Ubiquity

My head is dizzy--
Enough caffeine for two,
Enough sleep-debt for ten.
Focus-adrenaline.
Focus on everything.
Focus on Nothing.
Focus-fog.
My head is empty.
Wake, wake, wake,
Wake up!
Eyes snap around--
So many colors;
So much light.
Sound. Sound. Sound. Sound.
Achy head means more caffeine.
Lean against the swirling walls
To make them stand still.
Somewhere along the line
The work gets done,
But I'm not really sure where.
Sleeping means starting over
Tomorrow.

This is my first poem for National Poetry Writing Month 2014. The prompt was ubiquitous.

Plane Tickets and Credit Cards

Together, you and I should leave this looping scene,
Forget the stress, and find something illogical to do.
Who needs plans when we can pack a credit card,
Plane tickets to Paris in my purse, and travel guides?
I've no need to be inconspicuous.
You can kiss me publicly in perfect daylight,
Exactly like you can't back home. But here, who cares?

This is a poem written for National Poetry Writing Month in 2013. It is an Allitersen, and I used the prompts "One Ticket in your purse," and "illogical." I hate alliteration normally, so this was especially challenging for me. I remembered this poem that I had written because of the terrorism going in Paris. Vive la France.

They Make Their Own Lipstick

They crushed feelings
And wore them on their lips,
Which was brazen
And uncouth.
And they liked it.
They liked the way
Their razor-teeth flashed
With each sly smile.
Mortar hands are waiting for
New hearts to grind
With their pestle fingers.

This is my 10th poem for National Poetry Writing Month 2014. I didn't have anyone in particular in mind, but it wouldn't be difficult to come up with a list.

No Need for Resolutions

The changing of years on the calendar
Isn't something I care much about.
I don't want a new beginning.
My life has nothing left out
Because you and I have
Something so special.
It's already
The best it
Can be,
Love.

This is an etheree/nonet poem about why New Year's isn't important to me. I actually wrote is for New Year's in 2014, but back then I didn't have this blog, so obviously, I didn't post it then. 

Holiday Without You

Two days from Christmas, and I can't see you.
You, with the rest, dispersed globally.
No snow here; no you here - Its wrong.
You said that you miss me too,
Which embitters this more.
I'm buried alive
In gift-wrap; bags.
Rescue me.
I need
You.


I wrote this poem several years ago. It is an Etheree, which is a kind of poem which starts with 10 syllables in a line, and decreases by one syllable each line until you get to one syllable.

Cathedral

I spread my arms and feel the rush
Of pounding blood
Through my transept,
And arch—
Bend over backwards for you
To see through to
My rose windows
Stained with emotions and memories
(—Mysterious blues that you still don’t
Understand the chemical nature of—)
That shed light on
The inside,
Holding secrets within
My syn-apse-s
As you turn back towards my facade,
Which is gilded, but still stone beneath,
And desperately in need of buttresses—
External supports
To keep from crumbling,
But you’re just a tourist,
And you have no intention
Of building those.

This is my 24th poem for National Poetry Writing Month 2014. I learned about cathedrals in my French History class, and again (same semester) in my foundations of art class in the architecture chapter. This was partly inspired by a prompt to write about masonry. I have a lot of architecture terms here. Some are obvious, some are less obvious. (But if you know what they are, the poem makes more sense.) I have some fun experimental punctuation. Yay, free verse. 

Circus of Fleeting Breath

I worshiped you,
Madly thrumming against the walls.
You looked past me,
Unaffected by my broken rhythm.
You summoned darkness to surround me
In my naivete, strangling the light
To mock my vain attempts
At earning your attention,
But, in striking contrast to my flailing limbs
Drumming out my desperation
Against your cold stone,
You did not move.
Dance. Dance. Dance with me--
The repetition of my futility.
You wouldn't even do me the honor
Of holding me at arm's length.

People stared,
Mesmerized by my disjointed movements,
As random nerve endings fired.
They saw only my self-destructing.
You were the constant--
So constant that, to them,
You became the scenery
Unnoticed by my motion.
They didn’t know the reason
For my dissonant beating against the concrete;
Trying to change what is certain,
But I was their little circus of fleeting breath.
They, too happy to observe
The funny sight that didn't concern them,
Would not bestow the gift of death,
And so, I danced.

This poem was written in collaboration with a friend of mine. I left it intentionally vague so that it can be applied to an individual seeking to change an institution that he/she once believed in, a dysfunctional relationship of either the romantic or familial sort, or literally, about a moth beating against a wall (which was the inspiration.) This was also recently featured in a Daily Lit Recognition article on deviantART if that means anything to you.