I suppose I could write to you about the fact that I stayed in bed until 2 pm today, catching up on all of the sleep and relaxation that I missed out on this week, and that I have spent the four hours since then doing homework so that I can go out tonight and do kid things. Until tomorrow when I'll do more homework preferably all day this time so that I can have my sunday free. And I suppose I just did write to you about all of that boring stuff. Sorry. Wasn't it dull? And un-insightful into me or whatever it is you come here to learn..
So I'm just going to spew poetry at you again. Because I've already written that. And copy and paste is a marvelous tool. And because I've quite almost decided that blogging is not part of my nature. Just opening a door to the world so they can figure me out in a half hour read. Where's the fun in that? Not to mention the privacy and "decency". So I shall plague you with riddles [poems] instead : ) The answer to all of them is a thought running rampant through my head that escaped in the form of a delicate concoction of the english language. Little pieces of me I suppose. Like fingernail clippings or memories or smiles. hope you enjoy them. please feel free to leave your thoughts as always.
and don't take life too seriously, we are after all just children in our own right, wandering out into life to discover its wild flowers and beauties. You're never to old to go exploring. Or to learn something new. Or to really screw up, and realize life goes on and it's ok. Or to meet a bosom friend. Go make today special and quit reading blogs. Tell the people you love that you are forever in love with their heart and soul. Realize you are happy to be alive. I am going to go shower because my life is glorious like yours and includes indoor plumbing.
oh yeah, I promised poems. here ya go.
-----
I'm a stowaway
it's who I am.
sneaking trips
inside black and white
shots
kept safe inside
purses and books,
traveling the globe
in pixeled square
parcels.
take a flash
and take me somewhere.
----
I'm a midnight man
who lights around middles
of purple skies freckled with
silver sprink diddles.
I dash about centers of earths
revolutions
in and out shadows
and year resolutions.
I skirt on old memories
and ballet jazz muses
on notes, clefs, and stanzas
on lyrical bruises.
I chuckle at stories
spoken soft round young beds
and send fairies to prance
over lullabyed heads.
Don't try to stiffle
or sit on my fun
I've dusk haze to juggle
and dawn to out run.
----
Those cobbled lanes were laced exotically
quaint and magical.
So sweet you could almost lick the dingy streets
and taste sugar sparkles.
Genuinely alive.
That's what it was.
The basis of living, breathing;
ancient memories kissing cheeks,
fingertips interlocking nouveau.
Those painters casting masterpieces
amidst bridges and falafel carts and sun glazes;
no desperation in their eyes or brushes.
They knew life was miraculous
just as it was.
Covered in sparkling lights, foreign faces, brilliant scarves, dark pasts;
dipped in chocolate
just brewed that morning,
in the rose shadows of cathedrals
and amour de vivre.
-----
If I could just make a hammock-swung
beach dream
for you
over white sugared sand
surveying a crystalline blue sea
that really looks watercolor green
with kites and smoothies
and poetry books
I think I might.
Even if it was just for a day
for us to muse back at and say,
"do you remember that one time..?"
----
A few weeks ago
he was in a pit.
Yeah just a few months ago
they all said he'd make it.
A few steps back
he was a walking man.
And a few hours from now
he'll be dead again.
----
sucked in
smoothed out
puffed up
straightened north
glued stiff
pasted on
stickied red
pierced through
buttoned up
seared flat
weighed down
pinched tight
sprayed on
layered thick
just
be
beautiful.
----
Every morning at 3:27 that man comes
with his striped bag and velvet shoes
he comes and steals the ice crystals
from the dirt
in my rose garden.
He thinks them rare gems of unsurpassed beauty
and would keep a collection
if they'd stay with him till morning
instead of sneaking back
amongst the roses
every night.
He would keep a collection
if he remembered truthfully his dreams of adventure
in far off lands of myth and majesty,
were sleep nozzled escapades
through my thorny flowers
and frozen earth.
