Poem of the Day

Intellectual

2007-06-24T17:50:00.000-07:00

If I throw enough big words at you
will you go away
and like a dog
chase this bone of contention
that dominates this conversation.
Wax loquacious
I can't get a word in edgewise
with opaque interpretations
or sideways
and a subliminal hope.

Can’t we just agree to get along?
I’m weary from sorting through
These veiled meanings.

©2006, A.B.

It Is What It Is

2007-06-24T17:49:00.001-07:00

It is what it is
Yes, it is
An excuse
A way
To ignore
To push away
To pretend the world
Is black
Or white
Nothing in between
A verbal slap
That says
I don’t care
About you
And what you say
Burns in my ears
It makes me want to scream
And throw
It
Back
In your mouth

©2006, A.B.

Empty Promises

2007-06-14T18:37:00.000-07:00

He promised me a coffee can filled
with crayons of many colors,
just like Joseph's coat
of many colors...a symbol
of love and adoration.

But I had my crayons
with which to color
my world.

He promised me a card written
with a lover's words,
just like Shakespeare's sonnets
filled with cherished words...a feeling
inscribed for a lifetime.

But I finally saw the card
and it was completely
blank inside.

He promised me a mountain topped
with a wood-framed home,
just like the Biltmore estate
where we would be together...a lifetime
of magical moments.

But I couldn't lose enough
weight or self-respect
to stay.

©2007, A.B.

Omen

2007-06-13T12:52:00.000-07:00

One of those mornings I woke up late...
Kept slapping the snooze 'til a quarter past eight.

Dragged myself out of bed and moved to the door...
Stepped in a puddle the dog left on the floor.

Climbed in the shower with not enough time...
Soaped up my front and rinsed my behind.

Drank coffee in gulps that burned the top of my tongue...
Searched for socks and jeans but turned up with none.

Ran out the door and prayed the whole way...
Hoped this wasn't an omen for the rest of my day.

©2007, A.B.
I write poetry when I'm bored. I write rhyming and metered poetry when I'm *especially* bored.

Avoidence

2007-06-12T17:40:00.000-07:00

Walls empty and back to white.
No more signs of my life.

Boxes waiting to be filled with...
Dishes, Glasses, and Forks
Clothes and Shoes
Paintings, Pictures, and Drapes.

Calls from my mom with lists of things to do...
Rent the Truck
Call for Help
Get rid of Trash

Good Byes to friends and loves
Good Byes to my old life

These are things I avoid on a Tuesday night.

931 Cumberland

2007-06-09T12:49:00.000-07:00

In 1998 I sewed together
bed sheets to hang in the windows
so I could lay securely on the
old green sofa
guarded by the plaid barrier.

I felt
strong and independent
in my six hundred square feet
of carpet and linoleum and
left behind furniture.

Within the rotting, drafty walls
we forged
alliances and spun tails
and nursed a broken heart
or two.

Neither time nor space
will strip away the moments
that I left there when I said
good-bye through
blinding tears.
©2007, A.B.

Ancient Reflections

2007-06-07T17:42:00.001-07:00

What struggle
cloaked your mind
and consumed your sleep,
leaving you stranded
with numbing, rambling thoughts
that made a weaker man
crumble and cave
to sordid devices?

What constellations
charmed your conscious
and filtered your conceit
into a vague reflection
of your life and choices and led you
to believe that in the moment
you were in flawless agreement
with right and wrong?

What shackles
us together through
the long-drawn dance of dawn,
where the struggles somehow still
dance around our heads
in the faint, faint light of nearest stars
that still have a way of mutating
wrong into right?

Will you weep
with me tonight
and seek absolution for what
cannot be revoked
with force or death or
wishful thinking,
no matter how desperately
a soul burns?

©2007 A.B.
This is very much a poem in the works. I have a feeling it still has some evolving to do. I spent a lot of time lately thinking about the Biblical David and how I was always taught to view his life of depraved sin and unequaled communion with God. Looking back at the stories I see just a man who did what any other man in a similar situation could have done. We're no different today.

Empty White Bag

2007-06-05T17:25:00.001-07:00

at the bottom

of a bag

of peanut butter m&ms

i see

the emptiness and

the white plastic

i wonder

why i ate

the entire bag

i realize

my soul is

still empty

i sense

my stomach is

sickly full

i wish

it was

the other way around

- A.B., 2006

Dandelions in the Wind

2007-06-03T04:50:00.000-07:00

Draw me a picture of a sunset
Regal, royal, and grand.
Paint me the image my eyes behold.

Sing for me a song
Sweet, sincere, and simple.
Lift up your voice so my ears will hear.

For the day may come when I can no longer see
And the image will be a ghost from my past.

And the day may come when my ears have forgotten how to hear
And the song will be a mere echo dancing in my head.

So I will enjoy this moment before that dreadful day arrives
And hope is carried away
Like dandelions in the wind.

©1992, AB
An oldie, but goodie. My English teacher told us to never write love poems because teenagers just didn't know how to write them. This is the first love poem I ever wrote...and it won the county contest. Ask me, and I'll tell you the story behind it. Trivia: I remember hoping I had the name of the flower right...dandelion. :)

Who Knew?

2007-06-02T17:01:00.000-07:00

The kid who sat next to me in English class
with a rear end far too big
for the county issued desk
who cracked jokes behind the teacher's back
to mask his despair and shame
and almost failed the seventh grade
for lack of effort in his school work
just filled my prescription
and he smiled as he said my name
my maiden name
and I knew he knew me
and saw that I was now the one
with a rear end that size

The kid with whom I stood in line
for the county issued salad bar
whose eyes scalded my soul
as they teared and betrayed his secret
of a family divided and mid-year school change
to a world on the other side of town
filled with watching the sunset over the phone
and reading bedtime stories spun by C.S. Lewis
at three in the morning
now practices neurosurgery on a university webpage
with those same grey-blue eyes that still
manage to scald my soul like they know
something about me that I want to hide

Who knew that we would start out on the same paths
in the same classes with the same books
and make the same grades with the same teachers
and share the same dreams and the same ideas
but take different turns and make different choices
that proved we weren't locked into any fate
except the ones we chose and now stare at me
and mock me for thinking I had it all figured out
far too many times in that way that silly, brilliant
school girls do because they are so used to having
all the right answers
except the ones that deal with the human heart.

©2007, AB
Inspired by finding out what my former classmates did with their lives and how mine is so different from what I thought it would be.