Poetry and Reruns

I came across old poems from an English class I took last year, and I must say, I want to get back into writing more poetry. I really enjoy it, although I'm sure there are many people out there who would probably say I should cut my losses and stop. Well, sorry you crazy people out there, I'm going to start again. But before I throw up any more new stuff I want to post a bunch of my oldies.
Here they are:

Doing a Reading, Badly.

I could never be dyslexic
Because I can spell it,
And if I were ever to get it wrong
There’s always spell check.
And in the case that ever falls-
I’m sorry, fails,
Then I suppose I should
I once wrote about a tear
In an eye, not on paper,
And it caused great concussion-
Confusion, what is with me today?
I apologize.
If any of this causes you
To work to understand
What I rarely mean to say,
You’re trying far too hard
You shouldn’t strange your eyes
They’ll start to tear.
Don’t misread the meaning
I suppose I can’t explain
The expectancy of worth
How ideas form words
And how words twist those ideas.
I can’t explain that,
Or anything for that matter.
I’ve tried, but,
Words fall me.

To Whom it May Concern

I know that heaven
Has been known for it’s
Escalator ride.
However, for the matter
Of convenience,
Quantity and demand,
We have installed an
Which will suit you
Just fine.
As you enter,
Do not be alarmed
By the wounded soldier,
The group of starved
Or the recently
Executed convict.
Just stand between
The rapist and the
Recently deceased Pope,
And ask,
“Is this thing going up?”

One Man's Trash

Puffy clouds in your glass of wine are not really clouds, stupid.
And the ocean is nothing like a girls eyes.
I’ve never felt a kiss that was as hot as a iron.
I would expect that to really hurt,
But what would I know.
And diamonds really don’t last forever.
Nothing does.
Well, maybe numbers do.
Pi, perhaps, is a perfect example.
And prime numbers are like the sea.
And even numbers too.
So how about I tell you what to do,
With that poetry of yours,
And I’ll stick to mine.

How To Maintain a Proper Image

If I should wake before I die,
Kill me if I’m screaming.
‘Cause I really don’t want
To feel much pain
Or anything for that matter
And by that point
I might as well
Just be leaving anyway.
Sure, I wish I could be more profound.
By that point I suppose everyone is,
So maybe those fine individuals
Might make up for me.
Because, quite frankly,
I want to go quick
By bus, or train, or airplane
Preferably, in flames
With a crash.
At least then I won’t have to look forward
To anything worse
Or back
Which is far more painful
As far as I am concerned.
So pull the plug.
Let me go.
Turn me back to ash.
Or whatever is most convenient.
‘Cause convenience is the way of the future
And death is too.
I really don’t want to be a ruckus
Deathbeds are far too embarrassing,
And I need to keep my image
Too much blood makes me faint.
Reflections always make me cringe,
And I don’t want anyone to see me
At least not like that
Because that ash is all you leave behind
So honestly, do what’s right.
Be a gentleman, or a lady.
If I should wake before I die,
Kill me if I’m screaming.

March 29, 2005

Miami, Florida
On a dry and sunny day
I meandered outside
From the small hotel
Along the waterfront
Eyes squinting
Through the blinding sun
I stumbled past the pool
Crowded now with strangers
Searching for my friends
Perhaps down the beach
With one hand to block the light
A light vibration in my pocket
Startled me.
I caught the phone and answered
My brother spoke
From a hundred miles away
“Did you hear already?”
He said,
“I’m sorry man,
Mitch is dead.”
I stopped in my tracks,
My ankles sinking in sand.
“I’m sorry man.”
I looked at the kids
Making whirl-pools
And doing headstands
Making the water a second surface
From the bottom
Looking up.
I told my friends,
Who chuckled,
Thinking, that’s what you get
I guess that is to be expected
When a comedian dies.
But I wasn’t laughing.
The man was my hero
And his heart gave out.
What was so funny about that?
How will it be
When I am gone?
Will there be laughter?
I suppose I could live with that,
Or without that.
but will there be one kid
With his ankles sinking in sand,
Thinking, Why
Did he have to go
So soon?


I have to stay
Completely still.
Stay focused.
If I’m going to remember this right
The Greeks used that strange word
To define those strange visions
In our sleep
But to me it sounds like
Which reminds me of
Twisting in just the right way
Which reminds me of
The way people suppose we dream
As a steady stream
I’m not sure though
I do know
My eyes see everything
And to them it is real
Even though it might just be
Chemical coursing continuously
Maybe it’s just me
Talking to myself
Or memories
Trying to understand themselves
Some say I could be dreaming
As we speak
And to a certain extent
I know that’s true.
I don’t always
And I don’t think
I will ever
Get it
Quite right
But I do know
I can always
Dream I can.


Eyes open suddenly,
Pupils dilate,
Blinding light
Where am I?
The lights beside me
Flicker past frantically
The tracks roar
Beneath my feet
The train is empty
As far as I can tell
Where am I?
My stop long gone
Outside now
From the rat nest
Beneath the city.
The flickering lights have turned
To trees layered in their own coats
Of snow
But the screaming tracks are not dampened
And I, bundled in my own layers,
Have found my tired eyes focusing
On a foreign landscape.
Snow flutters past,
Momentarily meeting with the window,
Before drifting away again.
Where am I drifting?
Is this a simple mistake,
Caused by tired eyes?
Or have I decided to wake
In this place not so distant,
But definitely foreign?
The doors open and I leave behind,
The scratched, worn surfaces,
Which so many have tired over time.
And now, beyond the rusted metal
Of the platform beneath my feet,
White confetti scatters from above
To welcome me to a place,
Dormant and hibernating
Under it’s white blanket,
Waiting for me
To come and wake it.

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