Poem You

Next time
During
Think of this
What are You thinking?
About the sensations
Who You're with?
Why You're Alone?

What is being done
And who are You
thinking of?

What
are You thinking
of?

About the sensations.
The movement
of being Alone.

Or why
You're Alone.
Or
Why
You're with
that One

When You're obviously
Thinking
of the Other.

Now,
Remember
Next time,
During
Ask Yourself

Why think this?

Why here?
With You?

And after, See
if You can answer
Yourself.

Then
You will know.

Like Cho

I am just trying to understand all of this. And this morning, I woke up, and had these thoughts. They are just my thoughts. Nothing else. I feel so desperate for the families of the victims. I am not accepting or excusing what he did, only God can do that. I am just trying to think through things, work through my feelings, and wonder how Cho felt his whole life. It is bothering me. That is all this post is about. Feel free to comment at length, but please know these are just some things I think about and felt like sharing. I would love to hear your thoughts on this as well. Here goes:

What if
a student,
when asked his name
the first day of school,
stood up,
yet looked down at
bitten fingernails,
felt tears begin
their usual burn, and
said,

"I could be like Cho.
I feel lonely.
I am shy.
I have no friends.
I am shattered inside."

Would you
reach out to him?
Smile?
Say hello?
Choose him for your
lab partner?
Turn
your head
as you passed in the hall?
Laugh at him as others did?
Move to the
other side
of the room
when you see him
sitting
all alone, face down,
always face down,
searching out his sandwich.
Willing to be swallowed up,
an instant hole in the ground.

Would your eyes
shine with a terror
you'd never known
when he finally
one day
faced you
eye to eye?

Would "hello" ever have
been enough?

To calm the angry, anxious,
hateful storm
that emerged
on a day,
not unlike today,
in our already
not-safe world.

In a world that has since
been changed forever.

Would hello had been enough?

I think I know.
I feel
no hope arrived.

He made that hole, crawled inside.
But not before taking 32
lives, ruining hundreds,
making thousands fear
their walk outside,
their school,
their children's safety,
the grocery store,
church.

He wanted to be seen.
Nobody saw him
his whole life

And now, because of
one man's anger
at not
being recognized,
we
will know him
for all our lives.
Those of us who were
not cut short
of life.

How can we be safe again?

Would hello
have been enough?

No Title Poem

She should have known
2:30 a.m.
Drunk in a hot tub,
A walk on the beach,
and Denny's
meant nothing,
not much to you.

At 19, everything.

She should have known
not to
pass the note,
words scrawled
on college-ruled paper,
ripped from the spiral of math equations,
confetti edges float to the floor.

Wished the words had instead.

Ironing a t-shirt?
Nothing but an ego-trip.
Pushed her head down further
More. Please. Oh more.

Feel Like Making Love
pulsed
on the other side of
the door.

Voices and Noises
Music and Sounds
Not their own.

Drunk fingers,
whispered promises
were everything
but true.

Rolling.
Feeling.
Nothing.
Every wave
spill
of the half-filled
bed of water.

She should have known
Everything
meant nothing
on that ocean-bed
when the shudders
came, he was
focused
on the framed picture
above his head.

A photo
Not of you.

Haiku Time

Kids Driving Me Nuts
Why Won't They Go To Bed Now?
No School Tomorrow

(I originally had the last line say, Time For A Cocktail, but changed it.)
~~~

Apple Martini
With A Caramel Drizzle
Slice of Granny Smith

(this one might not work if you pronounce caramel as two syllables like I usually do, but in this case, read it like car-a-mel)
~~~

Thoughts Go Inside Out
Turn 'Round In My Heavy Head
And Spit Out My Mouth

~~~

So I Said To Him
I Do Not Want Your Baby
Fucked Me Anyway

~~~

I'm A Blond Redhead
What The Fuck Does That Mean, Huh?
Your Stylist Screwed Up?

~~~

Use Five Syllables
Seven For The Next Poem Line
Then Five More To End

(So, this one may not work either, if you pronounce poem as two syllables, but I didn't so it works.)

OK, your turn in the comment section--whatever first comes to your mind, write it. Remember, it's 5 - 7 - 5 syllables for the lines, just in case you didn't interpret the last poem. Show me what ya got, and feel free to write as many as you want.

I'll leave ya with this one for the upcoming holiday weekend--

You - Happy Easter
And If You Don't Celebrate
Have Some Candy Still

Hands

I just wrote this two minutes ago, and haven't even reread it. It's like a fresh-baked bread from the oven, so warm, a pat of butter melts onto it. Taste it.

Let me know your thoughts--

Do you remember the first time
You held his hand?

Sweaty in your palm, you itched to wipe yours onto your jeans,
But knew it would seem awkward to do so.
Plus, then he might not take up your hand
again, twirl his fingers through yours.

Do you remember the first time you felt his skin touch yours?
Lightly, gently, embracing you, finding you?

Do you remember the first time you fought?
So fervently that you almost wished him dead?
That you wanted to push him away, scream and spit at him.
Tell him you hated him?

Do you remember how he had grabbed your wrists, while you still
Screamed your envious rant.
And he just looked into your eyes, holding your wrists tightly.
Waiting for the calm of you to be contained.

Then, when you silenced.
He moved his hands from your wrists,
And intertwined his fingers into yours,
And you leaned into him.
Breathed him.
Loved him.

And all was good again.