Meh R's Dos

Be my heart’s keeper, my rain maker, my umbrella holder, my sunshine commander, my goodnight kisser, my I-need-to-lean-on-you shoulder, my lover, my breath taker, my tear wiper, caregiver, my one-and-only dream maker, nightmare catcher, my butterfly creator, my side tickler, laughter buyer, my true inspirer.



I clearly had rhyme schemes on my mind all day yesterday. haha.

Meh R's

Just a funny poem that I made up sitting here...

I’m a coffee drinker
Cigarette smoker
I swear like a sailor
Risk taker
I’m a partier
I’m a dancer
Laugh maker
Smile creator
I’m a non-believer
Orgasm faker
HAHAHAHAHA
Had to throw that one in there
Joke maker
Big scene taker
Legalize it supporter
Sad movie sucker
Not a Spanish speaker
I’m a picture taker
Not so much a baker
I heart tators
Auto-correct hater
Spell-check lover
Not a studier
Or a Shakespeare taker
I’m an English major
Not a follower
Own path builder
Clarinet player
Shower singer
Lover not a hater
Fountain wisher
A communicator
Ok mediator
LGBT Rights supporter
Dislike the mumbler
All-day sleeper
Playground swinger
The world my inspirer
Pretty good kisser
Hug giver
I’m a cuddler
Journal keeper
Poetic seeker
That’s enough of me in here.

What is a great writer?

There are many responses to this question. If I ask my professors, they will list off the classics: Shakespeare, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley, etc. Yes, these men are great. I love reading their stuff, except Shakespeare. I think he is a genius, but honestly, just say what you mean! (haha) But I'm not asking "who is a great writer" I am asking "what is a great writer." To this, I don't know what they would say. My friends say that a great writer is someone who can write with feeling, can take something bland and make it beautiful. I agree, this would constitute a pretty good writer. However, i think that a great writer can write something without feelings too. I write about things that I do not experience, most likely will not experience. But I try to put myself in that person's shoes, in that moment, and I write what I would think I would feel. Usually, when I write, I cannot write when I am emotional. I have to wait awhile. To me, a great writer is someone that can make you think that they are feeling everything that they write on paper, when in reality, they may not have felt or experienced this at all. I believe a great writer can write about anything. They can look at a pencil and write 50 lines about its "beauty." They can hear a conversation and take just a few lines and turn it into a story. To me, these are great writers. My friends don't necessarily agree. I guess the question still stands: What is a great writer?

My Friend is in Iraq

Currently, I have one friend in Iraq, another in Nigeria, one in Germany, and another getting ready to leave for training in Georgia. I got two letters from my friend Chris in Iraq, a response to my last letter and a Valentine's Day card. Staring at these two items on my desk, I thought about those out there that have had to lose someone close due to war. My ex is getting ready for training in Georgia and I am so nervous that he will be sent out right away. I'm not happy about him joining. I'm not very happy with the war in general.

I.
A note.
No.
A telegram.
My fear.
A single shed tear.
Love lost.
Memory left.
War.
My heart.
Broken.
You.
No.
A flag.
Triangle.
Stars and Stripes.
Guns shooting.
For memory.
For honor.
Pain.
Too deep.
Torn.
Numb.
Soldier.
Brother.
Father.
Husband.
Mine.
Good bye.

II.
What did he do?
What did he do?
He moves on.
He moves on.
What he did do
moves on.

Shot through the heart.
Shot through the heart.
Telegram at the door.
Telegram at the door.
The telegram shot through the door
At the heart.

Soldiers and funerals full of tears.
Soldiers and funerals full of tears.
Fallen flags are folded.
Fallen flags are folded.
Folded flags are fallen tears
And funerals full of soldiers.

Mother and Father weeps.
Mother and Father weeps.
The Medals for honor held in hand.
The Medals for honor held in hand.
In hand and honor weeps
Medals for the Mother and Father.

What Father did do, Mother weeps for
In hand and honor are
Of the fallen soldiers
Shot through the heart
The telegram full of tears
At the door he moves on
Funerals, medals, and folded flags.

III.
Fill an envelope with your words
And just a few grains of sand or dirt.
Let me know that you’re ok
That you can feel my love far away.
I wait for your letter to arrive
Days and days go by.
Someone at the door
Is it me they implore?
The floor falls away
Becoming free fall.
Men in suit
Letter in hand.
Sorry Ma’am
Walk away.
Children come running
See the yellow paper.
Tears fall down little faces
Within their hearts empty spaces.
Lay in bed
Sleep and dream.
Birthdays and anniversaries
First times and baby kisses.
Shake with every shot
Men and guns in suits.
Watch as two little hands
Drop the dirt.
Not understanding
That Daddy won’t come back again.

Worldy Order

Sister Sun and Mother Moon
Brother Earth and Father Time
All four sat in their respective positions
Watching as intruders destroyed
What they had created.
Sister Sun shined down on Brother Earth
Telling him of what she saw
And as Brother Earth shed his tears
Upon the dark, black dirt
Attempting to clean what had been made dirty
He became angry and wiped away the buildings
The cars, the power lines, the houses, even some intruders.
And Sister Sun shined brighter
Burning those that took advantage of her light
And those that took advantage of her brother.
Mother Moon came out and sadly draped her son in dark
As Sister Sun went to sleep
Mother Moon put the creatures to rest
Calming Brother Earth.
And Father Time and Mother Moon
Conversed of the past when all was right
Between Brother Earth and Sister Sun.
Mother Moon tipped her face to Brother Earth
As Father Time sadly, reluctantly moved on
Waking those that made Family Life miserable.
And Brother Earth was mad again
As he was mad everyday
And Sister Sun shined on
Brighter and brighter
As Mother Moon rested
And Father Time kept moving.

Violins

Have you ever watched a violin?
the slow glide that slips over the strings
the waving of the wrist to sustain a note
the sharpness of the bow when struck into the air
like the instrument has a mind of its own
making a point to the audience
Have you ever watched the violinist?
how they sway to the music
feeling and caressing their instrument
closing their eyes during the slowest moments
the most beautiful moments
and suddenly opening them
staring intently at the score as
they move their rigid arms so fast
sliding the bow up and down
in every angle
I have watched a violin
seen the music become an instrument
and the instrument become the music
I have watched a violinist
seen the body become the instrument
and the instrument become the body
And I have watched them both become one
And I have seen beauty.

Believing

What if each soul was a star?
That every glimmer in the sky at night
was a new soul added to the collection
of Eternity.
What if it is true that each person born
already has a past life
and that past life has a past life?
Every smile was already smiled
every laugh, laughed
every tear shed.
What if our entire life is a dream?
That every moment, every person
doesn’t exist yet, hasn’t been met yet.
What if all this were true?
Every life had a past
and every life has already experienced
everything
and when we look to the skies for comfort
look to the stars for advice
we are really just looking into ourselves
we are really just listening to a dream.

My Secret

Some people know exactly who they are.
Knowledge of themselves makes them strong.
Others seem to just drift around the world.
Float between persons.
Float between lives.
Float between distinction.
I do not know who I am.
I do not know who I was.
I do not know who I am becoming.
I do know who I want to be.
True.
There is no right.
There is no wrong.
Just like there is no such thing as perfection.
My life is not perfect.
My life is incomplete.
Puzzle pieces.
Troubled minds seem to search.
Look back and forth.
Seek what is not there.
Digging for a truth.
Breaking boundaries.
Transcending mental barriers.
Acceptance is not gained.
Rejection is retained.
I’m sorry for being me.
I’m sorry for being the truth.
I’m sorry for lying.
You do not know me.
You did not know me.
You will not know me.
You will reject me.
You will forget me.
You will remember me.
Riddles are human nature.
Sarcasms seem to rule our dialogue.
Forget your values.
Forget your truths.
Forget everything.
Except for today.
Remember today.
Remember what I told you.
My truth.

Pieces of Michael

I.
I realized our chests were rising and falling
at the same time
during the movie at the good parts
when the sad parts came his breathing changed
suddenly we were out of sync
I don’t know why this is important
this moment of our time together
somehow I think it is
somehow it is all connected.

II.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but everything he said
I was tucking away into my memory.

He didn’t know it at the time,
but every time I met his eyes with my own
I had to remind myself to not fall for him.

He didn’t know it at the time,
but when he kissed me
I wanted to cry.

He didn’t know it at the time,
but when he held my hand
I wanted to be his.

He didn’t know it at the time,
but when he finally fell asleep
I had accidentally fallen for him.

III.
And when I looked up
I saw this boy playing his guitar
Singing songs I could not hear
Reminding me of the last time
I listened to him sing a song
About a girl that was his sunshine
Like the childhood tune
And I smiled at this boy playing his guitar
Like it was nothing
As I sat there in awe of nothing
Watching the music flow out
Changing into beautiful lyrics
That I could barely hear
And I smiled because this boy had a beard
And shaggy blonde hair
And it was like sitting with the past
Reminding me of good times
And then I smiled because
I saw out the corner of my eye
The one I came to see
Looking at me.

IV.
This movie was sad.
I didn’t cry, but he did.
He tried to hide it, but I told him not to.
I thought it was cute.
I actually thought it was probably
the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen from a man.
Tears.
Silent tears.
I wanted to kiss them away.


V.
He asked me what I was thinking about.
You, I replied.
He asked what about me?
And I said everything you say, every touch;
I tuck it away into my memory so I can write about it.
It is what I do.
Weird, I know.
Yeh kinda.
That was his reply.

Michael

Everything goes the way you want it to eventually. Sometimes, like me, you just have to stop trying and let whatever it is come to you. I learned this last week and experienced something beautiful last night. I met this boy last spring, a year ago exactly. He was nothing I knew and everything I did not. He was special. He had something about him that I could not, and cannot, explain. He might have liked me, I don’t know. I’ll probably never know. I liked him. I have no idea why. He hurt me and I told him to have a nice life. I forgot about him for awhile, and then he popped into my mind one morning. He was my first thought and my last of that day. I saw him once this past fall. I never saw him again. I talked to him randomly. Then last week it happened. What I’ve wanted to happen for so long. He asked me over. Last night he picked me up. I forgot how much I liked his voice; not deep, not high, just right. I had forgotten how much his eyes made me want to kiss him every time I looked at them. I never forgot his smile though. Not once. His smile always seemed to start out as a smirk and turn into a full smile. We watched TV and he laughed so hard he cried. Then we went in his room and watched a movie. He cried then too. This movie was sad. I didn’t cry, but he did. He tried to hide it, but I told him not to. I thought it was cute. I actually thought it was probably the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen from a man. Tears. Silent tears. I wanted to kiss them away. I remember that in part of the movie, I realized that we were both breathing in perfect rhythm. I could hear him swallow. I could hear his heart. I wanted to feel his heart, so I put my hand over his chest and watched my hand move up into the air and back down; felt his heart beat against my hand. I felt life run through him. Exquisite. We watched TV with his friends some more. They all made me watch a show. They all thought it was funny when I asked if that was it, no more? I don’t know why. I didn’t think it was funny. I wanted to know. I was being serious. I listened to his roommate play music. It was beautiful, the guitar. I wanted to hear more, but then I caught his eyes watching me and he rolled his eyes towards the bedroom and I agreed with a smile. His roommate caught us and smiled knowingly. I grabbed the blankets off his couch and threw them onto his bed. He lay down next to me and held my hand while he watched the TV a little. I could have lain like that forever. Then he rolled over and stared at me, smiling. I could barely see him in the dark, but I could see his eyes and I stared back. He kissed my forehead, like he did before. He told me I was cute. He said he liked short hair in pony tails. I had short hair; it was in a pony tail. He asked me what I was thinking about. You, I replied. He asked what about me? And I said everything you say, every touch; I tuck it away into my memory so I can write about it. It is what I do. Weird, I know. Yeh kinda. That was his reply. I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at me right then for the rest of my life. Strange. Then his eyes smiled, because his smile faded as he leaned in to kiss me. I took his kiss and gave him mine in return. I’d forgotten the way his lips fit mine; so tender. I had forgotten that he took my breath away; that he made my heart beat too fast, like a hummingbird’s wings. Every few kisses we paused, our mouths open, just before our lips met, against each other, breathing; exchanging hot air. I forgot how much I missed kissing him. I had forgotten how much I wanted to be his; only his. When he rolled to be above me, I had never wanted anything more. I knew I was going to give myself to him. He kissed me with passion. Kissing my jaw line, my cheek, my lips, moving down my neck and to the top of my shirt. He kissed my lips some more, and I opened my eyes, staring at him, holding him, not wanting to let go. He pulled my shirt just high enough to kiss each side of the top of my pelvic bone, where I am most ticklish. I sat up and unzipped my sweater, slipped off my tank top, and became vulnerable to his eyes. His stare. I kissed him and pulled him down over me. Each kiss trailed down my neck and over my chest. I closed my eyes and relished every moment. Every touch of his sent chills down my spine and made my breath catch. As he kissed my cheek I whispered I’m nervous. Why? I’m with you. I’m nervous too. It will be okay. Just tell me if it is too much. I will. And then I watched him remove his clothes. I never watched a man get undressed before. I usually looked away. He was beautiful. Before he leaned down to kiss me, he said wow. I was so aware of every part of my body being exposed to someone else. I thought my heart was going to break my ribs beating so hard and fast. He kissed me and asked are you sure? I answered with a smile and a kiss. When he became a part of me, I…I can’t even explain what I felt. I just wanted to kiss him more. I wanted more of him and I wanted him to know. I wanted to be a part of him like he was of me. I tried to remember every touch, every kiss, every breath, every bite of the lip, every sound. I let all thoughts escape me and I let the moment over take me. I wanted to cry. I didn’t want to scare him though, so I just held it back. He stopped and asked if I was okay. I would never tell him I wanted to cry, so I said nothing and pulled him towards me for a kiss. Something built inside of me; something that felt like a tickle but was full of pressure. I had never felt anything like it. I clung to him, not knowing what to do. I was almost afraid. I figured out what it was and I smiled. I covered him in kisses, his neck, his cheek, and finally his lips. I wanted to be kissing him when it happened. I quickly wrapped my arms around his back and hugged him like I have never hugged before, letting all sound escape through my kiss and into him. He asked me if I was okay. He must have thought he had hurt me. I laughed and smiled and pulled him into another kiss, falling into an abyss of white. He knew. And when his time came shortly thereafter, I wanted to hold him again and I just stared at him as he was in his own world for moment. When our eyes met I wanted to kiss him and I did, over and over. I wanted to cry for this moment; this memory. I wanted to stay with him forever. And when he rolled over next to me, I lay my head down on his chest, syncing my breathing to his, listening to his heart, kissing his chest. He apologized for being done so soon, but said it was good. Was it good for you? Yes it was. I’m sorry again. It’s okay. I wanted to tell him that I had never had an orgasm before that night. I didn’t want to freak him out or anything. I probably wouldn’t have. He would have understood. We didn’t kiss again. We talked. We got dressed. We talked for a few more hours. I caressed his back, tracing his tattoo. I told him that he smelled the same. I love that smell. It reminds me of home, but mostly of him. He said I still smelled the same too. I reminisced spending the night with him last year. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I couldn’t keep my thoughts from slowing down. I kept looking at him. My feet got cold, so I pushed them between his calves and his feet started to tap my own. He was still asleep though. I wanted him to hold me, but I held him instead. I breathed in the smell of his skin, I tried to remember what his skin felt like against mine. I didn’t want to forget this amazing man that I don’t really know. He astounds me, inspires thought in me. I fell for him that night. I fell for him and I hope that he may feel even half of what I feel for him.

my next poem

I'm probably going to write a poem about this later, but currently, I am about to go out with this guy that I have wanted to go out with forever. Since I met him basically, a year ago! I can't believe it has been a year...wow. I have never been so nervous in life. omg...

Zimbabwe

Yesterday a friend of mine and I participated in a fast for Zimbabwe. The point of this fast was to feel what it is like to be "hungry" like those in poverty; to feel what it is like to want something that you can't have. Apathy. It is amazing, the feeling of hunger. I did not get hungry right away, in fact, I did not become hungry until mid-afternoon. Suddenly, I could not eat what I wanted to. I could not drink my daily cups of coffee, eat my clementine, have some cereal, make a sandwich. Nothing. The only thing that I allowed myself was access to water, as much as I wanted. Which I know that in not only Zimbabwe, but any country, those people do not always have water at arms reach. I even turned on the Zimbabwe radio broadcast via internet and listened to them speak of their government and the problems and daily suffering their people face every day and what they are or are not doing about it. This is amazing. This made me want to fast for a week. To really, truly start to feel "hungry." I read the organization web page, and I had to sign my name electronically, put where I'm from (country) and if I wanted to, to write a few words. I read through others' comments and found a site to go to. A song for Zimbabwe. It was beautiful. One woman singing, hoping, caring. At the top of the page, it said to light a candle every evening and think about those in Zimbabwe, to pray for those in Zimbabwe. I do not believe in god and religion, however, I do believe in feelings, true, pure feelings, and if I felt them strong enough, I could send them to those in Zimbabwe, those children, the mothers, the fathers. Everyone. I could send my love. Being a part of this fast was beautiful, in a way. Those people and their lives, listening to the radio broadcast, it was surreal. And for a day, forever, I will know, if only a little, what it is like to be at a disadvantage and be able to do nothing about it.