Poetry
A DISTANT ROAD
You cannot see the end of that dusty, dirt road.
It stretches far away through a dusky indigo.
I remember that path in a distant memory lapse,
of a distant little town in the fading, brittle light.
Dreams of sailing my bike through the quiet, trembling wind,
I whip up golden leaves of skeletons thick and thin.
It’s like a bittersweet memory full of tender longing,
for a song half-forgotten on a tape old and broken.
Waiting to remember is a pain cold as December.
Tight is my own heart, straining to think backward.
But all I can see is that dusty, dirt road,
reaching far, far away into a broken indigo.
It stretches far away through a dusky indigo.
I remember that path in a distant memory lapse,
of a distant little town in the fading, brittle light.
Dreams of sailing my bike through the quiet, trembling wind,
I whip up golden leaves of skeletons thick and thin.
It’s like a bittersweet memory full of tender longing,
for a song half-forgotten on a tape old and broken.
Waiting to remember is a pain cold as December.
Tight is my own heart, straining to think backward.
But all I can see is that dusty, dirt road,
reaching far, far away into a broken indigo.
RAINBOW CROW
There’s a bird in the distance perched on a fence,
His dark silhouette is inky and black.
Contrasting against the sky’s blood red,
He raises his wings and lifts up his head.
He parts his beak, so pointed and sharp,
A sound pours out, strangled and harsh.
His cries grow soft as he starts to sing,
Notes becoming words of a story.
The tale begins at the very beginning,
When the sun had legs and men grew patties,
When the crow was not the crow we know,
For back then he had wings of rainbow.
His feathers had shimmered like clouds after rain,
And his lovely voice had given him fame.
He was so sweet, so modest and kind,
When he was gone, he would be pined.
One day the sun ran away on its legs,
Mornings to come, dawn would not break.
And in the darkness the people starved,
Field patties shriveled, making life hard.
And seeing the famine that would not end,
The animals gathered to turn to a friend.
The rainbow bird could not stand the sadness,
So he sought the sun to end the darkness.
He took to the skies on his great bright wings,
Cutting through the deep and dark eternity.
For endless nights he pierced the skies,
Until the light dawned in his eyes.
There in the clouds in a world far away,
The sun lay sleeping in its dreams all day.
Gently taking the star from its nap,
The bird bore the sun away on his back.
Ignoring the pain of his singeing flesh,
He beat his wings, soiled in ash.
Restoring the sun to its former seat,
The bird drifted down, coughing and beat.
His friends looked upon him with such sympathy,
But in the end he was left solitary,
For his lovely voice was now harsh and dry,
His only choice was to cry and cry.
The Creator looked upon him and felt so sorry,
So sorry for his agony,
For he could not leave his sorrows to bury,
So the gift He gave was to quell his fury.
The crow sealed his beak and blinked his eyes,
Against the sun in the rising skies.
Hunching a little to stretch his wings,
He wonders what his story brings.
His wings labored into the air,
A grace he still retains.
And with the sunlight on his wings,
A rainbow still remains.
His dark silhouette is inky and black.
Contrasting against the sky’s blood red,
He raises his wings and lifts up his head.
He parts his beak, so pointed and sharp,
A sound pours out, strangled and harsh.
His cries grow soft as he starts to sing,
Notes becoming words of a story.
The tale begins at the very beginning,
When the sun had legs and men grew patties,
When the crow was not the crow we know,
For back then he had wings of rainbow.
His feathers had shimmered like clouds after rain,
And his lovely voice had given him fame.
He was so sweet, so modest and kind,
When he was gone, he would be pined.
One day the sun ran away on its legs,
Mornings to come, dawn would not break.
And in the darkness the people starved,
Field patties shriveled, making life hard.
And seeing the famine that would not end,
The animals gathered to turn to a friend.
The rainbow bird could not stand the sadness,
So he sought the sun to end the darkness.
He took to the skies on his great bright wings,
Cutting through the deep and dark eternity.
For endless nights he pierced the skies,
Until the light dawned in his eyes.
There in the clouds in a world far away,
The sun lay sleeping in its dreams all day.
Gently taking the star from its nap,
The bird bore the sun away on his back.
Ignoring the pain of his singeing flesh,
He beat his wings, soiled in ash.
Restoring the sun to its former seat,
The bird drifted down, coughing and beat.
His friends looked upon him with such sympathy,
But in the end he was left solitary,
For his lovely voice was now harsh and dry,
His only choice was to cry and cry.
The Creator looked upon him and felt so sorry,
So sorry for his agony,
For he could not leave his sorrows to bury,
So the gift He gave was to quell his fury.
The crow sealed his beak and blinked his eyes,
Against the sun in the rising skies.
Hunching a little to stretch his wings,
He wonders what his story brings.
His wings labored into the air,
A grace he still retains.
And with the sunlight on his wings,
A rainbow still remains.
CLOCKWISE
Going in circles all day again,
The days string a ring of endless time.
Can’t even breathe or take a stand,
Clocks go around, an hour a chime.
Routines are the way they are,
What can stop the ticking clock?
Run away to a place that’s far,
Watching all those shooting stars.
On the edge I am teetering.
I’m on the edge of being free.
Free to see what you’ve come to be,
I think I see you in my dreams.
You’re in a pit of fiery seas,
Drowning in hell’s agony,
Wheezing a plea you cannot breathe.
Come to me, I’ll take you back.
Counter the clock and turn the dime,
Swimming back to the break in time.
Before I lost you, before you were mine.
And begin again – clockwise.
The days string a ring of endless time.
Can’t even breathe or take a stand,
Clocks go around, an hour a chime.
Routines are the way they are,
What can stop the ticking clock?
Run away to a place that’s far,
Watching all those shooting stars.
On the edge I am teetering.
I’m on the edge of being free.
Free to see what you’ve come to be,
I think I see you in my dreams.
You’re in a pit of fiery seas,
Drowning in hell’s agony,
Wheezing a plea you cannot breathe.
Come to me, I’ll take you back.
Counter the clock and turn the dime,
Swimming back to the break in time.
Before I lost you, before you were mine.
And begin again – clockwise.
LITTLE BOY BLUE
To befriend a friend who does not exist,
is a child’s intention to draw more attention.
But this was a friend, who I did befriend,
only to realize he was not pretend.
In the bustling town of my school’s little playground,
sat a little boy blue in a field filled with dew.
Every day he would sit with his back to the world.
I would watch from the swings, alone in the crowd.
But one day I moved to the field filled with dew,
I sat at his side and watched time bide.
I had always, always felt pulls to the unseen.
Thus I was invisible to those around me.
But my quiet little friend, no older than I,
asked me a sad question, “Where are my friends?”
For the first time my heart was torn in two,
because he was the only friend I knew.
I sadly trekked through that slow, slow afternoon,
but gave my teacher the names of Little Boy Blue’s.
That teacher called me over the following bright morning,
and asked me how I knew her student ten years before me.
When I spoke of my friend, of the Little Boy Blue,
she grew tears in her eyes like the field filled with dew.
I sat with my friend that last afternoon,
watching peach-blue skies, but only wanting to cry.
“Your friends all left,” I finally said.
But I wanted to say, “I won’t leave you.”
Yet my tongue was tied by my jealousy,
for he thought of them, and not of me.
But then he smiled, for the first time I knew.
It was a little dimpled smile, one I knew was true.
Then Little Boy Blue faded into the sky,
to rest forever between space and time.
I stood there a while growing tears in my eyes,
like the field filled with dew, for Little Boy Blue.
is a child’s intention to draw more attention.
But this was a friend, who I did befriend,
only to realize he was not pretend.
In the bustling town of my school’s little playground,
sat a little boy blue in a field filled with dew.
Every day he would sit with his back to the world.
I would watch from the swings, alone in the crowd.
But one day I moved to the field filled with dew,
I sat at his side and watched time bide.
I had always, always felt pulls to the unseen.
Thus I was invisible to those around me.
But my quiet little friend, no older than I,
asked me a sad question, “Where are my friends?”
For the first time my heart was torn in two,
because he was the only friend I knew.
I sadly trekked through that slow, slow afternoon,
but gave my teacher the names of Little Boy Blue’s.
That teacher called me over the following bright morning,
and asked me how I knew her student ten years before me.
When I spoke of my friend, of the Little Boy Blue,
she grew tears in her eyes like the field filled with dew.
I sat with my friend that last afternoon,
watching peach-blue skies, but only wanting to cry.
“Your friends all left,” I finally said.
But I wanted to say, “I won’t leave you.”
Yet my tongue was tied by my jealousy,
for he thought of them, and not of me.
But then he smiled, for the first time I knew.
It was a little dimpled smile, one I knew was true.
Then Little Boy Blue faded into the sky,
to rest forever between space and time.
I stood there a while growing tears in my eyes,
like the field filled with dew, for Little Boy Blue.
IF HEAVEN'S NOT ENOUGH
“Is heaven not enough?”
When you really think about it –
If you leave, be gone,
Before everyone you love.
All I want to do now
Is spend what’s left on loving you,
Coming back to what we had
And stuck on what we lost.
A world in which there’s a you,
To me it’s just a distant paradise,
But set apart from those you love,
I ask, “Is heaven not enough?”
When you wait so long,
For someone dear to join you,
Is there loneliness inside,
As you watch life go on by?
It always loses me,
When I think of you these days,
How impossible it is to know you’re gone,
And believe that you are not.
If heaven’s not enough,
I welcome you here in my heart.
Live here and stay with me,
To meet again in my dreams.
When you really think about it –
If you leave, be gone,
Before everyone you love.
All I want to do now
Is spend what’s left on loving you,
Coming back to what we had
And stuck on what we lost.
A world in which there’s a you,
To me it’s just a distant paradise,
But set apart from those you love,
I ask, “Is heaven not enough?”
When you wait so long,
For someone dear to join you,
Is there loneliness inside,
As you watch life go on by?
It always loses me,
When I think of you these days,
How impossible it is to know you’re gone,
And believe that you are not.
If heaven’s not enough,
I welcome you here in my heart.
Live here and stay with me,
To meet again in my dreams.
THIEF OF SUMMER
The days of summer pass me by,
Like the flowing river of time.
I can’t say this is goodbye,
Yet my heart just won’t comply.
Standing by the ocean tide,
My feet sink by and by,
Into the wet sand, so cold and fine –
To become one with time.
Dreaming of the shore’s border,
The blue horizon that never ends,
The wind keeps getting colder,
And I must part with friends.
Like a thief in the black of night,
Swift and coy it steals the light.
Right before my very eyes,
Time has blinded my very sight.
I once dreamed of radical dreams,
What I thought time always brings.
But now I breathe a brittle sigh,
For I thought summer was mine.
Like the flowing river of time.
I can’t say this is goodbye,
Yet my heart just won’t comply.
Standing by the ocean tide,
My feet sink by and by,
Into the wet sand, so cold and fine –
To become one with time.
Dreaming of the shore’s border,
The blue horizon that never ends,
The wind keeps getting colder,
And I must part with friends.
Like a thief in the black of night,
Swift and coy it steals the light.
Right before my very eyes,
Time has blinded my very sight.
I once dreamed of radical dreams,
What I thought time always brings.
But now I breathe a brittle sigh,
For I thought summer was mine.
INTO THE LOOKING GLASS
The groggy days I blink awake,
And find myself on my face,
Are the days I tend to say,
"Oh crap, I'm running late!"
This face I see is not my face,
For the face I wear does not stay,
Even when my hair’s in place,
Things change everyday.
And yet I have to check what’s there,
Everyday of every year,
Keeping this image same and fair,
With lotion, gloss, and care.
As routine I must pass,
Everyday into the looking glass,
To a world where illusions mask,
A face that does not last.
Sometimes I wish I could shut the door,
Not see the looking glass anymore,
But what stands between is like cardboard,
Nothing of the lasting sort.
The groggy days I blink awake,
And find myself on my face,
Are the days I can’t make a break,
Away from the looking glass.
And find myself on my face,
Are the days I tend to say,
"Oh crap, I'm running late!"
This face I see is not my face,
For the face I wear does not stay,
Even when my hair’s in place,
Things change everyday.
And yet I have to check what’s there,
Everyday of every year,
Keeping this image same and fair,
With lotion, gloss, and care.
As routine I must pass,
Everyday into the looking glass,
To a world where illusions mask,
A face that does not last.
Sometimes I wish I could shut the door,
Not see the looking glass anymore,
But what stands between is like cardboard,
Nothing of the lasting sort.
The groggy days I blink awake,
And find myself on my face,
Are the days I can’t make a break,
Away from the looking glass.
JACK FROST'S KISS
Hard then soft, laced with sugar,
Tempting enough to eat,
As it folds against my teeth,
And melts against my gums.
The fresh scent of evergreen,
Bites like winter’s wind,
It’s frosted needles brush across
My icy, snow-tipped skin.
When the wind dies down,
A chill startles me.
When my breath picks up,
A breeze seizes me.
My stiff, mint-striped gum,
Goes click, clack, cluck,
Then snaps and bursts
From its bubble pop.
It’s here I stand beneath the sprig,
Of mistletoe and mint,
As I wait for my next kiss,
To warm my frost-touched lips.
Tempting enough to eat,
As it folds against my teeth,
And melts against my gums.
The fresh scent of evergreen,
Bites like winter’s wind,
It’s frosted needles brush across
My icy, snow-tipped skin.
When the wind dies down,
A chill startles me.
When my breath picks up,
A breeze seizes me.
My stiff, mint-striped gum,
Goes click, clack, cluck,
Then snaps and bursts
From its bubble pop.
It’s here I stand beneath the sprig,
Of mistletoe and mint,
As I wait for my next kiss,
To warm my frost-touched lips.