Times When the Colors Were All I Knew

I could taste the blue, the chilly sweet crispness, like a fall morning fresh off of summer.

I gasped for breath as the purple enveloped me; I could feel it from my toes to my middle to my neck, then over my head and into my mouth and covering my eyes until the only thing I could feel or taste or see or be...was violet.

With the flavor of the red sky still upon my tongue, I closed my eyes and dreamed of warnings.

If I Could

If I had a way of studying your mind
just as you study your textbooks,
I would study your every move
until I could ace the test in my sleep.
If I had a way of helping myself
just as fully as you help others,
I would help myself to you.
If I had a way of making you laugh
just as you make me laugh,
you would gasp for want of breath.
If I had a way of letting you know
just exactly how much you mean to me,
I would do exactly that.
If I had a way of gliding the airwaves
just as you glide the pavement when you run,
I would glide to your ears so that
you could hear me whisper,
"I love you."

Writing on Napkins

We write life meanings on napkins.
And then we wipe our faces on them.

We make a living by what we do.
But we don't always love what we live.

We watch what we say and say what we mean.
Then we question what we think.

The corner is torn, there's a stain on the top;
Still, we cradle our broken parts.

The end gets lost, we don't even look.
Nevertheless, something is there.

While sitting in Philosophy class...

Talk, talk, talk, all the day long.

This dead guy said this, this dead guy said that, and none of it truly affects us anymore. Once upon a time it shook people up, and "happily ever after" has yet to show, but it never will as long as we keep repeating these same ideas. So we lucky students sit here at our desks and listen to the 3-hour drone of voices that are buried in the ground. "Hakuna Matata" will remain my problem-free philosophy, but it's hard to follow when philosophy itself is my biggest problem.

Talk, talk, talk, and the minutes try their hardest to tick by. Once upon a time, I tried my hardest to listen, not just hear but listen, and now my ears refuse even to do the hearing. Comprehension quit me long, long ago, and now my only chance of "happily ever after" is the big hand at the 2 and the little hand at the 4, and the class will be dismissed!

To be finished later

Tick of the clock, 

tock of the clock,

eight o' th' clock,

and off I walk -

to class I go,

to class I go

to learn some 

from the talk -

the talk,

the endless talk

of teachers droning on

Back to Blue

The hottest part of a flame is blue.

The red tip turns into an ombre of orange and yellow, with white at the bottom, hugging the match head. The red runs the rim as the coldest part of the heat, and the white as the hottest.

But truly, "white hot" doesn't cover it as well as it could. Hotter than white hot is blue hot. Past the white, in the center of the match head, there is blue.

Somehow, this holds true for the cold as well.

"Snow white". "Cold as snow". By the transitive property..."Cold as white"?

But truly, the whitest snow is not just white. It glistens and gleams with the clear tint of icy blue.

Blue is whiter than white.

Beyond white is blue.

Somehow, this is true for black, too.

The blackest hair is not just black.

It always has a sheen of blue.

The strands shine bright in the light, reflecting off the blue.

Hot, cold, black, white - it all comes back to blue.

And what is blue?

Peace.

"She is a gatherer"

I.

"She is a gatherer: moonlight, found wishes, moments of gratitude." - Monique Duval

I gather moonlight
at the tip of my toes;
it tingles as it
slides toward my center.
It lights me up
amidst the darkness
and sends waves of coolness
rippling through my body;
I am a deep mere
and the galaxies
reflect in me.
The sheen of the moon
illuminates my pathways
so that I am gently led
into the unknown, and the
instinctual fear of the dark
is lifted.
With the majesty of the moon
at my feet,
and inside,
my gathered llight
can shine beyond my dreams.

II.

"She is a gatherer: moonlight, found wishes, moments of gratitude." - Monique Duval

I gather found wishes

in the space between my breasts,

right beside my heart,

where the beating of my pulse

keeps desire alive.

I store those lost wishes

in the hopes that I 

can give them back

in reality;

a keeper of heart and

a bringer of dreams

I shall be.

I hope that it's known

that wishes only become truth

when released,

and then found,

and they can be increased

sevenfold.

III.

"She is a gatherer: moonlight, found wishes, moments of gratitude." - Monique Duval

I gather moments of gratitude

truly in my heart,

where it fuels my lifeblood

to pump through my body

and circulate through my veins;

it encourages me to carry on,

pass it on,

pass it on.

All individual moments

equal more than 

the sum of their parts,

and the summation of all moments

is beyond measure.

A dream beyond measure,

a hope beyond all hope;

to give all that I have been given

and to feel any more feelings of thanks.

I gather;

I store;

I share;

I am.

She gathers, she stores, she shares, she is.

She is a gatherer;

moonlight, found wishes,

moments of gratitude.

Ampho-Terrible

I'm shaking.

I'm feverish, I'm shaking.

I'm hallucinating, or there's a big pink rhinoceros in the room.

Is that you in the haze?

Make it stop, make it stop!

It's so cold, but my breath is so hot.

My hand on my skin feels heat,

burning heat.

My teeth are chattering, it's so cold, so cold.

Blankets, more blankets, please more blankets.

Turn up the heat, why won't someone make this freezing room warmer?

I feel a cool trickle of something shooting through my veins;

the nurse has come to save me.

Strangely, that coolness brings me warmth and comfort.

I'm not shaking.

I'm not hallucinating.

I'm not chattering.

I'm not freezing.

I'm exhausted.

I sleep.

Ice Cream

Fresh, uncomplicated Mint

Ran to catch up with

Sweet and simple Vanilla,

Who smiled softly as she lingered awhile

Next to smooth, sassy Chocolate.

Hard and salty Almond 

Crunched it way to

My lips, to my tongue.

I scream.

Headache

There is a single red pinpoint of light - 

a laserbeam - 

going right through my head.

From right between my eyeballs,

straight back through my brain

into the center of my head.

It aches - 

no, it burns,

it burns!

It's burning, and spreading,

between my eyeballs and

around my eyeballs and

past my eyeballs.

My head is on fire and I'm not lying.

I'm handed a cold pack as I lay down on the couch.

Off go my glasses, down go my eyelids.

The beautiful teal cold pack goes over my eyes.

Coolness instantly squelches the flames, and

it spreads, it spreads, it spreads.

A shiver runs up my spine,

up to my lips where

it escapes as a sigh.

Relief.

I sit here alone, reading some poems.

The people sleep, fallen deep.

The night is not night any longer.

Unconsciousness should have come long ago,

Yet here I remain wide awake.

Thoughts meander like a creek,

Flowing swiftly into its own wake.

A floorboard creaks;

A settling house is

Unsettling to its owner.

Outside the window, a raven's in flight - 

Perhaps it is to alight

On a pallid bust of Pallas?

Or perhaps it is only

Off to escape

Into a flight of fancy,

A dream.

Pretty Little Eyes

It was quiet,

it was bright.

I was squinting

into the light.

I tried to get you talking

but you stood there, staring out,

smiling coolly like the December sun -

your feet were right there next to mine

but you were nowhere near me;

I was the only one.

Yeah you're not what I thought you'd be

and I can't trust anything you say to me

because your pretty little eyes

are telling me pretty little lies

and I can't take any more of your shit.

We were happy

at the start.

But now I'm happy

when we're apart.

And once upon a time you asked for summer,

but when I brought it to you,

you only begged for the cold.

Once again you said this when really you meant that,

and when I did both I was still in the wrong - 

this whole deal is getting old.

Yeah you're not what I thought you'd be

and I can't trust anything you say to me

because your pretty little eyes

are telling me pretty little lies

and I can't take any more of your shit.

You look at me while I'm speaking

as if in my head you're seeking

that thing that makes me tick

like I'm interesting enough

to be taken apart and put together again

and I believe you,

I believe!

And I love you

because you love me

so lovingly (lovingly...)

I love you

because you love me

so lovingly (lovingly...)

You kiss me so gently like the breeze on the sea

And your merest touch sends thrills through me.

I feel your gaze as surely as your hand

which holds onto mine like you'll never let go

and I believe you,

I believe!

And I love you

because you love me

so lovingly (lovingly...)

I love you

because you love me

so lovingly (lovingly...)

Storm

Rain is pounding down. There are small rivers flowing down the windowpanes. It slaps at the walls and doors of the house, looking for an invitation to come in, but it is refused again and again. The people of the house are restless inside; all their plans are postponed until it dries out. It goes on and on into the night, and the people try to sleep. Without realizing it, they fall asleep to the sound of a slowing rain, a light pitter-patter instead of a downpour. There are no more rivers on the windows; now quiet drops form individually, eventually pooling together at the bottom. Tomorrow the people will wake up to the sun shining and the grass glowing green, with no other reminder of the night.

f a l l e n

I think

I've somehow

f

   a

       l

          l

              e

                  n

against my will.

After all those years

of learning to crawl,

to walk,

to run,

and to stand firm,

it's all undone in two weeks

and two caring brown eyes

and I don't think

I care.

How can we believe in our sight?

Spiders and flies

have many eyes

and see the world on multiple planes.

We gaze through

our only two

and see the world in three dimensions.

What do we trust?

What's really there?

Do our brains or our eyes do the seeing?

Sometimes

Sometimes what I see is not what is.

There are colors in the blankness,

There is noise in the silence,

There is light in a vacuum;

Words inferred have not been said

And looks have gone unnoticed;

Dreams have been dreamt without sleep

And dark has not come with night.

Gravity

The boy.
The glass.
The knock.
The sudden slowing of time.
Gravity extends a hand.
It grips the glass
In its cool grasp
And pulls down.
Hard.
The glass shatters.
Gravity’s hand is cut
By a shard.
It is enough to loosen
Gravity’s hold for a moment,
Allowing the shards to
Bounce back up,
But sure-handed Gravity
Snaps back into action
And grabs hold once again.
The rebounding glass shards
Are pulled down again
And this time,
They stay there.
The boy, the shocked witness to
The struggle that was just fought,
Stares down at the defeated glass,
And runs.

children's [word]play

Sticks and stones
may break my bones,
but words can break my heart.
Your looks can make me crumble,
and your silences tear me apart.
I don’t understand
this power you have
over the way I feel.
Your gaze, your look,
your feel, your touch,
all send me into a reel.
You are rubber,
I am glue,
your attention clings to me,
while mine bounces off of you.
This all was so much easier
when you were just a boy,
covered in cooties and playing in dirt,
and I wasn’t just some toy.
So please let go your hold on me,
I need to get some air.
I’m tired of always feeling this way.
You need to learn to share.

The Power of Nature

I never thought
purple and orange
went well together
until I saw the sunset.
I never knew 
you could see infinity
until I stared at the stars.
It always seemed
like the sky was untouchable
until I visited the mountains.
I always felt
the world was small
until I gazed out at the ocean.
I didn’t know
things could be both
delicate and strong
until I looked closely at a flower.
I forever believed 
you could not walk on water
until winter laid down 
a sheet of ice.
I never noticed
how interesting a tree is
until I watched it change 
from season to season.
I did not think
a plant could be hopeful
until I spied one 
peeking out from under the snow. 
It always appeared
that rain coated the world in gray
until I spotted the rainbow.
I always thought
nature was eternally calm
until I saw spewing volcanoes.
I never believed
there was a God
until I really looked.

I need to write...

I need to write but I don't know what to write because there's too many thoughts and I don't feel well - I don't mean physically for once in my life but mentally I can't believe this or anything anything at all really what am I doing I hate the nights now hate them hate them when did that happen I love the night but not now not here not without something to do something to say some place to be somewhere to be with you or them or us or we or whatever, just not here and now at night by myself in this room this room this high up room on the 32nd floor looking down down down all the way down to the street down below on the ground floor the ground but from up here way up high the ground is so little so teeny tiny little with teeny tiny people teeny tiny ant people and i'm up high where i'm still not big, i'm just me, just tiny me and i want to be big but not really just me but someone not famous but someone. Breathe. 

Haikus

No bird can ever

See the limits of flight - a

Dream beyond measure.

Fire's not exclusive -

Cold burns as effectively

as the mid-day sun.

Light pours down like rain,

the pitter patter of rays -

feeling happiness.

The moonlight shines through

my open windowpane - caught

on a patterned floor.

click me!

from squiby.net