Morning Perks
April 24, 2014 § Leave a comment
For those who bask bitterness
like java in a steamer,
I hope you’ll someday realize
the world reacts to your demeanor.
If you always take your coffee black
and refuse to add the creamer,
then the acidity of your daily dose,
could make your brightness meager.
So consider your morning outlook
and propel your inner dreamer,
please add some sugar to your cup,
it’ll make your day a whole lot sweeter.
How
April 24, 2014 § Leave a comment
How do you break one moment into a million pieces,
disturb the unremitting trail of a speeding train,
and knock it forcefully from its track?
How do you break the monotony
that is daybreak and sunset
and cereal for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch?
How can one dive into a deep pool of passion
while sitting at a desk, gazing into the unforgiving eternity
that is an excel spreadsheet?
How do we become a version of ourselves,
the version that plagues us
quite literally yelling out inside our heads
that we must do more?
Perhaps, the answer is simplistic.
An understatement of grand proportions.
Or innocence? Naivety? Litotes?
Or perhaps it is the only answer that exists,
and we simply have yet to uncover
its true depth.
For the answer is to write a poem.
Paper
April 22, 2014 § 1 Comment
There’s something magical
about paper, crisp and new
unmarked and full
of possibility
and there’s nothing
quite so simple but grand
as a brand new pen
with just enough point
with just enough ink
and the artful flick of a wrist
the turn of a finger, a stain emerges
the paper, imperfect, but full
of something personal
full of a meaning
that makes imperfection
into something beautiful
creation explanation
April 22, 2014 § 1 Comment
to create is all
is everything
i long for
a flowering story
where there
was none before
a thirst unquenched
it may never be
for a million dreams
form in a seconds time
and the trouble is
keeping up
Beginnings
April 17, 2014 § 2 Comments
I opened up the spiral book,
pages filled with words,
etched carefully on paper, purple pen
a fervent scrawl, filled with meaning
from nine years past.
I wrote with conviction
as strong as the coffee that still stains
the pages and spreads ink
and distorts the words penned
from a familiar place that rushed
to fill the pages of a nearby notebook
with notes of beginnings and of ends.
It’s a story I once knew
so well, that now sounds like a fiction
from a distant place,
from another’s hand.
Where
March 22, 2014 § Leave a comment
Perhaps they ran from the home they knew
to a world outside beneath a sky big and blue
Perhaps they grew tired of such a predictable plot
a more passionate life, they urgently sought
Or maybe they felt abandoned, or perhaps even lost
so they fled the scene entirely, not considering cost
For adventure or relief, perhaps they truely searched
trying to find utopia, or a brand new place to perch
Maybe news of opportunity came by word-of-mouth
so they all caught a train and headed down south
Or they could have simply spilled out onto the floor
and scampered quickly toward the nearest open door
But I guess I’ll never find out the true cause of this event
It will forever be a mystery where all my bobby-pins went
Timing
March 18, 2014 § Leave a comment
Perhaps if our clocks were in sync
at a quarter past eight
and you gazed up at a cloud floating west
to find it reminded you
of a day with shallow fountains
and blindingly bright skies
old yearbooks and made-up songs
and looking past the cloud and past
the sky, would you perhaps see
centrifugal force spinning,
a constant dance holding two
together, and perhaps if I checked the time
on my wrist at a quarter past eight
but saw turned tables and opened doors
years passing, but seconds remaining still
perhaps the earth would gently tilt
and perhaps, for once, gravity
would be on our side and
in that moment of you being there
and I, being here,
perhaps we would somehow
find a way back
to each other
Hope
March 16, 2014 § Leave a comment
I’m staring forward
feeling overwhelmed with want
for you to be there
Faith
March 14, 2014 § Leave a comment
Without its presence
life would be a gasping breath
short of rapt wonder
rosepoems 