Today was a day of interesting surprises and rather melancholic realizations. Oh, that and I'm not doing so hot in Philo 103, and that bugs me, but moving on to less shallow things ( Read more... )

Because apparently, I think I can still write ( Read more... )

Heeeey. I'm sorry. My writing is rusty. My heart isn't. I hope you don't think it is ( Read more... )

Aftermath to a disaster

What do we do?
We hold hands and wrap
our fingers softly around
eachother, as if
touch were enough
to heal wounds
that go deeper than
the skin.

We stay silent,
listening for the rhythm
of the heart, holding
our breaths,
waiting. Just waiting.

We stare.

We shiver and we wish
we were alone. We shake
and we wish there
were people to hold us
close ( Read more... )

I'm working on this prose thing right now, but I got stuck, so I wrote a poem instead. And it has a long title. Haha.

Prelude to the moment of plunging into one another aka kissing

There are many kinds

of Oh in the world.

There is the surprise Oh,

the one we often say

after finding out something

pleasant, or experiencing

something ( Read more... )

I'm feeling kind of down this morning, and it's not just because I have a cold. It's a moodswing I'm guessing. Oh, plus I am using a Mac...which I have no idea how to use. Blah, so there. Will go to area later. Will try to study a bit. School's a killer but when has it not been? What long weekend? It's a sad rhetorical question.

Oh but you know what ( Read more... )

This thing called love
it's a relatively and readily
confounding thing oh what
people stupid people would
give up for it what seas
ships would sail for it
what lives other lives
would ruin for it and yet love
remains this wonderful thing,
we see it in terms of sunsets
and secrets, staying warm by
the fire presents
strength and this quite abstract
but always ( Read more... )

Ah poetry, you will be the death of me. Sometimes I think what I make is really beautiful. This might not be one of those times. I'm not sure. I'll think about it.

It's raining, for lack of a better title

The rain pours
and all the world is drenched,
whitewashed,
scrubbed clean,
drowned in millions of
drop drop drop
s.

I know poets used to write
about the ( Read more... )

Early mornings are condusive for sleeping. That's one thing. Anyway.

Oh look! It's a poem.

Point of Singularity or Because I watch too much Big Bang Theory, secretly like Sci 10, and not so secretly like You.

We are far far apart
and heading there getting there
"getting where?" you
ask at the back of your mind
"there, there." I point
without moving.

We are ( Read more... )

From Angelo Suarez's "Context"

(In the poem, he's talking/arguing with his girl friend about the meaning of some words. This is the end of the poem, when he explains how difference between how each of them see commitment.)

...

No point in being scholarly about it,

as when we speak of commitment

you think of marriage, kids,

the whole eternal dungheap

( Read more... )