Poems -1

I Am Loud

I am loud,
Demanding attention.
I know when I am being charming
Because I try.
I put on my impressing face
And do my impressing hair
And speak my impressing words.
I tell you my embarrassing drinking stories
And everything else about me
That you probably shouldn’t know.

I am not good at being quiet
Because that’s not who I am.
I am not the sweet girl
Who will leave you with a smile
And a touch
And a glance
Or a single word.
There is nothing of this fashion of romance
About me.

I am the girl who will point out your flaws,
And take you outside to see the stars,
And remind you how human you are,
And what a wonderful thing that is.

I am the girl who will talk about science,
And music and theology and history,
And point out constellations, laughing,
When you don’t know the big dipper’s name.

I am the girl who will make witty references,
To classic literature and science fiction,
And will tell you stories of how I once,
Made a gingerbread replica of a lighthouse.

I am the girl who will stand on a table,
And sing at the top of my lungs on the highway,
And act like a chicken or quail or velociraptor,
Or nuzzle your face like a lion to make a point.

I am the girl who takes too many shots
And then coaxes you to bed on a Russian liver,
And knows all the right places to bite, and tease,
And follows with exceptionally coherent pillow-talk.

I am not a thin silk scarf on the wind.
I am not a thing hard to capture.
You would not spend a perilous journey
Through a wild, perfumed jungle,
Searching for my slender garments
Hung beside a pool
As I wail to the breeze.

Rather, I am the bird who flies overhead
Making too much noise
Distracting from the trail ahead.
A bird whose plumage proves
What an interesting life it must be…
What a colorful life for me…
Perpetually strange
The lone comic relief.

I am many things.
But I am not quiet.
Of this I am sure.

How

I remember the last day very well. 

How happy we were to be away from the rest of them. 

How fun it was sitting in your car, and screaming out lyrics to songs we would one day want marked on our bodies. 

How we happily giggled and allowed every ounce of insecurity to melt away into the air around us. 

How the sunlight streamed in through my windows and covered your golden skin in a thin film of white. 

How it felt to kiss your lips. 

How it felt to hold you close. 

How your body pressed to mine created one continuous aria of love. 

How my last words were "text me when you're safe and sound" 

How I didn't know I would be leaving my heart in your shirt pocket. 

"Will do"

The Aliens

you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction or
distress.
they dress well, eat
well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they have moments of
grief
but all in all
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy
death, usually in their
sleep.
you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.
but I am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one
of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them
but they are
there
and I am
here. 

Charles Bukowski

Lession

The people that come into our lives
do so for a reason
It may only be for a day or a month
or may just be for a season

But when two paths cross, no matter how brief
There's a lesson somewhere to be learned
It may be just that we're on the wrong path
and there's a corner that needs to be turned

It may be to teach us that we can still fly
and soar in the heavens above
or it may be a brief and torrid affair
to show us that we can still love

And maybe my words are speaking to you
and I'm part of some message you need
To show you the signs that surround you
so between the lines you can read.

“Though I am young, and cannot tell”

BY BEN JONSON

Though I am young, and cannot tell

    Either what Death or Love is well,

Yet I have heard they both bear darts,

    And both do aim at human hearts.

And then again, I have been told

    Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold;

So that I fear they do but bring

    Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.

As in a ruin we it call

    One thing to be blown up, or fall;

Or to our end like way may have

    By a flash of lightning, or a wave;

So Love’s inflamèd shaft or brand

    May kill as soon as Death’s cold hand;

Except Love’s fires the virtue have

    To fight the frost out of the grave.

The Battle of Time

So many battles you have won
but sadly you won't win this one.
The battle that we will all face one day
THE BATTLE OF TIME

Forget the tyrants and the terrorists
the greatest enemy to our survival is time.
From the moment of our births, we are entered into this battle
THE BATTLE OF TIME

We know so little, but we know it is meant to be
Time will come and time will go
but the memories shall not
time will continue to flow

War after war, billions after billions
but the war we should be fighting
the battle we should be entering
THE BATTLE OF TIME

I Knew

Your eyes are telling a tale
Everywhere you go

Your steps are making rhythms
silent and slow

Your head was never high
So does your voice

Every tremble of your hands
Every quiver on your lips
I know.

Holding On To Benjamin

by Mary Oliver

No use to tell him
that he

and the raccoon are brothers.
You have your soft ideas about nature

he has others,
and they are full of his

white teeth
and lip that curls, sometimes,

horribly.
You love

this earnest dog,
but also you admire the raccoon

and Lord help you in your place
of hope and improbables.

To the black-masked gray one:
Run! you say,

and just as urgently, to the dog:
Stay!

and he won't or he will,
depending

on more things than I could name.
He's sure he's right

and you, so tangled in your mind,
are wrong,

though patient and pacific.
And you are downcast.
And it's his eyes, not yours,
that are clear and bright.