It Doesn't Take A Ticking To Get Life Kicking

lying in bed last night,
i began to think to myself.
what if a bomb exploded,
in a nearby room or building?
i would most likely die...
and even though i was perfectly safe in a locked room
on a campus full of thousands,
i felt vulnerable.

then i thought,
what would i have done today,
if i knew i was going to die?
would i have said 'i love you' to more people,
and told them how much they mean to me?
would i actually take a chance,
maybe do something a little different,
and risk being better off?

Life's Ant-hologies

we sat on old, dead logs
and squashed ants with our big toes.
feet tell you lot about a person,
like how much they're willing to share,
where they've been,
and are likely to go.

our cousins hated it of course,
getting bug guts all over your toes.
but we didn't mind a bit,
since the stream was right there,
ready to clean us up
before mama called us for dinner.

their feet were stark white,
ours dulled and brown.
their nails were a shiny ivory,
ours old, bronzed plaques -
awards for living our life,
and squashing ants with our big toes.

Fingering for Flintstones

"i wanna purp dindin!"
so my finger fishes deeper,
probing the inside
like a racist airport security guard.

i read about that once,
a black woman being strip-searched
at some airport for no reason -
other than being black.

red fred, pink wilma,
and the damn bamm-bamm.
my wedding ring gets in the way,
and i wonder if they made her take that off, too.

i finally find it - the only kind he'll eat,
a small, purple dino vitamin.
we leave in a rush so he doesn't miss school,
as i wonder if she missed her flight, or dignity.

the return

the first time i arrived
i was doomed from the start.
but one must get back on the horse,
and sweep their past beneath the rug.

the time after that,
held a few seeds of promise.
and they would eventually blossom
in to the springtime of my life.

the third return is quite mixed,
with uncertainty brewing in doubt.
like an eerie calmness before a storm,
as realization halts me like a brick wall.

every summer,
i always hope i can change.
so that when i go back,
i can take a stab at happiness.

there is no surgery to transplant kindness,
or injections to implant consideration.
you cannot increase the size of your heart,
or suck out your filthy dishonesty.

you must train these attributes alone,
when no one is looking, like late at night.
not one decision - but many,
comprise that which is you.

not everyone was meant to be beautiful,
or locate true love as easy as the ground.
but when it does sweep you off your feet,
you'll know it's because of what's inside.

i never knew the friends i had
until i looked back and said goodbye.
i never got the respect i deserved,
until i was halfway out the door.

farewell to you all,
after these 3 long years.
i will probably never be back,
or see you again in my life.

the only place i can be myself,
crazy, talkative, friendly, confident.
when half of those lights go off,
my amicable dr. jekyll emerges.

no one will ever know my secret,
that you gave some of my happiest times.
you granted me some friends
that i otherwise would never have had.

crush

pressing down upon my chest,
inwards from all sides.
causing my intestines to flip
and my tongue to lick my lips.

words fly through my head,
ricocheting against my skull.
the right combination is never found,
and something stupid stumbles out.

a crushing blow hits me,
square in the middle of my brain.
i forget how to be myself
and let time wash you away.

one after the other,
the pieces fall in line.
another fruitless dream,
that will never become mine.

i watch myself crumble,
as i turn a blind eye.
i become another person,
a fake, a scam, a lie.

being myself is the easiest thing,
so why do they make it so hard?
they'll never be able to breach,
this pathetic heart i have barred.

Chess

how hard can four words be,
when they redefine your world?
you can even make it three,
if you push yourself, i'm sure.

so why the stagnancy, why the wait?
is there some magical month,
or some magical date,
that will set us free for life?

i don't want to be the devil,
whose heart no person can soothe.
but all my pieces have been played,
"Check" - it's your move.

------
Interesting little note about this poem: I rarely, if ever, use bold for emphasis. Must be something important.

i write a thousand poems a day,
in my mind - the safest of places.
its a place i know, you'll never go,
and see, and make angry faces.

such disappointment you harbor,
whenever i share my heart.
how can you be, a little ticked at me,
when i don't even know my part?

i can't read minds, i can't read you,
i can't read the fairy-tale ending.
nothing you show, you say "i don't know,"
and quietly - heartbreak your sending.

before you sigh, and roll your eyes,
just like i'm sure you always do,
i want you to know one tiny thing:
this poem is not for you.

those that dwell in webs

bothersome pests lurk,
in the attic of my mind.
on my self control and sanity,
they have indulgently dined.

originating from a web,
designed by no one i know.
they uproot the embedded,
and make the unseen show.

doubts, fears, uncertainties,
a wish for -THE- trade.
trying to burn down the house,
that last year my heart made.

clink the chains together
pound your fists mid-air
wield the bats and clubs
atop black, metal harleys.

secure your bandannas
tighten your skull apparel
lace up your dark boots
and slap your chest tattoo.

rub your bald head
stroke your goatee
stare up at the sky
and laugh.

it truly is a dark and confusing place,
sometimes i get lost there,
not knowing where to turn,
and contemplating ending the journey.

a few glimmers of hope shine,
but the overwhelming darkness
engulfs them, swallows them,
so nothing but it is left.

am i able to be the conqueror,
and wield my strength over its reign?
or will i fall, deeper in the darkness,
towards a path that some call destiny?

the silence bit at him
like the jaws of a beast,
closing down on his heart,
that painfully throbs for company.

never like the others -
who fell in love together,
and smiled and laughed,
never staring down seclusion.

it had mostly been his fault,
and that ironic blame
magnified his tortuous guilt
over a thousandfold.

the playgrounds are gone,
he scorns the love of his family,
hoping with more than his soul
he could have the touch of a different breed.

many sunrises from now,
when generations of trees have fallen,
only to be replaced by their kin,
i will be old, and dying.

i will sit in a recliner,
next to an old-fashioned lamp
that still uses old-fashioned bulbs,
and read ancient books.

these books, approaching 70,
are showing their age as much as me.
and yet, when i open the cover
a plethora of brain synapses connect.

what was i, a little over 13?
when i first read these books...
and became enchanted by their magic,
thrust in to a world all my own.

now, on the brink of death,
just like so many of its characters,
i take a small moment to relish,
the world i had created in my mind.

this is what it means to die,
to sit in a recliner,
and read books from our youth,
aching to return to that fantasy, once more.

it built up in my chest,
like the snowball in the freezer
my brother kept going
winter after winter.

something was about to give,
like the shaking legs
of a weight lifter
right before they cave.

the passing time is torture,
like an illegal immigrant,
waiting to be caught
and shipped across the border.

sticks and stones
may break my bones
but you -
make me want to die.

tonight we dine on the flesh
of the bastard sons
of the devil incarnates
that roam the land
and plague us with normalcy,
with mediocrity,
with content.

at the darkest hour
of the deepest night
we tear out their bones
and make them instruments,
to be played as a warning to all:
do not enter this place,
if risk is something you fear.

murder them all, in cold blood,
without a chance to fight back,
preferably with their backs turned,
so they never see it coming,
and never had a single moment,
to pray to whatever God,
for a second chance.

[this space is where a poem entitled 'i bet i could write some damn good poetry if i got high' was suppose to go, but i axed it after a stanza because i felt it was a bit ridiculous. so upon further thought, i figured it would be even more ludicrous to write a stand-in explanation as to why the poem will not be appearing, despite the fact that my ignorant audience would have been none the wiser. it's late and i'm thinking strange things. shut up]

focus on the cup,
notice its shape,
texture, clearness,
and uniformity.

the liquid inside is
rich, fuzzing,
filled with aroma,
and begging to be consumed.

they both sit there,
in perfect harmony,
liquid contained by cup,
cup contained by atoms.

the universe halts,
for this perfect match,
until something comes along,
and turns it all upside down.

raw

poetry is a dangerous thing,
where thoughts of the mind
and emotions of the heart
can become murky and muddled.

but please, do not assume
to know what comes from my mind.
at times it confuses even me,
and other times i regret it.

i do not delete thoughts i regret,
thoughts that many of us repress
and say "that's silly," and move on
like it never happened.

no - instead of hiding them for eternity,
i display them here - for you,
for anyone, to peruse at their leisure,
inside of my mind, inside of my heart.

things you keep locked up inside
and wouldn't dare share with others,
are here for your pleasure,
but devour them at your own risk.