I went out of town and didn’t bring a computer. Here are five days worth of poems to make up for my lapse.
This is the first poem I ever wrote. I was seven:
Lovely trees scrape my knees
I love trees they
scrape my knees.
I wear pathes patches on my rashes
Here is my first haiku (God bless my mother for saving these gems):
Spikey little rose
Such a pretty sight to see
There is a small bee.
And here’s this funny thing I wrote one anti-Valentine’s day
All you need is love.
But love is the last thing you need.
Do you want to go out?
All you need is chocolate.
If you’re selfless, you’ll give me some.
I wrote this one after a particularly unnerving moment on an airplane:
The engines on the Bombardier 700 falter, and the passengers hearts begin beating in time,
a collective jolt and we’ve lost seconds of our lives – which we acknowledge as we meet each other’s gazes:
Are you afraid?
The oddly all-male flight crew moves through the cabin with poker faces.
If I die, I will die writing.
If I die, I will die editing these words.
Funny, how we do not think about the fact that we are alive until that screaming, terrified heart in your chest reminds you that –
Everything is temporary.
This one was written in response to a painting I saw, called Lackawanna Valley:
Industry, sitting on the face of nature.
You ravage her, rape her, deface her.
Industry, you blow your steam on nature.
And when you do, you hurt her. You poison her air.
A child, watching you chug-chug-chug along
Smiles on the dawning of a new era.
Industry, you look so glorious
But behind your mask, you are just a corporate patron
You ravage and rape and deface her for money.
A hit man, a gangster, a terrorist doing only as your told.