pieces

as a young man he yearned for love
but was never blessed by its embrace.
not knowing why it eluded him so,
he slowly closed his heart to the world.

harbored behind stone walls
that served as a layer of thick armor,
he gradually forgot his loneliness
and the longing for the forbidden.

years and years passed by,
with never so much as a dent
in the impenetrable fortress
he built around his soul.

imagine a man who never thirsted
go centuries without so much as a sip.
then on a particularly warm day,
years of thirst crashed on him at once.

such was the effect on his heart
when his invincible shield that
he thought was his protection
shattered to pieces at last.

newlywed

there's something about marriage
you can't quite explain to newlyweds.
so you let them learn on their own,
through the bad times and the good.

at first they aim to please,
as they desperately seek
to avoid confrontation
at every possible juncture.

but soon the dam breaks,
both figuratively and with tears,
fights and yelling ensue; scars form
that may take months to fully heal.

after a long while the wedding day
and subsequent honeymoon fade,
details become forgotten,
like the first words you ever said to them.

if that couple is one of the lucky ones,
then just when love feels humdrum,
something will come along to spark it,
even for just one night.

those are the moments
that define a marriage.
the squeeze of a hand
that says i love you.

i really, really want an apple,
but i've never, ever tasted one.
it's not that i'm not allowed,
and in fact i can't really say why.

i've licked one a few times,
just the right amount of exposure
to show me what i'm missing
and leave me crying for more.

day after day passes.
how come everyone
is eating apples but me?
and when will it be my turn?

how do you re-enter the normal world
after your wife kills your baby?
leaves them floating face-down in the tub,
its cries finally muffled?

they say it was depression
mixed with words I can't pronounce.
words with funny spellings.
not words like Aaron.

they tell me she's sorry,
that she couldn't control it
and she really did love him.
they tell me because she can't.

how do you move on with your life
after it's been all but destroyed?
from where does one rebuild,
when all the pieces are shattered?

anniversary on a sunny day

things were already on thin ice
before she ever walked through the door.
today was their anniversary, but, like always,
she wasn't expecting him to remember.

so when she saw him sitting at the table
with just a blank piece of paper and a sunburn,
no roses or chocolates at all,
her planned silence failed her.

he tried to explain, "no, baby, it's..."
but whatever it was, was lost,
her words exploded like bullets from a gun,
much to the same effect.

"can't you think of anything to say?"
"do you really feel nothing at all?"
"why waste your fucking time, then!"
"just go and get the fuck out!"

glasses shattered, water spilled,
and a dog next door started to bark.
stunned and without words,
he left her alone in the tiny kitchen.

she picked up the paper, its blankness mocking,
and sobbed tears, some sad, and some angry.
she didn't know if he'd be back,
and that only made her cry more.

she finally managed to wipe her eyes,
and looked once more at the sheet and saw,
a "Sunprint" watermark and something else,
an "I love you" for every time he'd forgot.

the ceo health club

living in a big city like this, the sex clubs aren't even a secret.
white-collar CEOs pay $60 by the hour to use some underage girl.
the bright, flashing neon signs of a massage parlor hide the truth --
vietnamese, korean and thai teens packed into secret rooms like the hundred dollar bills in their customers' wallets.

whenever i go to one of these clubs i always ask for their most experienced girl.
i pay the $120 for 2 hours and she leads me into a room where a makeshift curtain over the door provides our only privacy.
she takes off her clothes and reveals such a small pair of breasts i know she's not 18.
she reaches for my crotch and i grab her hand and say "no."

the thing you have to understand about these girls is that behind their perfunctory smiles
and fake orgasms there's really just a damaged soul.
when they aren't moaning they're crying and praying to a God other than the one whose name they scream during sex.
that's why instead of offering another penis to suck, tug and grind, i offer a shoulder to cry on.

life as a dining hall

an enormously large hall
filled with numerous tables.
but i won't visit them all,
even if i was able.

i can walk through this place,
head to the exit at the end.
or i could stop and chat,
perhaps even make a friend.

so what's it going to be?
head down or chin up?
leave after the main course,
or have the waiter refill my cup?

i may just stay awhile,
perhaps i'll find a wife.
i can't even see the exit,
surrounded by all this life.

vision

where i see large black
and white buttons,
a pianist sees melodic
rhythms and tones.

where i see a disfigured
face and crooked eyes,
an artist sees the tormented,
struggling soul within.

where i see a confusing array
of jumbled letters and numbers,
a genius sees pieces
of a much larger puzzle.

and where i see myself,
normal, ordinary and simple,
vying for a place in this world ...
you see so much more.

rock, paper, scissors

he had to have been at least 80,
his veiny, shaking hands
tossing salads and flipping burgers.

i worked for him as a waiter -
low pay and crappy hours.
but i always got the days off i wanted.

one time i asked for a saturday
so i could go see a concert downtown.
the day was also his anniversary.

'let's rock, paper, scissors for it,' he said.
my rock beat his shaking paper,
and for a minute i felt guilty.

another waiter tried the same thing
when no one could fill for them but the old man.
rock, paper, scissors, shoot ...

i wasn't surprised he picked paper.

running away

i stare into the night,
which always seems darker
on the outside looking in.

a streetlamp down the road
marks my first destination
on this harrowing journey.

a quick check of my motives
and a few deep breaths later,
i enter the dark silence.

never ending

how does one find purpose
in a boring nine-to-five job?
there is no deep meaning
in an everyday commute.

depression begins to sink in,
for tomorrow will be the same.
and the day after, and the next ...
what is it all for? to what end?

dissect my life into simple pieces,
such as work and livelihood ...
with a few moments of joy
strewn like sprinkles on a cake.

few and far between they are,
not enough to consider happiness.
so i live in the here and now ...
trying to convince myself it's enough.

wipers

the rain goes 'pitter-patter'
on the hospital room's window
as i wonder if the man in the bed
is scared of what comes next.

he's remembering his life,
which seems to be nothing but
one giant, momentary wisp
trailing throughout his mind.

driving home i can only blankly imagine
what must be going through his head.
it isn't even raining anymore,
but my wipers continue their tireless motion.

ride

sometimes i stop and wonder
if they're truly the one
if these are just growing pains
or if we're finally done.

the sizzle's turned to fizzle
is this ride already through?
heart and mind tormented
what ever shall i do?

when i wake up in the morning
and see them lying there.
i lie and say i love you
for the truth i cannot bear.

far from normalcy

i awake to my blaring clock,
and stare around my messy room
that i've promised myself i'd clean
about seven or eight times now.

i make a pb and j for lunch,
for the sixth time this week.
its taste loses something every day,
like a fading pair of jeans.

the hardest part of my day
is knowing i still have a long way to go,
before missing you isn't a part
of my normal, everyday routine.

sweet dreams

she's just there before me,
almost as if she was real.
her mouth is something i see,
but never something i'll feel.

this is the place where,
reality succumbs to dreams.
this is the place that,
hopefulness reigns supreme.

some starving part of my brain
concocts this little charade.
but when the sun comes up,
i feel alone and betrayed.

when i realize i can't have her,
my chest swells with despair.
the sweet, innocent dream,
becomes another nightmare.

doomed

petty, low, base feelings,
destroy us at our cores.
they cause us to fight,
and lead personal wars.

all lead down the same road,
to despair and regret.
remember how to be happy?
or did you just forget?

instincts shrouded in culture,
our nature hidden behind the glass.
shatter it and you will see ....
but you can't, alas.

fly

only the pure of heart
can fly over the seas,
on wings of fearlessness
with courage for a breeze.

for they have something
we all go without.
where they have faith,
we have doubt.

a little nugget in our head,
screaming "no, you can't."
impossible is just a seed
growing into a full-fledged plant.

this attitude keeps you grounded,
forever attached to the floor.
if only you learned to let go,
then you, too, could someday soar.

an old crush

a crush in 11th grade,
blonde, large eyes,
sat in front of me
in 3rd period history.

one day she asked me
'do you know when we get out?'
the clock tick-tocked,
but my heart was stopped.

i'd like a crush like that again,
even if i never did talk to her.
i'd like to feel alive like that again,
even if i get hurt in the end.

an actor's death

he spent his entire life acting,
pretending to be happy or sad.
he even died a few times,
in war trenches and beds.

how tragic it must be,
to watch those movies now.
his name in the credits,
like a gravestone to his career.

(sac)religious haiku

you live by god's words,
and you let him guide your way.
what if it's not real?

meth addiction

a cold, dead, white husk
constantly crawling at me,
inch by inch,
and i keep on running.

i gain some distance,
however little, every day.
but when it's time to sleep,
it's back there, getting closer.

is it gaining? falling behind?
the darkness is impenetrable.
inevitably, out of nowhere,
a vice-like grip gets a hold of me.

i punch it in the face
until my knuckles bleed.
but still it hangs on
and i'm dragged under again.

mug

a newspaper sits on the floor,
propped up like a tent.
its pages spilled everywhere,
like guts from a sliced stomach.

only the comics page lies
on the kitchen table.
one headline reads:
boy found dead in ditch.

on the way to the recycle bin
it slips and is blown away by the wind.
a circle left behind by a wet coffee cup
frames the mug shot of the boy.

I fucking hate grocery shopping

The whiny little shits
in the cereal aisle
who don't get want they want
and need to get slapped ...

And the ones who trail
behind their parents silently -
even through the candy section -
They've probably been slapped today.

The waddling pregnant woman
buying a case of High Life.
Who's that white trash kidding,
we know it's not for her husband.

The black thug eyeing an endcap
of Chap-Stic and hand lotion...
He's really eyeing that old woman
whose purse is barely hanging on.

A 30-something dude with long hair,
cross around his neck, holding a Bible,
wearing sandals with socks.
Fucking born-again Christian.

Middle-aged blonde in a skirt
up to the bottom of her ass.
I wonder who she's fucking.
Personal trailer? Her pool boy?

Disgusted, I go to check out,
where a sweet girl rings me up.
She probably wants to kill me
for delaying her lunch break.

Walking out I pass the ice,
and see my reflection in the glass.
This guy - this guy right here -
He's just fucking pathetic.

A Different Kind of Pain

Started smokin' when she left me,
Now it's one or two packs a day.
Mom says it's not good for me,
But I do it anyway.

Tradin' one hurt for another,
First my heart and now my lungs.
If only I was stronger,
If only I was young.

Like I'm lost inside a forest,
Surrounded by decay.
The sun is slowly fading,
I light one up to show the way.

Fake It

There's this little thing I do,
with everyone I know.
I smile and laugh and joke.
I put on a show.

Happy and jovial and together,
that's what they think of me.
When behind closed doors I cry,
until about 2 or 3.

I know I'm not the only one,
who chooses to live this way.
I'm your average, sad bloke,
Trying to get through the day.

Pursuit of Happiness

Chasing it like a dream
that slips through your mind
like sand through your fingers,
yearning to be forgotten.

Seemingly unattainable
like a gust of wind
blowing through your open hands,
never to be stopped and grabbed.

It scampers and hides
down the rabbit hole
that is your soul,
yearning to be found.

that feeling you get

you know the feeling you get,
when you are so parched
you can't even swallow,
and then have a glass of ice cold water?

you know the feeling you get,
when you've been on your feet
for the entire day,
and finally get to sit down?

you know the feeling you get,
when you tell someone close
a big, fat, juicy secret,
and your chest feels suddenly lighter?

that is pretty much how i feel
when i watch you sleep,
feel your touch,
and hear your voice.

little flower

she walks through the garden,
slowly, and with care.
seeking no particular thing,
just looking here and there.

rows of roses and beds of buttercups
extend in every which way.
but what this girl is looking for,
not even she can say.

humming, ambling,
dreaming all the while.
when suddenly she spots,
a mound of dirt in a pile.

a few defiant, withered petals
stared her in the face.
so sad and pathetic
in such a beautiful place.

so when she scooped it from the dirt,
held it close and hummed a song,
that little flower finally knew,
it had found a place to belong ...

i can only truly see you
in the pitch black of night.
you're forever blind to me,
until i close my eyes.

'somewhere' is where you are,
a place unknown to me.
i quietly wait for you
to fill this void in my soul.

or perhaps you're waiting,
for me -
to rise up from the emptiness
and claim you as my own.

you're never truly alone
when you live in a world like this.
others will always share your pain,
your loneliness, and heartbreak.

when it seems like all is lost,
reach out and make a connection.
remember you are one of many
going through this challenge called life.

the best thing about this life we live,
is we can make it whatever we want.
so fake it if you have to -
and eventually it may come true.

live like the next best thing,
is just around the corner.
no matter how long it takes,
because, eventually ... it is.

incoherence

more than anything i miss being a child. i miss believing in santa claus and the tooth fairy. i miss being ignorant.

when the magic leaves your life, and you realize how cold and cruel the world can be, things start to change. your outlook on life starts to warp.

there are no miracles, only coincidences. good things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people. things happen for no reason.

the fact of the matter is most people live incredibly boring lives. they do nothing of real importance, nothing that affects a large scale of people, and then they die. that's why so many people cling to ideals like family, to give their lives some shred of meaning.

others are married to their work, to their visions. i have no such thing to live for. not right now.

all i have right now is the knowledge that, like most people, i am vastly insignificant. in a hundred year's time my existence will have meant nothing, like most people. what i do today and how i approach tomorrow, therefore, are only for my benefit, for how i choose to live my life.

life is too short for me to feel this way. a change is needed. one only i can supply. the only question, then, is whether or not i will.

i have no direction to go,
so i float.
i drift like a fallen leaf,
streaming down a winding river.

i pass by others,
happy and content.
while i'm still caught up
and remain in the current.

a fog descends upon me,
blocking the view ahead.
this river could be long,
so i pray for a waterfall.

Decapitation

Blood pools around me,
stretching to the ends of the road.
Lying on my side,
I feel weightless.

I hear horns honking,
feel the wetness on my cheek,
as slowly my eyes close
and I see dark.

A few brief seconds
are all I have left.
Regrets devour me,
as I think ... if only ...

History

History is an unforgiving beast,
claiming the identities of all.
Stealing away those who have lived
and locking them in her vault.

For when a man dies - as surely man does -
it becomes only a matter of time
and numerous generations past
before not a soul knows them true.

A name surely lives on,
feats and deeds, too.
But who they truly were?
Not anyone can say.

Fret not about your life, then,
lest you be remembered as a 'fretter'.
For in time all men die,
whisked away by History.

The Loving Whore

Lying on her back
while a stranger,
heavy, sweaty,
pumps away.

He thinks hard
of macabre images,
trying to stay
his sad 3-incher.

She thinks, too,
of home, a son,
food he must eat,
clothes he must wear.

She is many things,
a whore, a mother,
a working woman,
an AIDS carrier.

What, then, is right?
Adoption? Foster home?
If she loves her child,
should she roll over and die?

You know those people that are just "born to do something"? That in their younger years find a passion or talent for something and go with it until the day they die?

How about those who always have things go their way? They meet someone they love at a young age, marry them, have jobs that make good money and raise their own kids?

Some people start something and never finish it until it's done. No matter how many years it takes. No matter the struggle and hardships.

Others live lives of excitement. They never stop for anything in particular, whether it be a person they love or a job opportunity they'd have to be crazy to pass up. They have to keep moving because it makes them feel alive.

You know those types of people?

I'm not one of them.

And I guess most people aren't, but I still envy them.

I am a floater, drifting through space, waiting for something to crash in to me. I'd like to think it's long overdue.

New Web site

http://veloxfabula.blogspot.com/

I may continue to post here from time to time.

If you think of your life as in stages, what stage are you in now? What stage did you currently abandon, and what does the future have in store?

To know where you're going and get where you want to go, you have to know where you are now. You wouldn't look at a map to find where you're going if you couldn't locate where you currently were, so why expect to get anywhere in life without first knowing where you stand in the present?

The only way to know where you are now is to know who you are. And that is to know who you have been and also who you want to be. What changes are required of you to change from who you were, in to who you want to be?

Don't worry so much on who you are right now. There's little we can do about that. You are who you are because of an infinitely complex string of events and actions. To change who you are now would be to go back and change them, which is fruitless.

Instead, look where you want to be. What will it take to get there? How will you have to act? What will you need to sacrifice? It isn't a question of whether or not you are capable, but whether or not you are willing. And if you are - your future is yours to decide.

love is like a ride,
but not for its twists
nor its turns or
upside down loops.

love is like a ride,
but not for its thrills,
chills, screams,
or the exhilaration.

love is like a ride,
because even if
it intimidates you
or makes you want to puke,
it's always there,
should you want to try it again.

a lily pad floats slowly
across a stagnant pond.
equilibrium attained,
peace achieved.

a frog jumps,
shattering the delicate state.
it jumps again,
leaving the lily pad to drown.

lost

lost like a swimmer
in the english channel,
freezing cold
and soaking wet.

the greatest tragedy?
i've watched all my goals
get shot down
into pitiful mounds of dust.

now if you ask me,
what i want the most,
i can only offer
a sorrow-filled silence.

Eulogy Poem

I wrote this for my Grandad's funeral several weeks ago. Many have requested a copy of it, so I thought I'd also put it here for safe "digital" keeping.

Gathered here today,
We remember a special man.
When it seems like only yesterday,
Our time with him began.

He always spread love and joy,
In addition to his pride.
I can think of no calmer place,
Than being by his side.

He's given us many good memories,
One too many to recall.
Only now instead of living next to us,
He lives on within us all.

Alarm

It's nothing at all like the movies, where people just fall down and die.

I was taking a shower. Just early enough to guess whether I should eat breakfast or lunch. I get out, walk to my room - naked - and then I hear it.

Real gunshots don't sound like they do in the movies. In real life they reverberate inside your head and hold implications you can't even begin to fathom from the comfort of a cushioned movie theater seat.

Then I heard it: "Oh God, Oh God. Oh God, Oh God." I don't know how many times she said it. Just that sometimes late at night I still hear it.

Bullets in real life aren't like the magic ones in movies that cause people to collapse on the spot and stop living. Not just one, anyway. I could hear footsteps. A man pacing around downstairs, constantly asking, "Who else is here?" I sometimes hear that at night, too.

My heartbeat replaced the sound of the gunshot inside my head, beating so loud it paralyzed me. The door to our room doesn't lock, so I race into the one next to it, my crashing footsteps alerting the intruder downstairs to my presence.

My wet hands fumble with locking the door. I scramble under the bed and crawl as near the head frame as I can get, pressing my wet, nude body against the wall. I hear a rattle as the man tries to open the door. Banging as he rams his shoulder into it. I stop breathing. I hear more echoes of "Oh God, Oh God, No."

He eventually kicks the door down. Two blacks boots are all I see, and all I hear are police sirens washing out the sound of my wife dying on the kitchen floor.

No director could capture that kind of fear and anguish. No one in the world could know how you could possibly feel. How easy it can be for someone to kill - to take revenge - on another human being.

Preach and pray all you want. It can never bring back the ones you love.

Morning Glory

alone, an old horse waits,
inside a holding pen,
before its final race
officially begins.

its greatest achievement,
is a perfect losing record,
but it still runs hard
every race - until the end.

this race will be its last,
even if it wins,
because horses don't retire
and lead simple lives.

two hundred to one odds,
will anyone cheer for it?
or say "job well done"?
who will bet on its last race?

to the orphanage

one empty suitcase,
and a room full of memories.
a couple of minutes to pack,
and leave my life behind.

split-second judgments
on the value of toys
and the importance
of things like clothes.

everything is a memento,
birthday presents,
fading faces in frames,
my chair, my window, my bed.

the last things i pack,
are the few last tears that drop
on top of a picture of my parents,
whom i'll never see again.

the small

we lay in bed,
silence as our blanket,
hiding daggers of thought
cloaked beneath pillowcases.

my insides hurt,
everything hurt,
and i wanted him
to be a little closer.

with my lips near his ear,
i whispered to him,
begged him to take tomorrow off
so we could talk it all over.

he grumbled, and said 'fine,
but my boss will be pissed.'
i kissed him and fell asleep,
as my alarm clock read 9:11.

alone in space

the one is a planet,
and she moves around
he who is the sun,
big and great.

a mystical force
keeps them in tandem
step for step,
moment by moment.

tethered by invisible
strings, miles long,
they travel silently
through the universe.

i am a Pluto,
no longer worthy of mention,
who crosses their path occasionally,
but otherwise is forgotten like a dream.

oh hi, im a muon

life isn't anything special.

the sooner you realize that, the sooner you'll start treating it like it is.

believe what you want - that you're here because of some divine purpose or to spread the word of a supreme being - whatever. but know that at the end of the day, when you lay your head down to sleep, millions of others do so as well that do the same things as you but in the name of a different god.

there are those who say this doesn't matter, that so long as someone's beliefs bring them happiness and spread good throughout the world then everything's OK.

no, it's not.

because for all of those people who are "happy with their beliefs" and "spread good in its name," there will be someone else who commits violence in the name of those same beliefs, and uses its message to corrupt and exploit.

any type of these beliefs are not the correct method for spreading peace and prosperity in our world. but ultimately that goal is an impossible one, so here my argument becomes moot.

just know that you aren't special. you never will be in the grand scheme of things. sure, to your family, lover, and friends, you are. but not to the cosmos or universe at large. not to the forces that govern all life in existence - forces that we don't fully understand.

our galaxy is minuscule. it is literally one of billions and billions. our sun is one of millions in our galaxy alone. our earth is but one planet in a plane of space so very large that the odds of there being no life anywhere else borders on something fantastical.

but people seem to have no problem believing in things like that.


leave a thought with what you think...

sounds of shattering glass

have you ever been bound and gagged before?
thrown in the back of a van?
you'd be surprised how quickly you go numb,
unable to feel anything except fear.

that's why when the kidnapper opens the van doors,
they never make a run for it.
they'd probably roll an ankle
or fall flat on their face, inviting an assault.

it doesn't matter how hard you yell,
'just run for it idiot...
see, this is why movies make no sense,
if it was me, i'd just haul it.'

you don't understand, you are pathetic,
with your fingers slippery with popcorn butter
and your beady, accusatory eyes judging like a god,
you think you've got it all figured out.

i've severed the strings
that hold the rest of you down
like big charlie browns
at a thanksgiving day parade.

and now i'm soaring,
higher and higher,
until the atmospheric pressure
pops me like a balloon.

you'd kill to get this high up,
but if you knew what i did
to reach this level of ecstasy,
you might end up insane.

closer

i stare up at the night sky
and imagine the millions of miles
between our galaxy and the next,
our civilization and the next.

how absurdly far apart we are,
such that we'll probably never meet,
never understand each other
or share parts of our lives.

it's then i realize
that you're not that far away,
and unlike the infinite universe,
you are here with me now.

not a burning comet
soaring in endless space,
but a shareholder of my world
that i can't wait to meet.

paintings (edited)

I did this poem a while ago, but fixed some of the rhymes and language to make the meter a bit better.

This is the story about a young couple,
Their love, like all, was tender and supple.
They loved one another as all couples do,
But it's up to you if their love is true.

We begin with the very first day they share,
During which the man was searching with care.
For the poor woman had just lost her watch,
They couldn't find it anywhere - oh what a botch!

And then the second day was not any better,
Even though the man promised he'd love her forever.
For the woman had lost her only job,
And to his condolences, she only mustered a sob.

On the third day, poor fortune struck thrice,
And today her faithful man was so humble and nice.
For the unlucky woman's dog fell and lost its life,
He tended to her heart, torn with sorrow and strife.

The fourth day was ripe with such bitter sorrow,
On this day she cried from the morning 'til the 'morrow.
When the woman learned of her father's passing,
The man tried to comfort her, but was not harassing.

The fifth and final day was by far the worst,
Her man was gone and her heart seemed to burst.
She awakened all alone and with a scare,
Until suddenly she noticed a letter by the stairs.

Her one truly beloved told her to go to the park,
So she did as he said, while moving through the dark.
He said to look for a bench plain in sight,
And by the time she got there, the sun shone bright.

Standing before her were five separate paintings,
And they quickly rid her of all the week's taintings.
Quickly and noticeably, tears filled her eyes,
She started to weep, but these were different cries.

The first painting was of her, in the very same coat,
And in it she was reaching deep, pulling out a note.
She did the same, and made a startled sound,
For in it was her watch, and a note, "Look what I found."

The second painting was of her dear homestead,
And beneath it lay an inscription that read:
"Our love runs deep, encompassing a wide range,
Not even losing a job, can ever that change."

Looking on to the third, was a painting that did show,
A young puppy of one, in a store window.
Attached to the painting, was another note that did say:
"I've left his name for you to choose, that is if you let him stay."

The fourth was a portrait of her father,
But his visage to her, did not seem to bother.
For below his face, were words far apart, saying,
"He has never truly died, he now lives within your heart."

The fifth and final painting was of a woman and a man,
The woman looked at paintings, while the man held out his hand.
In the painting she was slowly turning, looking behind her to see,
Her lover holding in his hand a ring, bent down on one knee.

lost

While lost one day
I remember my childhood,
when if I was lost,
someone would take me home.

Retracing my steps, I walk past houses I'm not allowed to enter.
Dead end after dead end mock me at every turn.
It's starting to darken as streetlamps flicker,
and I stare at the stars - wondering who will take me home.

dear self,

you have a lot to offer,
you can think positively,
you attract good things,
you aren't afraid of failing.

you swim in confidence,
you are most important,
you just need to be yourself,
you don't need to worry.

you hate the butterflies,
you like the unknown,
you love yourself.

which socks today?
purple, orange, or gray?
yellow for a smile,
pink for the style.

red if i'm mad,
blue if i'm sad.
black if i don't care,
oh - which to wear?

white for 'just another day,'
brown to be cliche.
green for 'look at that!'
wait, what about my hat?

you are small.
insignificant.
your problems
are but a single ripple
in the vast lake that is the universe.

you will never have an effect
on planets light years away.
you will die,
like everyone else,
your life ultimately meaning nothing.

so take your worries of today
and let them be washed away
by the tide of enormity
that blankets all things in existence
and serves as our only common thread.

halloween mystery!

more than some

i can run on my own two legs,
and that's more than some.

i can tell people i love them,
and that's more than some.

i can wake up with new goals,
and that's more than some.

i can buy food at a whim,
and that's more than some.

i can live a pain-free day,
and that's more than some.

but if only i loved myself more,
that would be more than most.

bliss

they didn't know why,
at such a young age,
how something like this could happen,
without any warning.

they didn't know why,
life veers this way some times,
putting our heads underwater,
leaving us gasping for air.

they didn't know why,
when they found him lying there,
his face looked so peaceful
and his mouth formed a smile.

the umbrella

it's beginning to rain lightly
onto my college campus.
the trees become heavier
as the sidewalk darkens.

walking below that gray blanket
i come across a girl.
she has on expensive clothes
and her hair is simply immaculate.

it is her umbrella that gets me,
with a little pink handle
and clear plastic cover that surrounds her
all the way down to her waist.

This is a two-hour video that everyone needs to see.

Jesu

Sorry about the hissing sound

redux

a hundred years from now,
it won't matter what i did today.
because the world will keep on going
while i slowly decay.

everything i do right now,
will be forgotten over time.
the only impact i'll have
is right now, in my prime.

it's my only time to love,
laugh and cherish
before the time comes
when we all must perish.

if i could do one thing,
while i'm still whole and real,
i wish i'd finally stand up
and tell you how i feel.

:)

this is the kind of poem
i haven't done in a while,
but writing one now,
i can't help but smile.

a small glimmer of hope
that all will be as it should,
and everything that's inside
will finally be understood.

and even if it's impossible
for things to be that way,
i'm just simply glad
you made me smile today.

寫

hey you,
sit down
and do it.

no excuses,
start now,
stop later.

do it so i
know more
about you.

once upon a time

imagine when you die
you go on a really long vacation
for all eternity
somewhere in the sky.

everyone who has ever lived is there,
well - almost everyone,
and some say pets go there, too,
to this magical place.

your grandparents are there
(but are they still old?)
as is your best friend
(didn't they die young?)

on this vacation you relax,
and spend your days
in pure bliss and joy
without any worries at all.

but without electricity,
what will you do?
how do inventions prosper,
and who invents them?

wouldn't your family annoy you,
if you spent eternity with them?
oh - of course not!
this is a fairy tale, after all!

where there are no diseases
because a powerful unknown force
keeps them at bay....
and no one is ever sad
because a powerful unknown force
keeps everybody happy.....
where you never age a year
because a powerful unknown force
stops all concepts of time....
and you'll wait and wait
while a powerful unknown force
sends your children to this place....
where you don't need science
because you have faith
that everything will be OK in the end.

/warning\ wrong way

it's a lot like walking
up an escalator
the wrong way
for a long time.

you want to reach the top,
but you can't
run for fear of falling
or stop and give it up.

so what are you to do then,
when the top slowly shrinks
and starts to look
further and further away?

stop and wait?
let the top come to you?
continue to fight?
what are you to do then?

orange soda?

all the time i wonder
about holding it in my hand
until it gets warm.

pressing my lips against it
just long enough to know
i made the right decision.

but it might be best
if i didn't tamper at all
with the perfect Crush.

fly

probably my favorite poem i've ever written

a wish for a day,
the ability to fly.
a world in which to play,
through an endless sky.

flying for miles and miles,
my new wings so tired.
rows of cities like aisles,
as i soar on, inspired...

the wind carries me,
seamlessly like a dream.
the ground is gone, gone,
and the sun but a gleam.

but the best part of this trip,
isn't the sensation or the view.
it's when after all day long,
i finally land next to you.

atleast one will understand

i lie on my back
and stare up.
it's dark out,
and kind of chilly.

ever stare at ceiling tiles?
so many little holes -
like an ant hill
you ponder stomping on.

the floor is hard, cold,
and starts to make my ass hurt.
it gets warmer and brighter
as my a/c finally starts up.

i hold a book to read it
until my arms get tired,
then it's back to the tiles
that form pluses and crosses.

soon it's too dark to see the holes,
and i only see the smoke detector blinking
before the street lights shut off
and it gets kind of chilly.

if you google my name, some links come up with poetry from some other kid named stephen townsend.

none of those are mine. i only write poetry here.

'those' memories

i can swim through them
as quickly as you can
catch a disease from
drinking water in Africa.

they are like the undead,
plentiful, vivid, hideous,
reaching out over each other
and disappearing just as fast.

they give me chills,
make me toss and turn
and question my inner self,
my resolve to move forward.

if it feels like a waste of time,
that's because it is.
but fret not about it,
for time doesn't even really exist
and therefore cannot be wasted.

instead, think of time as a limit,
holding you back from your dreams
like a giant hill to a runner.
you can only do so much today,
tomorrow, in your lifetime.

the perfect temperature

it's too cold,
put on a jacket and i'm OK,
then it's too hot,
i get flustered, angry.

i take it off,
and soon it's cold again.
a vicious cycle
of such extremities.

when will it be just right,
when will i finally be content,
when will that perfect temperature,
finally enter my life?

what i let go

i've let go many times,
like when my child first
learned to ride a bike
and needed my guidance.

i let go of my fear
when those around me died
magnifying my living state,
illuminating unknown paths.

but of all i've let go,
i still dwell on just one,
and some days i live regretfully
in a world of what-could-have-been.

selling baby boy: in new condition

i'm selling my baby boy,
he's in brand new condition.
sure to bring you joy,
will be a welcome addition.

still doesn't have a name,
you can give him that, too.
laughs at baby games,
like when playing "peek-a-boo."

price is about two hundred,
he shouldn't be a bother.
has a cute little head,
and only needs a father.

pictures

my favorites are those of space,
of our planet like a blue scoop of ice cream
with patches of green like syrup
and sprinkles of white.

of assorted galaxies like jelly beans,
in red and blue and yellow,
with enormous suns we can't comprehend,
like a speckled jawbreaker to an eleven year old.

when i see one i think,
'wow, it's really big,'
and let all my worries wash away
before the monstrosity that is space.

high school summer night

lying outstretched on my bed,
it's a high school summer night.
just the boring sounds of crickets
and the whirring of my fan.
it's dark in my room,
but i still close my eyes,
so i can dream about you.

a misguided people

there are misguided people in this world
who've lost sight of human compassion,
and absorb themselves in a haven
that only protects the individual.

quick to analyze, criticize and denounce,
they fill their self-created void
with a misdirected annoyance or contempt
that is actually brewed from within.

the fundamental problem with them
is a refusal to love - often themselves.
certain souls must love them out of necessity,
lest we all succumb and become lost.

the precious

he told me before he died,
no days matter but today,
so take it in full stride
and let nothing in your way.

i delve not into prayers
or knowing all the answers,
it's for today i care,
he said before the cancer.

for what else do we possess,
if not the joys of today?
let not the future stress,
and cause fear and dismay.

wake up with a smile, he said,
you've been given the greatest gift,
so go on and plow ahead,
and allow the day to drift.

growing up talk

i told a dear friend
that responsibility
was more important
than plain virility.

it is the man, not the penis,
she trusts;
and for talks, she yearns,
not thrusts.

for when the passion wears,
and you must take action,
you may find you love her,
for more than carnal attraction.

recycle bin

never thought i'd see you like this (again),
but everyone deserves a final goodbye,
maybe this one is ours,
and this time there are no tears.

you can call it "summer cleaning,"
clearing out mental shelves,
deleting pixels and megabytes,
and making space for something new.

dragging the weight on my shoulders
and dropping it in the garbage,
yes - i'm really sure,
i want to move on with my life.

goodbye, moon

i was watching Apollo 13
with my girlfriend yesterday,
when i realized something
that completely blew me away.

we were cuddling close together,
her head lying on my chest,
when a thought entered my head
i could never hope to digest.

and it was this:
"you are the moon,"
i thought quietly,
whilst we spoon.

that orb in the sky,
the men could never reach,
was like a forbidden heart
i was never meant to breach.

as i watched them float by it,
in a void of space and time,
i knew i was with another now,
and you were only in my rhymes.

the coolers

something about the coolers
is therapeutic, soothing,
so that when i enter one
i leave our world altogether
and enter a universe of cold
and humming and solitude,
a place where i can think,
stock milk and eggs,
and let the freeze
dissolve away my exterior,
exposing me to friendship,
and happiness and love.

the boy

this is a story of a boy
who tried to impress a girl,
but ultimately failed
and lived on to regret it.

the girl, they say,
was impressed by marbles
of all colors and sizes,
thus the boy sought them.

he searched high and low,
in the dark and the light,
indeed - even in himself -
but he could not find them.

thus he had to let go of her,
like a kite in the wind
that was reluctant to fly away,
all because he had no balls.

all the time i fear
for the world we live in today,
where black and white exist
but nowhere is a gray.

popping pills for the blues
when life just seems too hard,
surgery gives us beauty
and also leaves us scarred.

what of the times before,
when a remedy was a friend?
instead of material waste,
on which we spend, spend...

to be a part of my generation
is beginning to feel like a shame,
and i keep on wondering
what force there is to blame.

perhaps that of creation,
or of our own temptation.
some believe in salvation
through a book called Revelation.

but me?
i'd rather not.
for a simple reason:
i know what i've got.

every place in this world
offers new sights, smells, sounds,
experiences and people to meet.
if you seclude yourself from it,
you'll be none the wiser,
just an isolated, ignorant fool.
but if you see a half-naked man
burn his hands in a tribal custom,
then you've seen one percent more
of the world in which you claim to be a part.
therefore, i'm off,
to new sights, smells, and sounds,
to see just one more percent,
of that which makes us human
on a planet called earth.
both are but one of many.

rest in peace,
person i've never met,
but knew all too well,
like a brother
or best friend.

love is what binds us
and death is what
cleaves us in two,
until the fateful day
we are united again.

a life much too young
to be taken away so soon,
ascend now to heaven,
or whatever spiritual ether
in which you believed.

running away won't get me far,
so i choose to fly.
but what i expect to find,
i know not.
indeed, not even what i seek.

yet i need to soar away,
away from the nest,
on my own power -
with my own wings,
far, far away.

the journey will bring me back,
this i am all too aware,
but for now,
in this moment,
i fly - away.

to a former best friend

i think we both knew it'd be like this.
you with your friends and beer.
me with my friend and games.
a past left to gather dust
in a place where the tumbleweed is gone
and memories are ever-fleeting.

it was fun for the time it lasted,
but i hold no hope for our future.
an abandoned friendship thrown on the roadside,
its thumbs cut and forced to hitchhike.
but i guess so long as we're happy,
we'll never need to see each other again.

a failed attempt at humor

in may i'll be spending around 2 full days on airplanes, going from atlanta to LA and then LA to australia, and then 6 days later from australia to LA, to atlanta.

with all the recent security issues regarding airplanes, you'd think i'd be scared that a wire in one of the tires is going to get stuck and the plane will crash on landing.

or that the fact that i'll be flying over the pacific ocean, with virtually no safe locations of emergency landings.

but no - i'm scared of something else.

farts.

the average human farts 14 times in a day. (it's a fact, look it up).
the standard passenger boeing 747 can carry about 400 people (it's actually more, i'm being fart-generous here).

that's over 11 thousand farts on my combined air travel time. and there's no way that stuff is going to escape, either. you can't exactly crack a window. with stewardesses walking back and forth and people constantly falling asleep (which increases flatulence when you try to hold it in) i'm starting to wonder why they don't give you complimentary nose plugs to go along with the floppy pillow and blanket that was purposely created three sizes too small.

maybe i'll find another use for the emergency oxygen mask.

seriously though, folks, airlines have no business serving meat and soft drinks. and telling people to chew gum for their ears will actually make them swallow more air, which leads to more farting (again, they're facts).

nervous people with fast moving bowels also tend to fart more. and honestly, who wouldn't be nervous flying in an airplane thousands of miles away from any scrap of land that could remotely be considered an air strip?

i wonder if halfway there they make sure nothing is messed up, so if they have to they could at least stop by in Hawaii.

hopefully they'd serve beans there... (which make you fart, but contrary to popular belief aren't actually that smelly).

my fart-facts are quickly depleting (did you know fart noises are NOT creating by flapping of the butt cheeks?), so i'll end this soon.

right after i get this fart out.

clench, clench, CLENCH
DO NOT see it,
close them tighter
IT ISN'T REAL
clench clench fists, eyes, toes, mouth, brain,
go insane.
tighten up,
like a spring,
a bullet.
let go, release.
swallow pills.
relax.
sleep.
be misunderstood.

i didn't want for it -
for us -
to be over...
not this soon.

why couldn't our leaf
have been carried by a wind?
instead of falling
straight to the hard earth.

i sit, i wonder,
what it was i did wrong.
what i should've changed,
how i should've been.

yet the pain has taught me,
life works this way,
in laughter,
and in tears.

it hurts to think of you,
an abandoned future.
and if i should forget you,
will you have existed at all?

it's like a running shoe.
looks good, smells nice, fits snugly.
then it gets older, smells worse.
like a hot, moist cave of bacterial filth,
with new viruses being added all the time.
to cleanse itself of this filth,
it drains dead refuse, dead bacteria,
and dead spermatazoa.

the man who played alone

there was once a man with no hands
who played like a master on the piano.
but he wouldn't play for company -
only if left on his own.
if you tried to peek in the room,
he'd stop dead in his tracks and remain silent.
so someone set up a camera,
to see how this man played piano
with no index, pinky, ring, or thumb.
some guessed he used his feet -
but he didn't play that way.
in fact, he didn't play at all
if anyone was watching him.
the media learned of this,
and covered the man for a while
before people lost interest
and the paper lost money.
walking by his house one day,
i hear the sound of the piano
emanate through his house,
and realize it is quite a fine tune.

---

It is the sound of his music that is amazing, not the mystery surrounding how he plays it. Enjoy what life hands you in the way it hands it to you. Don't alter what needn't be altered.

power

i spend a lot on band-aids
for various scratches and bumps.
and i've lost count of how many times
i've fallen down the steps.

i wear long-sleeved shirts and jeans
but can't cover the marks on my face.
the thick makeup hides most of it,
but he still calls me an ugly whore.

a spot on my head hurts
that didn't hurt yesterday.
i wonder if i bumped it in the night
or if he hit me so hard i forgot.

take me out

take me out to the slau-ghter
take me out to the war.
buy me some ammo and hand grenades
i don't care if-i-die-in-a-raid
'cause it's root, root, root for the big guys
if they don't win it's a shame.
for it's one, two, three hundred dead...
and we are all to blame.

Poetry in a WWI dugout

On our way through France
I say to my best friend
"What d'you think's our chance?
Of making it to the end?

He didn't say, he didn't know
and in the dugout we lay
thirty feet below, below,
left to wait and pray.

The hospital beds are red,
lingering with dread,
"Fight on," our sergeant said - I thought:
some day we'll be "millions dead."

Many went crazy there,
driven to insanity.
artillery shells and bullets fly
before we're forced to spree.

I kill a man from fifty yards
and never knew his name.

The pounding sound drives my friend insane
and he runs across No Man's Land.
I have no emotions, no hope,
for him.

Suddenly,
I WANT TO DIE,
when...

the artillery's
stopped,
i must run
to
the machine gun.


---


This poem starts out with an ABAB rhyme scheme, but quickly disintegrates. The poem itself matches with the emotions a soldier in a WWI dugout was likely to experience. At the beginning of the bombardment, the mental state of soldiers is relatively stable. As time goes on, and so also the poem, it begins to crack. The poem loses its rhyme scheme (as the soldier loses his mind) and thoughts become fragmented.

The third stanza in particular notes that "some day we'll be 'millions dead.'" This refers to the fact that today we read back over wars and proclaim that "millions died" in battle. But we know nothing of those people, nor do we think about how the deaths of each and every one of those men affected their families. We simply call them "millions dead."

The narrator of the poem sees his friend run across No Man's Land, the area between two trenches, and feels no emotion. At this point he is beyond the point of feeling hope or emotion. After seeing so many of his close comrades die, he is simply waiting for his turn.

During a bombardment, the narrator begins to lose his saneness in the dugout. He proclaims he wants to die. Not because his friend perished, or the war seems pointless, but because the threat of death being so imminent each day has finally taken its toll.

The ending of the story describes the tactical aspect of trench warfare. After bombing the other side the entire day, the other side then rushes the opposing trench after ceasing artillery fire. The other side must therefore climb out of their dugouts and reach their mounted machine guns before the other side does. Their only clue the other side is coming is when they stop firing shells. Our narrator is left with only this animal-like instinct in the end of the poem. He only wishes to reach the machine gun, so he can kill, rather than be killed. He is reduced to something less than human, a product of war.