I just got my portfolio back in poetry, here is some of my hard work:

Okay, So

the assignment was to choose
an icon of pop culture
and write a series of poems about it.
"You could use Pez," she says,
"it could be the Slinky, the Rubik's Cube."
This is where my brain becomes lost in thought
against my will.
My mind with a mind of its own
remembers that i sometimes compare
my friend to a Rubik's cube.
This maniacal mind of mine
is so proud of remembering something
that it determines to hold onto this something
this little bit of nothing
resting on a rickety bridge
-- a very, very rickety bridge --
over a river of uselessness.
Are maniacs always this. . .
this. . .
so anyway -- returning from Tangetnville --
I am now prohibited from any further thoughts
on the Rubik's Cube
or even pop culture in general.
Meanwhile,
the main file cabinet
in the image section of my brain
is overturned on my brain floor
and there,
dancing and spinning
upon the cabinet's poor and now horizontal side
is a very 3-D and disobedient Rubik's Cube.
It has escaped its chains in the depths of the cabinet
and now runs amuck
taunting and tempting,
through every cerebral department.

I get a lot of headaches.


Plight of One Who Walks Beneath Clouds

We are told from youth,
I would say taught,
that clouds are something
lovely to behold.

It is with such ease
they float above us,
mocking our chains
of human struggle, laughing
at our gravity.

We are the middle child
between earth and sky,
admiring the precipitous collections
of the heavens,
while earth soaks up
our hope of notice
under the air of so-called innocence.

But what is it that makes a cloud
so qualified to rise above?
Well, why is she lonely?
Why am I unsure?
Why are you?
Some things we never know.

But clouds are lovely.
See, I can not take that away.


Sad Song

To break the monotony
of taillights and asphalt,
during the long drive home,
we stopped at a gas station.

As I wandered the few aisles,
I could feel the curious eyes
of the cashier
-- happy for a change of scenery
other than the beer bottle man --
tagging along behind me.

It was then, as I stared blankly
at Skittles and minty gum,
listening to the rest of my family shuffle in,
when I was struck by the thought
that the life of this young cashier
might very well be
just as complex as mine.

When I had returned
to my temporary home
between white and yellow lines,
I listened to Adam Duritz sing
sad songs about Maria
before writing a poem about my sister
and one about myself.

I thought a lot
about loneliness,
as tree after tree
slid past my window.
I thougth about how
we can be in groups,
big groups, huge groups,
but still be alone.

Quietly existing,
behind these musings,
sat the hopeful cashier,
patiently waiting for his chance
to really live,
maybe even for a little recognition.

You and me both, kid.


Take This Heart

of your sorrowful lamb,
melt its cold, rough edges
in the palms of your love.

Let your grace
fall lightly as feathers
to lighten the darkness
where sin has set in.

Wrap it once again
in your unmerited mercy.
I pray to you.
Hear this plea
of your vulnerable little child.


All But Forsaken

I'm riding the edge of darkness,
nearly falling in,
when He takes my course,
gives it a spin
towards those portholes of heaven,
that city of gold
with gates of pearl.
He takes this tired frown
and sends it away.
For it doesn't belong here
in Happiness.

**Feel free to ask questions or critique in any way; I am very open to any and all suggestions. BTW "Time Should Stop" has gone back to the drawing board and may reappear sometime in the near future.