Poem: Lies

written 8/1/09

Critique welcome.

I've opened a Pandora's box

of secrets

without meaning to.

I've told things normal people

wouldn't tell

and lost affection.

So I kept secrets,

gained trust,

but lost truth.

Poem: My Spotted Socks

writted 7/13/09

critique welcome.

Threaded with pink

and white

and a tiny bit of orange.

Thoroughly worn

and loved

and torn at the toes a little.

They don't exactly keep my feet warm,

But as long as I can look at my spotted socks

I almost don't mind being cold.

Wondering...

Why I've forgotten my pen

And it's stout comfort.

Why I revel in other silly,

Unimportant half-joys.

Why I've not let my heart

Pour out to my God?

My future...

Just thought I'd post this.. it's kind of silly, but it might make you laugh :)

This desperate child
With hair of brown,
Short and stout 
Disinclined to frown,
Will find within

Herself a dream
One that others

May have seen
She'll find a prince
And dance in the snow
And write away her days,
But she'll never grow.

Character Study

(I saw him at Barnes and Noble the other day... Shh! what, no, I'm not a stalker)

A uncouth swagger meets a civilized world as Frank walks into the bookstore with a dirty leather coat and naturally faded, old jeans. Ordinary books line the shelves, except for the un-ordinary ones here and there, and it is toward the latter that Frank feels an inclination of preference. He picks up Alien Wonders, flips through the pages, sets it back down, then keeps walking through the store.

What is he looking for?

Haha.. he was very strange. I still like to think about it. Very inspiring. Thank you, Frank, whoever you are :)

Poem: The Porcelain Cup

Written 5/14

Critique Welcome!

I hold a porcelain cup in my hand.

Hand-painted ivy twirls through

Dancing harps—

I can hear their music.

I can speak their language,

Silence.

Its lip curves toward mine.

This side has but slight irregularities,

Only visible when my eye draws it so near,

So very near,

That everything else blurs.

I hold the porcelain cup in my hand,

And ache for it to be complete

As it once was—

But now it is broken.

Even now it is crying,

“Let me be whole!”

Let mine fingers stroke its side,

Jagged and painfully unique

And I will drink my tea.

That awful tea,

From my beautiful, broken cup.

Haiku: Tree

Written 4/21

A bastion for birds

Freckled limbs restrain new life

Crooked, awkward limbs.