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.