The Past Few Days

A few days ago, I decided to make the life decision of writing a poem every day for the rest of my life. Even before this, I've been more productive than I have ever been in my life. In the past two months since I've moved, I've written as many poems as I have in the past year before moving. These are the first poems to come out of my new practice. Here's to poetry!

i

Sometimes I take a shower

  to work things out.

Filling my lungs with steam

  awakes and exhausts

As if being alone in there

  is a daunting task.

Where I'm alone in there

  or alone out here,

I'm slowly, so slowly

  being drained.

So I apologize if when

  you see me,

I look tired.

ii

A letter spurned from

  weathered terms

of association;

From tethered words

  that sweat and earned

their own creation.

I'll write back knowing eyes

  and cordbound lines

of what we could be.

Then You'll organize

  our boarded times

and visit me.

iii

Like grabbing through a cloud

  in hopes to find rain;

You asked me how I felt

  and I tried to explain,

But I've thought about it all day,

  and I just don't know.

I just hope that if I name it,

  the feelings would go.

iv

The moonlight lights me eyes

Reflecting skies

long passed by.

I step back in time

To bonfire nights

Tracing constellations.

I drift through sleepless sights

As I have to write,

I turn on lights,

And force it out.

Then I dance around

in the sensation.

v

Without telling me you came in,

  and sat down quietly.

Without even speaking, we

  carried conversation silently.

I told you everything I thought today;

  You told me all of yours.

And we spoke secret things, you

  spoke your voice inside of me.

We forgot every trouble, we became

  lost in our cure.

vi

The blow of the wind came upon

my fields--its voice shook the trees;

A Hollow sound, the birds are gone

And winter killed the leaves.

I heard you Howl, pierced the dreams

In my abode, resounding through its creeks;

A Hollow sound, that tears the seams

And caused all of my leaks.

I remember sound, resounds through my bones,

There were fuller trees, the air was warm;

This place, this time, memory alone

Resides the solace I take in Storm.

a sonnet

Those moments when we have nothing to do,

But even then we laugh and sing all day.

We jumped and then the wind picked up and blew

Us up from where we were to where we stay

Right now. Just us with everyone we know;

With those who with the wind cling and remain,

Who fly with every wind and every blow,

And pour from every cloud and every rain.

It seems that we're impervious to storm,

Though wet and worn from all that poured on down.

Our flesh is cold; our hearts are keeping warm,

Because we've both acknowledged what we've found.

So even if today we haven't done a thing,

It means we're somewhere, finding songs to sing.

You and I

Somewhere along the line we've split;

Two people whose hands no longer ache

For each other's hands to grab and fit

To paint a picture only we could make.

When I try and look for you

You always try to walk away;

When really all I want to do

Is hear the things you used to say.

I get my hope from stories told

To myself to make me feel

That even if we both grow old

That we'll have found something real.

And that my passions will finally seep

into your dreams--One in sleep.

novembers

This was written this morning, a reflection of the past couple, very eventful days.

novembers (october 2010)

The cold air hits my lungs

and I remember it's autumn

It is a song that I've sung

But long since forgotten

It's the sound of the leaves

On the streets that we walk

That air that we breathe

And exhale when we talk

Or the games that we'd play

as we'd jump on the lawn

All the things that we'd say

That would make up our song

I remember old Novembers

From the smell of the sky

And can't help but surrender

To older things still mine