Letter of SummerToday I wrote a letter to you
For you to read when you are blue
It talked of winter subbcumbing to spring
Clear skies and birds with bright blue wings
Of swimming pools on humid days
No paperwork or long essays
The only thing with any scare
Was the diving board: jump if you dare
The feel of grass under running feet
Through front yards down the quiet street
With concentration on every face
Reflects the hope to win the race
With the help of friends, it isn't hard
To raid each others' green backyards
Soldiers were recruited quick
To make wooden guns and swords of sticks
The only thing that tastes better homemade
Is a nice tall glass of lemonade
And the ice cream truck that drives around
Has every flavor of ice cream around.
And we're just kids in this letter of mine
Without the misleading High School shine
That wonderful summer with all our friends
In this beautiful letter I'll never send.
LampI could not think of
Anything to write a poem about.
Even though it could have been about
So I plopped down in my living room
And stared at
It stared back at me.
And it didn't turn on
Or mow the lawn
And it didn't play cards
Or give any regard
And it didn't fly away
To a better day
Or get the girl
With a ring or pearl
And it didn't save the town
Or win the crown
If it was to cheat,
It wasn't discreet
Didn't scream and shout
Or even ask what the fuss is all about
It didn't cuss
Or take the bus
It didn't ask the lord
Why I looked so bored
Or even complain
About all the rain
When I left for awhile
I don't think it smiled
Did it drink, you ask?
Didn't even own a flask.
If it climbed a tree
I didn't see
And if it ever practiced law
I never saw
Never fought me just for fun
(If it did, I would have won)
Didn't shoot a gun on cue
(What was the cue? I don't think it knew)
And it didn't give a thoughtful speech
Didn't walk along the beach
Didn't tell me about his life
I Want a Happy Poem"Bruised is the world," that's what they say
As if I didn't know that day.
But they ranted and talked
And interrupted my walk
Much to my own dismay.
Their voices flew from whispers soft
Or, at least, that's what everyone thought
But I rolled my eyes
At their faces, surprised,
When I glared at their pessimistic lot.
So gimme a poem about a practical joke
A butterfly, bird, or big red oak
Cause I'm sick of complaining
And need entertaining
Besides that of the unhappy folk.
BatteredGive me your battered,
Your lonely and torn
Give me your shattered,
Heartbroken and worn.
Lend me your weary
Your old souls so tall
Wise eyes so teary
Who fear the world small
Blind enough to see
It's not about appearance
And matters not to me.
Give the begotten
While morning's still nigh,
To show the forgotten
That they've always
Been able to
First Class of the DayI'm greeted at the classroom door
With tired salutations,
As everyone sits and waits for the bell
To sleep through annotations.
And our pencils scribble on and on
Of many an impoverished nation,
While the textbooks try to wow us all
With many of man's creations.
A cuss word here, a yawn over there
Seems to be in correlation,
With the very important but mostly boring
Topic of conversation.
And when homework is due, it's very clear
Through the level of preparation,
That most of us resorted to
The students who don't want to work
Argue real life relation,
The ones that take it a little too far
Disappear to administration.
And the small, windowless, whitewashed room
Sure does limit aspiration,
Because it's very hard to do good work
With such poor inspiration.
Everything.What am I supposed to believe
When society only aims to deceive?
We're all too fat
We're unbearably thin
But either way
The magazine wins.
And true love lives
Or does it die?
I'm not sure why
It's such a mystery
There's such a history
Of both. But I
Can tell you this
A single kiss
In the rain, hasn't
Quite happened yet.
But I sure can bet
I haven't gotten a
Broken heart either.
Move too fast
Or just go slow
And smell a rose
But then go party
And you know
What I think?
Roses and breath
Take the quick-fix
Pay by the hour
Get up in the morning
Take a shower
Go to work
And make a buck
With a register
Or hockey puck
Or a football
Which seems to be
Viewed much more importantly
Than music. What a shame,
We've only got ourselves to blame.
Or is it us? Is there
Someone out there,
Just waiting to jump out
Us to our senses?
But science objects
The dreamer's wish
With bold white coats
And petri dish.
But you never can tell
If it's just the floorboards
Or if there's
Dark YearsI used to be a girl of smiles
Of clear skin and slowly passing miles
The principle that running
Was the best way to get places.
When I was the old me.
That blissful state
In which I could not relate
To the world's problems, because they
Did not exist.
A perfect world that very much existed
When I was the old me.
But then reality was ushered in.
He tried to holler, he tried to shout
Until the bright sunny me just had to come out
She could not stay,
For I now knew too much:
How the world worked.
How our bodies worked.
How I would be doomed to work until I died.
Where she's gone, I cannot say
I can only cry and wish she'd stayed
But I try to coax her out of photographs
But she simply smiles in her ignorant bliss
And wishes me well with a hug and a kiss
For she knows not of me anyways,
And how she'll be missed.
So all that's left is just a shell
Which locks me in like a prison cell
But had let her escape. The old me.
If I could have left with her, pray tell.
And my eyes have bag