Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Hey You....

I’d like to talk to you for a moment, to tell tales of a poet and a radio show. After returning home this evening, I sort. I separate. I define these feeling. analyze them for merit. So, the poem I wrote, Teachers, I presented it to them, as foretold, and humanity dwelled among every woman and every man as I said before, touching the core of the basic element of emotions within oceans of intellect and respect. You see I signed it a student, gave copies to the teachers. I didn’t want credit. Humanity was its own prize, reasons to push on, to live, to love, to understand, to learn...more than can be imagined. It belonged to us. Every student. And every teacher. But, shortly after, without my consent, the poem was read on a local radio show. Of course, they ended it as I did, from a student. It seems now what was intended for common good of all, has transformed into a selfish feeling. I think I am selfish. Finding myself thirsting for recognition, I ponder. And ponder. But I wind up here, kissing the feet of selfish feeling.

Friday, November 24, 2006


is shadowed
this day by thankfulness.
Observation. Affection. Emotion. Reflection.
And the sun goes down. The night: cognizant.

My Unborn

I saw my unborn
daughter the other day.

She had dark hair, like her mother’s,
was wearing a dark blue suit,
walking toward me and smiling

with her green eyes
sparkling brilliance
behind designer lenses.

I recognized the confidence
in her walk, for it was my gift to her.

Then someone spoke.

A retracting pulsation,
inward she shrank into a fragmental,
circular blue-light, before vanishing

to wherever it was she came from,

safely tucked away
somewhere in corridors
of thought, for the next twenty years.

My eyes: set in stone, waiting for her return.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Promise of Light

Submit your work to Promise of Light today,
tonight, or somewhere in- between. Enter our contest.

Or read sensual poetry in Mary's Hideaway or hear an angel's
voice in Angel Speak. I suggest listening to Erin Monahan's
"Below Mornings Edge." Or listen to some of the other poetry
readings on the site. Soon we will offer member registration,
and poetry and writing forums to post and be critiqued by others.
Submit to Flowers & Vortexes. Or just buy a copy, please. If you
are open-minded, and love creativity,

Flowers & Vortexes, Creative Magazine is for you.

Join us in a poetic experience of sights and sounds.

“Let your honesty shine, shine, shine, like it shines on me.”

~ Paul Simon

Thursday, November 16, 2006

An Imaginary Call for Help
a man’s physical and emotional strength fades
leaves his body like the heat leaves his head

so tired
pills and depression
fade my body, my soul
fades me: camera eyes zoom away
spirit flies with the falcon
somewhere can’t find the poet
can’t move much
pinned down under this weight
it’s so heavy. I am so weak
so high all day Tuesday
living in one moment revolving
I’ve been a teacher for a long time
her eyes so tired too, her skin so old
...and I’ve never been appreciated...not like this
humanity filled each person as they looked into my eyes
teachers. sometimes you give us more than knowledge
sometimes, you give us kindness, and, for that, you are extraordinary
not high now though
that moments gone
can’t het high
smoke. smoke. smoke so much
can’t smile. so tired. pills and depression
can’t find the poet

Monday, November 13, 2006

Appreciate a Teacher

Appreciate a teacher today, tomorrow, not necessarily in the conventional sense but simultaneously yes do. Please do. As you are aware, teachers come in many forms, and they teach many things. My father taught me to fish. I will never be hungry because of this. But the time, the time was of most importance. Time teaches us to remember those who have taught us. I have had to unlearn many things on my journey. But finally, I've learned how to love. At one time, light was so far away that I could see little beyond the shadows. Dimness lit my day and nights were cruel and cold. Years strung out like smoke streams in the wind, flowing but too thin to touch. No one would come here. No one wanted to know... what was behind the sad, green gaze of a man's eyes.

But I have become
my own father now

I am godless, yet I pray
Renouncing all submission
striving for knowledge
and to taste the pain

sweet, dripping
from my tongue
warm: honey in the sun

and golden

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Saturday, November 04, 2006


I'm giving a speech to a room full of teachers on Tuesday. Then I shall present them with this poem. It is from the perspective (which will be mentioned in my speech) of the tad bit older college student, such as myself, but suppose it could be applicable: to any teacher from a student.


Thank you: kind teachers
for turning the prism of learning
so that we may view

all the colors of light,
to find our way

Thank you for
teaching us, not only
the answers, but the ever-important
questions to ask,
so that we may find more answers
to ask more questions
to find our way.

Thank you for
projecting us further
than we ever dreamed
we could go, for
opening the doors
we should have turned the handles to . . . so long ago,

for unveiling
the spark of light
nurturing it so that it may grow,
glow, illuminate the darkness
the pitch blackness of previous perceptions,

shining the light of knowledge

upon our faces
warming them
with the brightness
of our futures.

And so, thank you
thank you all
you kind teachers.


Show what does it lack? Does it express gratitude?

Friday, November 03, 2006

Hero: Shinedown

Stare in wonder, who's here to bring you down?
Find your martyr, I'm sure you've made the crown
So light a fire under my bones, so when
I die for you, at least I'll die alone

Ain't nothing for me to end up like this
There's no comparing me this time

All my heroes have now become ghosts
Sold their sorrow to the ones who paid the most
All my heroes are dead and gone
But they're inside of me, they still live on

Dark devotion in a beacon paradise
Shows no emotion to a willing sacrifice
You can put a man on trial, but you can't make the guilty pay
And you can cage an animal, but you can't take away the rage

Ain't nothing for me to end up like this
There's no comparing me this time

All my heroes have now become ghosts
Sold their sorrow to the ones who paid the most
All my heroes are dead and gone
But they're inside of me, they still live on

All my heroes have now become ghosts
Sold their sorrow to the ones who paid the most
All my heroes are dead and gone
But they're inside of me, they still live on
They're all dead and gone
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    And the iguanas dance in the desert/a thousand miles away from this place/and this face: stoned immaculate.

    "Let us remember . . . that in the end we go to poetry for one reason, so that we might more fully inhabit our lives and the world in which we live them, and that if we more fully inhabit these things, we might be less apt to destroy both." Christian Wiman, Editor of "POETRY" "Hang on to your hopes my friend; That's an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away, simply pretend that you can build them again." ~ Paul Simon

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    "Imagination is more important than knowledge." ~ Albert Einstein