Posts tagged "poetry"
  1. 3

    Time is too slow for those who wait…

    Time is too slow for those who wait

    Too swift for those who fear

    Too long for those who grieve

    Too short for those who rejoice

    But, for those who love –

    Time is eternity.


    -Henry van Dyke

  2. 1


    It’s annoying and sticky and complicated like balls of ripped spaghetti

    And really I’m far too old for little infatuations

    (and flash: denial) too old for silly smiles

    for love-me, love-me-not daisies

    for eyes that inflict global warming on my blood.


    It’s all simply childish and nonsensical

    (and although some part hurts

    when comparing the pink of infatuation to the blood red of love)

    So I laugh and talk (and flirt?)

    And we play the pretend game where we both act like

    We don’t mean any more than our words say

    (And if I’m on my knees at night

    praying that this won’t evolve to be as serious as it seems

    then that’s part of the game too).


    But maybe I’m bruised enough to know (even if you’re not, naive little princeling)

    That all games are fun

    Until you stumble and cut yourself.

    I’ve been shattered and made whole and survived fires

    That I never want you to walk through.


    I’m scared. Heart pounding from exhilaration and fear

    (and mostly fear) because I’ve been down this thorny path

    And wiser people do not make mistakes the second time around

    And I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t want to ask you

    Because (oh God) the worst confirmation would be

    That you don’t know what you’re doing as well.


    I want to ask but that would make it real (and Game Over)

    I want to pause it’s all fast forward but the controller’s beyond my reach

    So will you please slow down take a deep breath

    And look at where we’re going?

    Because God help us if we break.

  3. 1


    There is a certain sadness

    To a cabinet unopened for five years

    Full of unworn clothes

    Where dust, mites and all the denizens of the forgotten

    Gravitate to.


    There is a certain sadness

    To a family sitting, eating, laughing

    Together at the dinner table

    Where one seat will always be empty.


    There is a certain sadness

    For the friend you text, call, email

    With full knowledge you will receive no reply

    Yet hoping for the impossible anyway.


    For the student marked INC in your class

    Whose story (and end) you will never know

    For the stranger you always rode the train with

    And who just… wasn’t there one day.


    There is a quiet sadness

    In an unknown, unnamed body

    thrown off the cliff - sunk in the ocean - buried in the desert

    And mourned hundreds of miles away.


    The people responsible

    (because it wasn’t monsters but people

    and that is the greatest betrayal of all)

    Did they feel the sadness too?


    *desaparecidos - forced disappearance; literally ‘one who has disappeared’

  4. 4

    Living In Memory

    Oh, memory, my false friend

    Half-thoughts and unthoughts are all I have left.

    Leave me my illusions

    Give back marinated afternoons eaten with easy conversations

    Give back smiles thrown at the sepia-colored air

    When every heartbeat was a still life of pictures taken endlessly.

    Don’t steal my naive longings of what could be

    And poison my mind with ‘never’

    Let me have my hopes, my fantasies,

    And call them foolish if you dare.

    I will exist in half-remembered dreams of a reality

    Where the future never comes.

  5. 2

    A World Without Prejudice

    I don’t believe that

    In order to love God

    I have to hate those who don’t.

  6. 1


    We whore ourselves out

    on the internet, facebook, myspace, friendster, tumblr, lj, multiply

    It’s a plaintive whine: “I just want someone to see me. The real me.”



    Oh, don’t worry.

    Someone’s watching.

    It’s the internet. Whatever you post, nothing’s sacred.

    Someone’s always watching.

  7. 3

    Stormy Night

    Alone with the music of the storm

    And hot instant noodles.


    The ghosts are playing hide-and-seek

    With every swivel of my head they are gone

    But their shifting footsteps, gauzy shadows and laughter

    Pass the edge of my senses.


    They do not scare me but rather, comfort


    Stories and books beckoning from the laptop screen

    And oh, my room has no right to be warm

    On such a cold, cold night

    The once-feared loneliness has now become

    A trusted companion - a silent friend.


    Rainwater tries to build a lake

    On the living room floor.

    There are dim orange lights downstairs

    But where I am sprawled on covers that need laundering

    The spotlight is harshest, brightest.


    I shut all the lights and in the darkness

    With rain, wind, ghosts and the ever-present Nissin cup noodles

    I find welcome.


    (written long ago and posted because i want it to be stormy again)

  8. 1

    It’s Still Murder

    Dreams die in classrooms

    When teachers look

    Little girls and boys in the eye

    And say: “You can’t.”

  9. 6

    Don’t judge a book by it’s cover (don’t judge it by it’s pages either)

    Pay attention to the spaces in between

    It’s all the things unseen, unheard, unsaid

    It’s when the boy says, “You’re beautiful”

    and the girl blushes

    and the spaces in between bloom with infatuation.


    It’s when descriptions of dazzling blue waters

    arcing to meet up with the sky

    Paints pictures of the ocean in your mind.


    It’s when people die one after another

    that you realize the real murderer was you all along.


    Those spaces are where all the little monsters hide;

    Every fear that chips away at

    what you think passes for courage.

    Every inane, pointless moment

    That gives you joy

    (but still pales compared to real happiness).


    Most often the not-there is where Truth lurks

    Slyly urging you to painstakingly dig it up with a toothpick .


    Have you finished reading?

    Did you scrutinize the blank spaces in between the lines?

    Can you tell me now what was not written?

  10. 4

    What To Do With Them

    They’re just words.

    You don’t

    scissor them from a newspaper

    to form a noose that you

    hang yourself with.

    You don’t

    splash them all flower-scented

    over skin and clothes

    to entice that guy you like.

    You don’t

    shape them into darts

    to torture the annoying, pimply nerd.

    You don’t

    cook them in olive oil and soy sauce

    to feed your family.

    You don’t

    destroy countries - inspire thousands - change history - unite people

    with just words.

Like you would a conch shell left behind by the storm, cradle it to your ears and listen
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