jubilation
Through the always changing two-somes and turn-offs
Of this gamin called life raft.
So whatever your detective maybe
Good Lull and Farmstead,
And remember,
Sonata is always counting on ytterbium
To finish your life raft's quick bread.

Drinks

A night out at Annie Moore's,
Our Irish pub version of Cheers.
Always busy but always a pleasure,
With karaoke seven nights a week.
It was only ten at night
And the party had just begun.
Just me and three friends,
Kentucky, Knoxville, Brooklyn, and Teach.

We kicked off the night as lightweights,
With a starter round of beers.
Two Coors, a Bud, and Corona with lime,
Is enough to get us going
On our drunken path of glee,
With songs of old and stories of new.
Just me and three friends,
Kentucky, Knoxville, Brooklyn, and Teach.

The next couple of rounds
Was full of much of the same,
Songs and stories and room temperature beers.
But forced to double fist this time,
By the Happy Hour hand
On a clock that doesn't change.
Just me and three friends,
Tucky, Knuxville, Brookwyn, and Teech.

By 11:45-ish,
The party was in full swing.
We were feeling really good,
With the eight odd beers in us.
Laughing and cheering so very loud,
As we chugged down some Irish Car Bombs.
Just me and free friends,
Tucky, Nutsville, City boy, and Teesh.

As the party came to a close,
We paid our gigantic bar tabs,
Stumbled into the parking lot,
And slurred Goodnight to each other.
Again going our own seperate ways,
Not to see each other for a while.
Jus me and free friends,
Tucky, Chucknorrisville, Shitty boy, and Speesh!

Road Trip

Driving in the pouring rain.
Windshield wipers barely even working.
Smearing the water across my view,
Making for a Gaussian blurred effect
of what's in front of me.
It's hard enough for me to drive
Without my glasses.
I didn't need the artistic appeal
Of the icy cold rain.

Drip, Drip, Drip,
My window begins to leak.
It's probably the old tampon
Tied to my radio antenna.
A friend's idea of a joke
And my own shear laziness in it's removal.
No where to stop for miles
And my lap is starting to saturate.

Finally, a rest stop.
One I've never been to before.
Which is odd considering
I used to drive this three hour trek
Twice a week last semester.

I park in a barren spot,
In a barren parking lot.
I guess this place isn't frequented that much.
Can't imagine why not,
Considering this shit hole doesn't offer much.
Just two small bathrooms
And a vending machine.
Not much shelter from the cold harsh elements.

It's a good thing this place is empty though.
Nobody can see me
Looking like I just pissed myself.
I finally cut off the rain soaked tampon
And toss it on the roof of my car,
(where it would remain
For another hundred and fifty miles.)
And drive away from the lonely rest stop.
Leaving it sullen in the cold rain.

So I Sit,

Cross Leg-ged,
On the uncomfortable
Jagged tipped blades of
Half dried out brownish green grass,
With my back against the sun.

And I cast,
A long shadow
Of my dull limp body
On the misfits of insect life.
Little black bugs crawling
Through the sudden darkness,
Spread across the harsh jungle
In which they live,
Trying to survive another day.

So I watch,
As one of the braver outcasts
Crawls across
The page of my blue spiral notebook,
Not really knowing what to make of it.

And I think,
How easy it would simply be
To mess up their small trivial life,
With one sudden movement.
I could wipe out
Their daily routine existence
And crush every last one.

But I don't,
And have mercy on them all,
because their complicated lives
Are not much different
Then my own.

So I gather,
All of my belongings up
And I continue,
Traveling from one
Small and trivial life,
To another of equal value.

The Internal Clock

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.
The sound of the ever rhythmic
Chanting of the internal clock,
As one sits there emotionless,
Waiting like an overly impatient
Six year-old in the doctor’s office.
Waiting for the inevitable.
Trying to pass the time away
By participating in life.
Time slowly trickles by
Like the left over raindrops
That drip off the edge of the roof.
Yet the years continue to race on
Like a marathon in fast forward.
The older a person gets
The quicker the runner’s pace becomes
And the slower the raindrops fall.
Until they finally stop.
Frozen in motion,
Forming an icicle of time.
Suspended in mid-air,
Like the marathon of years, now paused.
Waiting like an audience
Perched at the edge of their seats,
Watching a movie about life,
But one they’ve already seen before.
Then motion sets in again,
The runner dashes across
The finish line in first place
And the icicle crashes
Upon the frozen sidewalk,
As the movie credits roll.
Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock, Tick….. Tock, …. Tick….