The Fruit With No Soul, But a Lot of Love

Like a mummy, so full of preservatives

And its soul has been removed

But when it passes my lips

Mine has surely been soothed

This fruit so full of corn syrup and dye

Is full of happiness too

And after eating handfuls

I feel almost brand new

Maraschino cherry, Maraschino cherry

Oh, remember the day that you used to be a berry

Now we don't know what you are, though it's certainly not dairy

Delicious nonetheless, and your color so merry

You're my favorite thing to eat, when watching Little House on the Prairie

Some people laugh when they hear "Glass of cherries, hold the liquor"

Little did they know that all of us will bicker

Over each and everyone of those sweet glowing spheres

Sometimes causing the evening to end with someone in tears

Especially in the event of an ill equipped bar

(Who's stock should really include more than just one jar)

And in addition to the sugar snack, we all want a shot

To be the first to tie the cherry stem into a knot.

Dare I try a rhyming one? I dig back into the vault a few years...

Today I feel happy
I'm finished the say
With this experience
I shall be on my way

How frightened I feel
But excited as well
To begin a new life
At the ring of a bell

So many emotions passed
Through me this week
The mere thought of leaving
Sent a tear down my cheek

The time I spent here
Has taught me so much
I've come to love
Each person as such

You've been so supportive
SO helpful, so kind
When I think of all you've done for me
Why, it just blows my mind!

My questions were answered
All concerns were addressed
You're so easy to talk to
Why be depressed?

Above and beyond
The call of duty you went
In helping me figure things out
Believe me when I say, "It was time well spent!"

Remember week one? Seems like history now
Surroundings so new; I entered the room eager to learn
It became quickly clear how much fun this class is
As I watched and I helped, awaiting my turn

Week two got me thinking:
"How many bathroom breaks must they take?"
While tying dozens of shoes with my own bladder expanding
Stumbling reading and calendar-ing as if crossing a lake

Playing a name game is great fun
As I learned during week three
Adding phonics and spelling to my already-full plate
Thinking ahead, worried, the future cloudy

Teaching math during week four was my favorite I found
While agonizing each scrupulous detail
Discovering quickly just how hard this job is
My body and voice about to fail

Could it be? Yes, week five is really half way!
"I hardly know anything about anything!"
"I can't believe I'm here!" I repeatedly say
Reminding me each morning is another day

Plans are easier; I'm sketching my way through week six
Teaching the morning and all afternoon
Transitions and behavior send me running for cover
As I think about being alone in the room

Flying solo weeks seven and eight
Sent me nose-diving through reading groups
Small group work proves difficult to date
And seeing my progress was not easy

"Set expectations!" I told myself for week nine
"I am in charge!" So easy to say yet hard to believe
"Think of how far you've come now"
But still having trouble with this thing called achieve

Has week ten come already? No it can't be
I'm finding I really like being in charge
But need more time to work through some stuff
Has my ambition become too large?

Surely no, as you cooperatively agree
A few days off are just what I need
I come back for week eleven to help and to teach
And magnets are fun for all, indeed

A field trip and such thrown into the mix
Week twelve brings some things in myself I must fix
I am getting better and expecting listening ears
And quieting many, many, MANY fears

And so I must leave now
This is getting rather long
I am quite tired
Of finding rhymes for this song

I will always remember you and and your class
As my first adventure, it has just been a blast!
22 and the Princess just made my every day
I hope that these memories will forever last.

Musical Intoxication

The hum of music enters the soul,
Leaving me blind to the thoughts of my own.
I try to conceive the ideals of myself,
Without a moment to spare
Keeping to the pace of the drums.

The rhythm of life pulses through the veins
An endless beating of chambers unseen.

Were it not for music:
The soothing balm
The numbing drug.

But knowing the words to this song keeps me sane,
Allowing me to hum a tune to myself.

the slamming mood

today i come home
open all the kitchen cupboards
and slam them in rapid succession
just to hear the satisfying clap!
of board-on-board.

it is true i would prefer to launch plates
like discs and vases like shot-puts
too see if i had the strength
to dent a plaster wall, to rip out the chicken wire
holding the insulation, the strength
to chip the stain from the oak accents and reduce
the brick to a shivering powder.

i would leave devastation and cement my position
as someone not to be fucked with.

of course, i would have to clean it up. i would
have to pay, to be sentenced some form of atonement--
fifty lashes or five days in the cilice--so
instead i slam the cupboard doors closed a second time, listening
for the crash inside.

you made my best friend cry, ass.

You
have all
the emotional intelligence
of a profoundly concussed
root vegetable.

Did that not make sense?
Neither does
your choice
in women.

Love or Codependency?

Carry me home
Take me and leave me
Love me a little
Make me cry
And I will mold you
I will hold you tight
Adore you

Throw me away
Twist me and shake me
Toss me and break me
I don't mind
Because I love you
Like you wanted me
To love you

Here I am
Your Taj Mahal
Your everything
Your nothing at all
Here I'll stand
Through raging wars
Your safety, your fall

Lay me down
Comfort and soothe me
Touch me a little
Make me smile
And I will ground you
I will drown your pain
Surround you

And I will be
Your lifeboat of silence
Braving the violence
Of your storm
When we make this
Love that terrifies
And frees us


(Note: This is a song, not a poem... I wrote it post-one-of-several-break-ups, and I don't know what to do with it now. It frustrates the hell out of me. So... on the blog for terrible poetry it goes!)

Another Spring Afternoon

Jess flared blades of grass through her plugs

Andy weaved a flower into her earring

I balanced a twig in the ring in my nose

God had spinach in her teeth

Homemakers

Behold the power of large groups of people
with large hearts
and willing hands
not much experience
though that doesn't matter much

Ding of hammers hitting nails
Dings turn into music and soon there
is a chorus of dings from hammers
and maybe drills

Pretty soon the dings turn to thuds
as the walls are raised and a
house starts to take shape
Awe in the voices of inexperienced volunteers

One by one
Studs line this foundations
A row of only parallel
and perpendicular lines

Studs
Beams
Top Plates
OSB
Trusses
Hammers
16-penny nails
Drills
and prybars in case we make a mistake

Can't hear thinking to oneself over the dinging
Thudding
Whirring
Screaming
Directing
Asking of 60 plus people all here to help

Mind starts dinging and whirring
Right along with the rhythm
There is a rhythm here
A rhythm of people who want to help
A rhythm of people who look forward to a simple decent place to live

One is taking shape as we speak
As we ding
As we whir
As thud and bang

We are homemakers

william carlos williams is the WORST roommate ever.

I have used
the last of
the toilet paper
that you bought

and which you
were probably
hoping
to use this morning

Forgive me
it was needed
so absorbant
and so soft.

Terrible Poetry from Terrible People

Terrible poetry from terrible people

Like the bitter words of lovers lost down the sewer drain
Polluting the water that once provided sustenance

From that abortion clinic picketer
Who weaves bible passages into spears that pierce the hearts of those who grace its doors

Like the eviction notices posted on homes crafted into soliloquy
That left every hungry family beyond tired of listening to these demands

Terrible poetry from terrible people

Like those violent chants and angry threats
That emit from peace demonstrators
Reminiscent of sloppy kisses from virgin lovers

Like the soapbox rhetoric of a rabble rouser in downtown Minneapolis
Preaching about the importance of the environment
She enjoys her bottled water on her car ride home

Or perhaps escaping like the satisfied belches from a man
who never stops professing his love of animals, especially those cute kitties and puppies
While stuffing his face with the assholes and intestines of every other mammal on this planet

Terrible poetry from terrible people

Like the promises of a do-gooder who volunteers to be a Big Brother
Then quits after 6 months
The same one who sweet talks another program into letting him be a mentor again
After 4 months he leaves, resembling the fathers that abandoned the same kids he used to tutor

Like the propaganda pamphlets dropped overseas
To those who only pray for peace
But instead get slaughtered like the cattle we view them as
We fill mass graves with glee

Like the racial slurs and harsh words dropped by children on the playground
In a small town middle class hell
Landmines and cluster bombs that would send my brother home crying everyday
Just because he is not white

Terrible poetry from terrible people

magpo is for eighteen-year-olds

I

you smell. surrender all wind.

II

suddenly
the sky vanished

III

you crush
the chill
from this
empty morning

IV

moon will drop his stars
let march come

V
begin to leave
yet
hear the song
remember
not a fling
a friend

VI

she usues summer sky as balm

The first

The first
Is always the worst
Though I fear I have nothing
to fear
Please be kind, please be cruel

Add at your will
There is just one rule
Everything added
Must be verse
Put it down
Get it out

Be what you feel you can be
Everything
You wish
Will come true
If here

I'm only kidding
Be kind
Be cruel
Be what you wish
Invitation
Terrible terrible terrible
I hope this brings you peace

Write now