Break/Point

What is the point/
at which you / break
down / trodden under foot
of the rolling / machine
of work
it never / stops / or slows
/ just more
now more is too / much
and break/age begins
/ to wear / down
your resolve/
your reserve/
your / self
it's just too / hard
to handle / all
pieces / parts you juggle
things / you control
but / control isn't / real
you should / be realistic
/ control is something you
never really had / is it
you are / a cog
in a group / of larger cogs
that spin / whir
and work
until / you reach
the / point
you / break

Disdain - Perfected

She has the look of disdain

perfected

Heavy lids shield her eyes

from me

and my antics

Boredom seeps from her visage

And her often animated,

bright, yellowish-green eyes

are dull

The rest of her body

is curled up

guarded

None of my frivolity

will affect

She turns her head away

as I croon

mock her stance

She is unaffected

I reach to chuck

under her chin

playfully

She will have none of that

She sashays away

her fluffy tail

up in the air

like her nose

JuneBug

5/30/13

So obviously, I wrote this a while ago.  It's kinda weird.. as in not very similar to most of my writing.  Or at least that's how I feel about it.  It was a little in relation to a book I was reading at the time.  Btw, I will try to start doing my book reviews again... or at least mention when I read a good book.  The one I was reading was The Innocent by David Baldacci.  Then I read the next book in his series, The Hit.  Both we very action-oriented, and great reads.  (The main character is a hit-man.  And a BAMF.)  I would recommend them both.  Anyway, on to my random poem....


JuneBug

You're my little JuneBug
my little sweetie pie
I'm gonna love you
love you till the day I die

She sings it soft
she sings it low
she sings even though the man
tells her no

He yells real loud
he screams and shouts
he's got the barrel pointed
what's this life all about

She holds her JuneBug
she holds her sweetie pie
she whispers little one
it's gonna be all right

He can make it stop
he wants to make it stop
there are tears in her eyes
he will make their dreams pop

There you can see the trigger
and there is the pull
a junebug is screaming 
the world spins out of control

Cradled in small hands
cradled is her face
he stopped her heart
something that cannot be replaced

But something new starts
something new begins
the little JuneBug starts singing
dark won't win

Emote

Prompt:  Pick an emotion. But don't say what it is. Describe it. How it feels, what it looks like, how it acts.


 - 1 - 

A tightly clenched ball.
A jaw grinding. 
Breathing quickens and eyes dart.

It's dark grey.
Like storm clouds.

But this lightning 
is shocks of red.

Really it's a headache.
Unclear.
And unreasonable.

Tapping incessantly.
Twisting.
Building.
Hounding.
Pounding.

It creeps up.
A small snowball
grows
as you roll
it gains momentum
it's unstoppable.

Heart pounds.
And suddenly
there's a pressure
in your chest
constricting 
and piercing.

An endless stream
a list of to-do's
less have-done's
more due dates

Are you finished yet?

You're late
You're rushing
It's not finished yet

There's 8 more things to do
And you're paralyzed
Is it right?
Can't answer the questions
if the concept's not understood
But that was covered
last week 
weren't you here?
What have you been doing?

Haven't you finished?

There's 16 more problems
And your friend
still isn't 
talking to you
What went wrong?
Can't this be fixed?
And your grandma is sick
nothing in your power
Is there nothing to be done?
And your brother 
he's in trouble
what's he doing with his life?

Aren't you going to finish?

Wait there's 32 answers needed
What to wear?
How to speak?
Where to go?
What to be?

Are you finished?

Because 
time
is 
up.



 - 2 -

I am searing 
I am white-hot
I am burning

I am bundled
I am mixed-up
I am twisted

I am mindless
I am Cro-Magnon
I am primal

I am red
I am blood
I am slashes

I will find
I will take
I will posses

And then I will destroy

Runaway Train Dreams

Her feet are planted
       in the field
       empty
       broken stalks
       litter
       the land

She stands
       her faded blue dress
       ripples
       in the soft wind
       the sun is bright
       and she squints

The train cars glint
      as they rush
      speed
      whistle by
      on the worn trestles
      that creak

Gone in a blink
       closing her eyes
       and the train
       isn't gone yet
       she wishes
       she dreams

Nothing has to be as it seems
       with closed eyes
       she doesn't have
       to return
       to the small, simple
       farmhouse
       that small, simple
       life

Promise

There is so much held in promise

          You are promised
          You show promise
          You must promise
          You have promised

I hold promise

But the promise that concerns is the one made me

The one
       never formal
                 but there
                       repeated and
                                     insinuated and
   
                                                      gone

        never realized

I was told
If I just

          buckle down
          study hard
          achieve more
          do well
          finish assignments
          get As
          get degrees

It would be there

          Future
          Success
          Security
          Career
          Job

It would be there

I was told

I was promised

Person, Place or Thing

For the theme of this month, I've written some poems.  There are unfortunately not that hard to figure out, but I thought I'd put 'em up anyway.  And they are unrelated aside from being generated by the same prompt.




I am freedom
As I oscillate
can't you hear it ring?
I am honor
I am valor
I am respect
I am the first in any war
and the last
I am followed
but I lead
I unite
and inspire
hope
I fly 
to show pride 
or I rest
in tri-cornered boxes 
to comfort
I am freedom
because 
we are freedom.








I am a place you can visit
     But I am also a place 
     you don't have to travel too far
     to reach


I am nostalgia
     and dreams
     and promises


I am immature
     But I can bring wisdom
     and growth


I am magic
     and hope
     and surprise


I am fun
     But I can be full of danger
     and treachery


I am where you visited
     as a child
     and where you long 
     to return


I am never to far
     Just second star to the right
     and straight on 'til morning
   

Will they draft the interstellar war

I wonder if belt buckles will become tighter

If men will be taller

In the battlefield are there death tollers?

As you sign in your draft card:

man or woman?

will the war be so grand that gender no longer matters?

Must we bake with margarine instead of butter

Will all protein be spam?

All the food I eat is rationed

Glory to man!

(This is something I wrote a few months ago that I felt like sharing)

Linked While Torn

I finally finished is today!  This is a continuation of the series of poems I started with Beautifully Broken.  Like that one, this is another 3-part sonnet.  And again, Blogger is being poopy about formatting.  Imagine the "Torn to Pieces" section is flush on the left side.  And that there is only one line of space between the title and the body.



Linked while Being     Torn to Pieces


Beauty cannot              triumph always 
stay untarnished          be whole and gold
forever, yet we              travel this road
together as                    the steady stays
masts and ropes           until it hazes
-crack- will be torn      where this now old
break burns my            eye, glazes, folds
soul, so charring          shuts out the blaze
becomes scarring         that spreads without
and now I lose             control and when
what I wanted             extinguished, what
was always mine          dissolves, the clout
it's no longer                carried within
mine -never was-         never could be.

Beautifully Broken

Beautifully                              Broken

There is wonder                        but I

don’t think there is                    here or

not, knotted and                       nowhere

tied into strings                         strung high

but then it slips                         no lie,

from grasp into                         a scare

unknown unseen                       unaware

communion in                           to sky-

line with some for                      -ward

seeing what is                           broken

down and outted                        into

myself and our                           shards of

particular                                   token

formed together                         beauty.

*