Remember
April 30, 2014 § Leave a comment
I thought about you
flipping through a story held between pages
different than the ones I wrote before,
this one holds questions and pauses
created in rushed script,
of a time far away but filled
with clarity and a foreign place
we were two separate people, but together
we felt, and perhaps we still do
and I can’t help but think
that the things that change the most
in life aren’t the people,
but in fact, the memories
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
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.
morning commute
February 28, 2014 § 1 Comment
a slow army
ants marching
along a path etched
by white lines, baring heads
downward and forward with eyes
lit, cutting through
the haze ahead
searching for destinations
yet blindly, numbly following
another, through polluted
smog, but still shining
with sun and dew, silently
inching closer
and closer, to wherever
the white lines
carry them
The Tranquility of Passion
February 21, 2014 § Leave a comment
the tranquility of inaction
will never surpass
the tranquility of passion
for to haphazardly
create your path
and exalt in wonder
and awe of life itself,
is a task of which
one will never tire
Futures
February 20, 2014 § Leave a comment
the earth and its beauty,
its vastness, loom
before mankind, an immense mass
to explore, a giant future
to create, a brilliant life
to hurriedly find, atop a planet
of our creation
filled with beauty yet
to be discovered.
Uncommon Sense
February 15, 2014 § Leave a comment
What is it that holds you
back, from reaching
the always-sought after
ever bewitching
slipping through fingers
personal Utopia
place, where
you’re meant to be?
If it was doubt, you would not
have ever dreamed of this
place, to begin with
If it was fear, you may not
have even made it to this
point, a remarkable feat of courage
If it was ignorance, you could not
have seen this place so clearly
detailed and superb
resting at a peak
If not these, then what?
The most dangerous barricade we face
may just be none other than
practicality.
Awkward Valentine
February 14, 2014 § Leave a comment
brief comments, not lasting
nothing to remember, under bright lights
and thumping music
and a swirl of something syrupy
we smiled in passing, sugary grins
without much meaning
and you would sometimes toss a wink
over your shoulder, but it wasn’t
something I thought about
and then one day, THE DAY
when saints dance with cupids
and candles melt and drip
onto heart-dotted tablecloths
and the universe convinces
even bitter souls, they need love too
you winked and asked me over
so odd, I thought, of all the days
why not, I thought, why not
you were too tall for your kitchen
it struck me as sweet when you stood
at the island, a nervous man with a potholder
and pulled steaming enchiladas
from your oven, serving them carefully
on a plate with beans, and we ate
on a naked wooden table
under burning florescent bulbs
and talked about our dogs
the two of us, so odd, I thought
just eating enchiladas one night, THE NIGHT
and then you pulled out a pair of boots
took my hand and said, let’s two step,
and it struck me as sweet
the two of us, nearly strangers, two-stepping
to a cheesy country song
around your apartment
like it could have been any other night
rosepoems 