Horrid Pastoral

There, the giant ball of butter
melts over the cracked cake
of life up here.
Smiles brightly at the
engines and closed buds
and commercial mockings
of its form.
It swallows the tracks of
hello's, goodbye's, and
I-love-you's
as it talks to just us,
waiting under its shadow.

Ambiance

Well, I don't care. I can't sleep at night as it is, I don't want a light as bright as a thousand suns shining through my window. I'm not going to buy entirely new blinds for my house simply because you want to place a street lamp outside my window. There is no point to it anyway. Well, people shouldn't be out walking at night in the first place. Well, that's why I have a cat, they walk themselves. It's going to ruin the ambiance of the neighborhood. There's no need to raise your voice, I was just trying to have a civil conversation.

Medicine for Memories

Only you can bring me joy
when I have drank too much. The boy

would not stop giving me the glass,
so I went right down on my ass

enduring laughs from everyone!
I must admit that it was fun

now that I have you to remind
me. That's right, my homework fell behind

my bed. Oh Perrier, the sparkling
mineral water, you have been so darling.

Dusting on Anxiety

Forever it will be gone, now.
Gone from its peaceful home
where it was so kindly nestled.
Because I was careless
and too selfish to worry
over its well being.
Now I will never forgive myself
for ruining its inhabitance
and taking what it had known
for its entire three month life.
Oh, dust upon the shelf,
I'll never forgive myself
for ending you with that
bright red rag, moistened
with my future guilt.
I cannot bear to think how
joyful my life would have been
had I just left you in the home
that you were always meant
to be.

Sestina for a Skank

What can I do to my skank
for a relatively reasonable rate?
I'm pretty sure she's super hot
and way too good for me
to waste any of her time.
I guess I better go.

She said I better go
for calling her a skank.
She got really irate
about it. I thought it was hot
because this all is kinda new for me,
anyway, that was last time.

She keeps looking at the time
like she wants me to go
away. She's such a skank,
standing there, trying to rate
my "performance". It's too hot.
This isn't right for me.

Looking up at me,
reminiscing on the "good times"
and begging me not to go,
she promises to be my skank
forever. At whatever rate
I please. I know she's in hot

water if she's saying I'm hot
and suddenly treating me
like this. Will I take the time
to help her out so she can go
away? This sly skank
that told me Bonnie Raitt

was stupid and is rated
too highly? It was hot
and I was weak. And me,
I had been planning all this time
to finally get out and go
away from this skank.

I rate this girl the only skank
that's hot enough to go
and make me waste my time.

A Walking Sonnet

What horrors my feet have walked upon in
summers and in winters just the same,
that I should dare not speak of where they've been
for fear that you will rightly go insane.
I'll tell you, some of these might well be sin
if I had knowledge of from where they came.
A piece of chewing gum and then its twin
and rusty fishing lours that had no names.
I guess I should suppose it's only right
that I be hit with all these punishments,
for being barefoot is not quite a sight
for sophisticated ladies and gents.
I will still walk nearly naked despite
all of the harmful things on the cement!

Pantoum for Woolf

Going up and down,
I see the mark
that has been there
for too long.

I see the mark
and it's a fuzz.
For too long
I have let it stay

'cause it's a fuzz.
It's harmless so
I have let it stay
up until today.

It's harmless so
now I"ll take it down.
Up until today
I was too scared.

Bad Ghazal

Truth can only be if you
believe you have a stronger voice.

The nightmare that still haunts me
is when my mother took my voice.

I always sway in the back though
I'm told I have the best voice.

Early at the apricot dawn,
I can still hear Charlie's voice.

Lillian Raymondi says faintly,
"Nicole, you are my voice."

Dark Night of the Soul: Ghazal

Lord Byron's biography quietly
whispered in my ear "The end is near."

Shortly after "Pomp and Circumstance"
I knew the end was near.

Restless hours, amplifying hearing
me. It might be ending here.

Lying on the floor, I see a spider
in its web, the end is near.

Phantom voices of my children
as the beep grows strong. The end is here.

Fun Repetition Exercise

I wish I had a buck or two
for every time I said I'll do
something tomorrow morning.

You treat me like a worn out shoe.
I wish I had a word or two
to say to you and get you back.

I should have stuck to him like glue
on the boulder by the swans.
My heart's missing a beat or two.

Confessions

I'm scared of growing up.
I wish I could make someone cry with my poetry.
I love horses,
but I'm allergic.
I wish I was still in a choir.
I don't kill spiders.
I kill mosquitoes.
I don't think M.J. was guilty.
I do think O.J. was guilty.
I love all kinds of music,
and that's not a lie.
I miss my roommate.
My Grandpa thinks my name is George.
He says I need to lose weight;
like father like daughter.
I envy Sylvia Plath.
I have her birthday.
My mom needs a psychiatrist,
but she refuses to go.
I wish I could just move away.
I wish that I could stay.

My Earrings

My earrings in fourth grade were nonexistent. A faux bloodied needle helped ma clear her throat.
My earrings in fifth grade were brand new. Ma was reluctant to rhinestone.
My earrings were in a box I carried with me. Ma called me ridiculous.
My earrings looked like Mickey ears. I lost one on the bus.
My earrings came from Gram's house, inflaming with infection.
My earrings were spheres and spikes of rainbow. I got them at FAD.
My earrings were pearls:one fake, one real. Ma would've killed me if she knew.
My earrings were too big. I got in trouble and wore them as bracelets.
My earrings were feathers on chains. One got away.
My earrings were large, dark hearts for two years.
My earrings at prom used to be Grandma Tiger Lillian's.
My earrings got me friends at college.
My earrings lived at Dad's for a month.
My earrings hate ma because she steals them.
My earrings are with me and lay nestled in the crib of my watch.

Quatrain Exercise

Today, the day I lie in bed
And sigh for half an hour instead
Of getting up to catch the flight
Back home, is my pathetic plight.

Though Grace is back in her un-home
I still will sadly write this poem
In selfishness, and brutally
Think what might be her eulogy.

Sorrow never came to me
Like this. So much, and heavily,
I'll miss this place that is now mine
And should be for the rest of time.

Irony Exercise

Waking waves of wind rush past the branch and swirl the particles of powdery dust that are shaken from the petal of the daisy, as it beats and beats rapidly without ceasing.

Stream of Consciousness Exercise

Sea shells. Dark blue, rounded glass
From the vodka bottle on the mast
Of someone's sailboat, down the street
Where he tripped over his own feet
And dropped the shark tooth on the ground.
Didn't care his head had pounded
In the road. He had candy and
A bandage. There was sand
In it. My friend made me eat
It. My tongue was sore and beat.
I couldn't have the apple pie
That Grandma made me.

Ring Box

Lowly and willingly it lies rounded,
Mocking and making me manic again.
Freely flowing its frivolous colors
By pounding them, piercing them through my brain.

Static Shot

Here I sit and here I wait
For you.
Counting down the days or years
Ahead.
Longing for the thing that should
Be near,
Seems from past events never
Will be.
The day will come soon that you'll
Realize
The honeysuckle summers
In my eyes.

Daughter Earth

"Go green and save!" now shouts the megaphone
In rally of the latest littering suspect.
They say that Mother Earth must be respected
So that we can live our long lives in peace.
But lately, a terrible rendering
Has hit the streets of main with great fury
From the teenage, truth-telling tyranny
That infamously goes by "Daughter Earth".
With might wind she speaks the solid tale,
That the trees are now more populous and
Bountiful than they ever were before,
When mammoths roamed the earth and took their time.
So Mother Earth now turns from green to red
And leaves New Paltzers crying in her stead.

Uncaged

Rusty barbed wire tears through the soul
As waves of sand and sunsets
Regain their tinted image
After years of recess.

The anvil has been lifted.
All hold has been lost
On weightless, winding
Desires, as they fly
Back to their nest,
In the realm of
Unwanted fathom.

Relatable

Prying perfect phrases
From the plume
That wishes not to work
Has proved to be a toiling
Experience.

Lately, quite impervious a
Well has left these
Begging leaves parched
Of calligraphic creativity.

Other days, a bowl
Of indigo has overflowed
And choked and mangled
Verticality.

The scarcity of days
When a sure flow
Of dreams and dandelion
Seeds blowing across
A sea of parallel
Opportunities is, sadly,
More than should ever be
Hoped for.

Ahr

Revolution.
The age-old dream of
Renovation and remembrance.
The recall of riches and
Reinstatement of rags.
The ready and reclusive.
The rallies, raising of voices,
The rise!

The ridicule.
The repercussions.

Play on Endings

Daunting stares from yards away
Pierce me with the same
Overused, exhausted accusation.

Insanity must be the answer.
There is no other explanation.
Maybe toxication is causing
The fixation on the
Station of that tree.

Deliberation on the play,
Shun the idea of fornication
In the "freedom"
Of this nation.

Not-stalgic

Too close to be still.
This chill is the loss of a
Memory. Warm, and quiet, but now
Fleeting,

And taking with it
Pouring juice and tying shoes,
Wearing ma's red lipstick and
Cutting her own hair, while
Telling baby brother to stay
Close.

Ma never would.
She'd sit right beside them,
To be as far away as possible.

Deadtime

The bed
Turns to satin-
Lined mahogany, but
Is not what the prayer was truly
Meant for.

Ars Poetica

Grasshoppers swimming in formaldehyde jars,
Bound by the bars of merciless concave lenses
And shiny, sharp edges that probe and point
At hinges and joints to learn and preserve
Where it is that the nerve endings are
In the midst of that jar. But the fact
That they miss, in white jackets, is not
In the jar, locked up by the bars. It's
Lost in the grit that the grasshoppers
hopped in before.

Untitled

Synapses cramp
At the sight of the damp
Darkness circling the once
Joyful sprite. Now it hunts
For the chance to return,
Get away from the urn
It is so surely headed for.

Brief Scene

John walked up to the porch steps, arriving home later than usual because of an emergency patient call, He couldn't wait to see Grace and Blake. They always made him smile: they were his pride and joy. But then he saw Karen walking to the door to greet him, and her way of greeting him was asking for more money. What a long hallway that is.
One.
Johnny, she called him, in that shrill, piercing voice of hers. The voice that he had provided a beautiful home and a wonderful life for. Buy why? Why did he not realize before the vows were made that this megaphone of a woman would be the sole reason for his unhappiness? He smelled the surprise that Peanut left and she failed to clean up from the lawn.
Two.
Peanut was a good dog. John picked him out of the litter. Loyal, obedient, and quiet: not like Karen. He looked down: he was clenching his fists again. He always did that when he heard, saw or though of Karen. As he was looking, he noticed the breast pocket of his shirt was torn. The patient seized and must have ripped it off in her fit. A fit like that is better than a fit from Karen. He wanted to kill her.
Three.
He could kill her. He could kill her now. The scalpel was in his bag. One quick slit to the jugular vein would lead to a fatal loss of blood. John was 45, he was a man, and he was perfectly capable of killing someone. It would be easy. But he couldn't. Blake and Grace would never love him again. And if he had to live without the love of his children, he wouldn't LIVE at all.

Favorite Place/Least Favorite Place

Favorite Place:
I'm sitting next to the stream, hearing it babble over the pebbles and cobbles so happily. It is low tide and the sea breeze smells pleasantly of salt and kindly blows the hair from my eyes. The reeds dance with it and make the crickets sing along. Combined with the sound of the waves caressing the soft beach sand, a symphony is created in my head. The rocks are exposed by the low tide and the crabs are scuttling along the shore. The sun sets behind the bridge and sky scrapers and turns the blue sky to a vast rainbow as two swans float by on the waves.

Least Favorite Place:
I'm trying to enjoy the pleasant nature of the beach and finding that nature is not pleasant at all. The low tide smell of sun-baked fish carcasses invades my nostrils and my nose wrinkles into a most unpleasant form. The sand is perpetually stuck to my skin no matter how many times I strike my hand over it to get it off. The gnats love the smell that I hate and play games flying in and out of the cavern of my ear, toying with my eardrums with the electric buzz of their wings. The dingy stream water percolates over the slime covered rocks, carrying the pond fish to the ocean where it will die. The salty breeze makes my skin like a desert; dry and cracked. Now the sun is setting, turning the cloud-filled sky from grey to murderous red. I'm going home.

Charlie's Sestina

Years of training began to weather
The leather of a boot's tongue.
She was once such a great
Companion of Charlie, and strove for
The blue ribbon, to be number one,
Until Prince Charming gave her a kiss.

Charlie longed for the caring kiss
She would grant his soft nose whether
He did well or not. His tongue
Hung aching for a sweet, great
Peppermint, once so regular. Four
Weeks he's been without even one.

Reminiscing on the times they had won,
She is awakened by Prince Charming's kiss.
Thought the sun gleamed, the weather
Was still grey as the lips Charlie's tongue
Hung out of, because the sewer grate
Had never touched his shoes before.

Sulking sadly in his stall for
Months, Charlie missed the one
Day in the meadow. She bestowed a kiss
On his cheek in the dandelion weather.
She placed a peppermint on his tongue,
But he now only sees birds on his window grate.

She saw prince charming's great
Figure charging toward her for
The last time. She finally won,
And left him victoriously without a kiss.
She danced in the warm weather,
In her worn boots with leather tongues.

He heard her voice, speaking in a tongue
He once knew. Finally his great
Companion returns; he's been waiting for
Years. They are again one,
The team they once were. She greets him with a kiss,
Abolishing the years of bad weather.

She knows whether or not her tongue
Had reached great prince charming's for
But one time, it would be a regretted kiss.

(Old: no judging allowed!)

Chang Tsai

Chang Tsai's mother smoked an incredible amount of opium while she was pregnant with him, causing him to be the ugliest human being on the face of the earth. When he was born, his mother took one look at him and died. Of course he did not know that his mother was the single healer left in the entire village and was the only one capable of healing people of their illnesses. The prophet of the village said that the only way for another healer to be found was if the ugly offspring was killed. So once everyone in the village began dying of an epidemic, they stoned Chang Tsai to death hoping they might be saved.

(Old exercise from creative writing class)

The Sands of Time

Here, delivered to us on the shore, is this creature of the deep,
Washed up on the sands of time.
Its aquatic journey of life ended by the whirling currents of the torrent sea.
Each miniscule line in its spiral representing each day, hour or minute of its life.
The last few of them chipped an broken by the harsh crash of the waves and the thumping stomps of avid athletes.
Its barnacles, in anger,m have become sharp and rigid,
Attacking the mouths of the gulls trying to move their humble home again.
Walls once so beautiful, now stained by thge decay of sea moss that's been baked by the summer sun.
This once invincible masterpiece of nature has been called back by its creator,
For it has served us its life in beauty.

(This is old, don't judge!)

City Lights

City lights,
LIke the glint
In your eyes
Made me think
With my thighs.
Here we sit
In the miles
Of rank shit
And fake smiles,
And you hit
On me nice.
A small bruise
Will suffice.
I don't mind.
You entice
Me. Oh well,
Have a slice!