#0044 - "Drizzle, drizzle, little weasel;"

Drizzle, drizzle, little weasel;
Let your tears fall to the carpet.
Trick me once, you’ll be forgiven.
Trick me twice, and you’re a weasel.

Laughter comes to you as sadness:
Fake and underpinned by cunning.
Tears and laughter that you offer
Only search for thoughtless pity.

By your tricks I’ve been deceived, but
I won’t in your presence falter
Once again, for what you’ve done has
Left its mark upon my conscience.

Thanks to you my trust has faltered:
I no longer wish to be a
Punching bag for honeyed parlance.
Drizzle, weasel: I’ll ignore you.

#0043 - "Green is not the only hue of nature"

Water flowing through the wooded acres,
Carving paths through Daisy-littered grasslands:
Visions I consider ever sacred.

Feel the grassy carpet with your hands and
Do not fear the clouds that fill the distance;
Knowledge, beauty: both are framed by bookends.

Find your place within this precious silence,
Fearing not the storm that's soon arriving;
Rain is part of nature's peaceful parlance.

Drizzle, rain, for now you're steady falling.
Fill this lush verdure and florid pasture,
Fill this landscape with your silent roaring.

Green is not the only hue of nature.

#0042 - "Hush"

Hush, my child.

I know you wish to know why the ocean waves churn in sea shells.
I know you wish to know why the sky is the same color as your eyes.
I know you wish to know why the stars only come out in the nighttime.
I know you wish to know why the end of the rainbow is never ever found.
I know you want to know why some things taste good and some things taste bad.
I know you want to know why some nights you have dreams and some nights you don't.
I know you want to know why some words you're not allowed to say without trouble.
I know you want to know why some people like to hurt or ignore each other.
I know you wonder why we exchange paper instead of simply sharing.
I know you wonder why we are sometimes so afraid of each other.
I know you wonder why we don't dream once we're "old."
I know you wonder why we are all so...strange.

But honestly, my child,
Often I feel that I know even less than you do.

#0041 - "Winter always ends"

Our doors were frozen over - we were blocked in.
The winds outside howled as if retribution for some grave sin.
Through days and nights the snow grew,
Always somewhere in alteration between a polar tundra or slough.
The pale white was never less than three meters deep,
And through the cracks in our walls the cold winds would seep.
The raging Winter went on for many nights:
Ostensibly never-ending, but then we saw a light
Outline our shutters. It was a shade of white and yellow
That melted away the dull, cold grey of the snow.
We all clamored to the window to gaze upon our discovery,
Pulling close to the icy glass to see what we could see.
About ten meters from the front-facing wall of our battered house
Was a spot of green grass that refused to espouse
The totalitarian grate that the Winter loudly proclaimed,
And its own spot in the wasteland of frost it claimed.
From this patch of green we watched as, slowly, a bud appeared.
It lifted itself out of the earth: through the freezing cold it seared.
In an explosion of florid brilliance, it opened its little bud
To show its magnificent Rose - the lifeblood
Of this barren land. As we watched, we forgot the winter's billowing
And thought of the coming sun and Spring.
We remembered that grey clouds will always make amends
With blue sky, and that Winter always ends.

#0040 - Thought 13

I know that life is as complex as calculus,
and that it is more tremendous than La Terre.

I simply ask that you help by refraining from confusing me,
for I am vulnerable to distractions.

#0039 - "While walking through this sunlit glade"

While walking through this sunlit glade
Well-brightened by this sunny day,
As I was passing, 'long the way,
I chanced upon a fresh bouquet

Of Daisy, Lavender and Rose,
Whose florid odors filled my nose.
From this bouquet my vision rose;
Among the trees were scattered does.

With wary eyes they stared at me,
Who in their home they first time see;
They wonder who this beast could be,
Residing in their forestry.

The flowers are of lovely hue,
But stirring fear I'd quickly rue;
And so I move along in lieu
Of picking florid red and blue.

#0038 - Thought 12

I'm not sure which is more frightening:
Plato's fire,
or the dark shadows it casts.

#0037 - "Sharp curves and curved edges"

Sharp curves and curved edges
fill my world
in a cacophony of paradox
and juxtaposition.

Fatuity is thick in the air,
oozing like blood through
the convocation of superficial speech
singing dissonances
that resonate in my ringing ears.

I move by stumbling,
and no one perceives my near-falls;
I wonder what the reaction will be
when the concrete and asphalt
finally speed up to meet me
in a brief, painful "hello."

I wish silence filled the air
rather than these sounds and stares.

#0036 - Thought 11

The attic
is not filled
with things
we don't need.

#0035 - Thought 10

I don't think ingesting chemicals would be so enticing

If they weren't served at brightly-colored restaurants.

#0034 - Thought 9

It's too cold to the North,
Too hot to the West,
Too dark to the South,
Too bright to the East.

#0033 - Haiku II

Flames provide warm light.
Though, if one ventures too close
They'll likely be burned.

#0032 - Thought 8

I'd like to sail into the horizon.

To find my way to that curve at the end of infinity

Where the Atlantic shoulders of the ocean hold up the clouds and sky.

To fall off the End of the Earth;

To disappear.

#0031 - "Pain manifests itself in many ways"

Pain manifests itself in many ways.

Sometimes it's a wave:
it ebbs and it grows.

Sometimes it's a dose
of poison, sinking slowly, unnoticed, into your blood.

Sometimes it's a gargantuan marsh of slush and mud
that you wallow endlessly through; a viscous mire.

Sometimes it's a violent explosion of raging fire,
an all-consuming inferno centered on you.

In any case, the worst you can ever do
with your pain is to leave it unchecked and let it fester

rather than making amends and laying your pain to rest.

#0030 - Thought 7

Seconds:
 Longer than instants,
 Shorter than moments.

#0029 - Thought 6

If you enjoy a poem,
or even if you're hurt by one,

Chances are
you would benefit from getting to know the poet.

#0028 - An Ode to Dioxygen

Air.
It is the one thing in this world that I desire more than anything else;
The one thing in this world that fills my day as unyieldingly as sound or seconds.

Air.
It courses through my body,
Charging my movements like the electricity running through my phone,
Flowing through my veins like the water that fills the depths of the Congo.

Air.
It is the puppeteer standing behind the combustion of my car engine,
The mastermind behind the neurotic synapses that gave birth to e=mc²,
The lifeline that everyone is unknowingly betting their life on,
Our omniscient companion that we only think to miss when our head is under waves.

Air.
It is what I think most deserves a "thank you" on Thanksgiving:
For providing us with the beauty of music through its rhythmic reverberations
And for the cool breeze that remedies searing sunlight from a summer sky.
A "thank you" for the energy it provides after passing through the mills of Kansas,
And for the lift that brought the Wright Brothers up from the ground and into fame.

Air.
It lends its hand not just to me but to those that I love.
I thank it everyday for giving life to a pair of human beings that have raised me,
For giving life to friends that have been and friends that are now,
And for being ready to catch and provide for the children I will one day have.

Air.
It is my best friend and my immortal companion,
My always loyal Passepartout,
My always faithful Watson.

Air.
I guess the thing I like most about air is that, no matter what,
It will always be there for you.

#0027 - "Mine pen hath fell from hand to wooden floor"

Mine pen hath fell from hand to wooden floor;
A cacophonous noise: calamity.
Its piercing clattering turns mine ears sore;
A failure vast of mine dexterity.
A wetness in mine eyes I feel hath stirr'd -
'Tis quickly seen that I am thus contrite,
For saltine tears have been with speed incurr'd;
They redden eyes and blur mine once-keen sight.
They make my failure to the world be known -
'Tis thus to others quickly realiz'd.
My failure resonates through flesh and bone:
A wronging worse than could have been surmis'd.
     A mourning time, but I myself console:
     A fallen pen should not my life control.

#0026 - "Costs are naught when time is set aside"

With time, the nightly hours spent alone
Gave eager way to conscious, lawless trysts.
Returning nightly to my dreams' abode,
Following moonlit hug, embrace and kiss.
Dust gathers, slowly coats leather-bound books
Sitting neglected on my wooden shelves -
For them my thoughts no longer long or ache,
But rather seek to with my other dwell.
Strings pegged on a guitar, strung tight as coils,
Are tense, but not as are my longing whims.
Like snapping strings my mind fast bursts with joy
When they I near, and hold as close as gems.
     But costs are naught when time is set aside
     For those who dearly in your heart reside.

#0025 - A Teacher to his Students

A
desire I have is to have you
Be
an unconquerable, unending
Sea
of ideas. I'm making a little
Dea-
-l, so lend me your
Ea-
-rs: I want your best, your greatest
Eff-
-ort. You can keep your backwards caps, your hashtags and denim
Jea-
-ns, but I want to see you use the letter
H
to reference Horatio;
I
want to know why not to kill a mocking-
-Jay.
Understood? O
K?
I want to be utterly crushed by
El-
-ephants of knowledge, leveled by atomic bombs of wisdom.
Em-
-igrate your thoughts from your mind into this world of opportunities and
En-
-d your anxious silence!
Oh!
And a little FA
Q:
if you're thinking of asking
"Are
you serious?" Yeah,
Es-
-quire, I am! Perfectly serious! So show your
Tea-
-cher that
You
don't just treat your knowledge as a le-
-Vy
to be collected by the school! Ask the five
W
s often, and when your doctors take your
X-
rays, make them wonder
Why
you're filled with so much
Zea-
-l! Be the voice that no one else will be for you.

#0024 - "I try to find my place upon the Earth"

I try to find my place upon the Earth;
To find a path or road on which I'm set;
But hard it is to find what I am worth.

My past endeavors I sometimes regret -
If what I've done is right I'm not quite sure.
My growing past is not pristine, and yet

What I fear most is my unknown future;
I wish it would its unknown plan let leak,
Provide me knowledge to serve as succor.

I'm lost and do not know what I should seek.

#0023 - "The passing time runs through my hand"

The passing time runs through my hand
like yellow sand, both coarse and fine.

Horizons pass as dusk and twi-
-light mimic life, so quick elapsed.

Each moment forms a memory,
a precious seed for mental stores;

one easily lets moments fly,
lets time pass by from memory.

#0022 - Thought 5

I wrote a poem.
This is not the poem that I wrote, but rather
an announcement that I wrote a poem.

#0021 - Thought 4

Love and pain reside
in the same part of your heart.

Be wary of which you choose to hold on to forever.

#0020 - "My hourglass used to be filled with sand"

My hourglass used to be filled with sand,
but then there was a leak,
and slowly, surely, my time ran out.

I filled my hourglass with water,
but then time flowed by in the blink of an eye.

I filled it with concrete:
at first I liked having time at a standstill,
but that got old pretty quick.

I once left it empty,
but air flows even faster than water.

I filled it with dirt:
sometimes time would flow,
but sometimes it got stuck and I'd have to shake it loose.

I've put many things in my hourglass,
but I can't seem to get time to flow just right.

#0019 - "J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges"

J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges -
Choses différentes, choses pas connai.
Mais maintenant j'accueille le change.

Jeune mignon, «je bonbons veux mange,»
Mais médicament j'ai l'évité;
J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges.

Ma colour favorite orange,
Autres j'ai pas utilisé.
Mais maintenant j'accueille le change.

Étais en nouveaux, grande ménage,
Avec personnes je pas parlais;
J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges.

Ma tête: un chaotique sporange,
Créant peureux sourcis, pensées.
Mais maintenant j'accueille le change.

Et aujourd'hui je suis très sage;
Beaucoup des léçons j'apprenais.
J'ai eu la peur pour choses étranges,
Mais maintenant j'accueille le change.

#0018 - "I was in a courtroom the other day"

I was in a courtroom the other day.

Don't worry, I wasn't the criminal -
I'm White.

Now, if I was a politician
I would never say that,
For fear of a lynching of my reputation.

I'm not a politician.
Because,
As we all know,
Politicians are the worst kind of people.
If there was a tournament for the worst kinds of people,
Politicians would take first place.

Just look around:
Right now we have a man that wants to build a wall to keep the rapist Latinos out of our country,
Which is not much worse than the man two hundred years ago who wrote about freedom in our Declaration of Independence despite owning his own conveniently unadvertised slaves.

But I guess I shouldn't be too hard on politicians.
After all, if politicians take first place in a tournament for the worst kinds of people,
Poets must take close second.

After all,
Poets lie all the time.

But we don't call them lies.
We call them "metaphors."

So,
I use my metaphorical river of words
To describe our politicians as metaphorical mules:
The main attraction in the metaphorical circus of politics.

Their favorite thing is metaphorical white chocolate,
But they cringe at the mention of metaphorical milk chocolate
And metaphorical dark chocolate,
Despite the fact that chocolate is chocolate,
No matter the color.

They won't make a comment on metaphorical fried rice,
Though,
Because fried rice does the best in our universities
And runs 1.5 million of our businesses.

Fried rice doesn't run the country,
But it comes close.


I'll just say that while I'm happy to be living in our melting pot,
It disappoints me that some people are still afraid of throwing certain vegetables into the broth
On account of shape, size or color.

#0017 - "Many people dislike the snow"

Many people dislike the snow.
It's a nuisance - they would know.
It freezes the windshields of parked cars,
Freezes shut the glass doors of bars
With warm beers;
Heineken, Weissbier.

I like the snow.
It falls and covers up my weeds;
They still sit in the ground, I know,
But covered in white, they can't be seen.
But sometimes the ice and powder
Also covers my precious flowers.

#0016 - "I saw a lady weeping in my dream"

I saw a lady weeping in my dream.
Though crowned, was not a monarch nor a queen.
Things right and wrong her ancient vision'd seen.
From what she said it seemed that she should be

The housewife of a diverse family -
A melting pot of personality;
One child counted distances in li,
Another'd crossed the trying eastern sea.

I asked her what made tears fall from her eyes.
She looked to me and gave a weary sigh.
She said she'd taught her children not to lie,
To never without reason scream or cry.

But now they screamed and cried throughout the night,
Throughout the day with one another fight.
She sought to show them back into the light,
But differences had blocked their childish sight.

#0015 - "The ancient walls of grandma's home"

The ancient walls of grandma's home
Are contrast to the halls I roam:
The doorways made of melted sand,
The corridors of metal and
The endless screens and paper reams.

I'd rather have the sun's warm beams;
The ocean blues, the forest greens;
The birds evincing morning joy;
The place where I was once a boy,
With hens and dogs exploring barns.

This place was home to carrot farms,
Was worked by men with reddened arms.
But reapers guised in suits then came
With profit as their only aim
And little care for right or wrong.

This land is here, but not for long;
The birds will sing their final song.
Rebar spreads far its concrete lair
And smog extends through once pure air -
It chokes the lungs and chills the bone.

The ancient walls of grandma's home
Are contrast to the halls I roam,
But soon I fear they'll be effaced,
With concrete towers be replaced.
And in my mind resides a fear:

That what I can no longer see
Will one day fall from memory.

#0014 - Thought 3

I'm afraid of becoming a tree.

A tree has 200,000 leaves.
A tree has 200,000 opportunities to catch fire.

So I remain a sapling instead, safe under the shadow of a protective canopy.
Spring may come,
but I don't want to grow.