And he said if he had a boat
He’d go out on the ocean
And he said if he had a pony
He’d ride him on his boat
And I see a boat
It is going on on the ocean
But I don’t see a pony all together
Because riding a pony on a boat
Is silly.
Tag: Free Verse
solar
I very much wish that I knew Whatever it is that you go do Wherever it is that you get to When the sky ceases its deep blue Replaced with an orange-purple hue.
december 1999
The sun settles behind the mountains as we wind around another bend of the valley road. The SUV's dash flashes in dim neon as it illuminates its controls. Music is on high as my two best friends are caught amidst the throes of laughter stemming from their cacophonous attempt at singing together. We have been driving for almost fourteen hours and are mere minutes from our destination: Vail. Our final home of a millennium as the greased dial grinds to "20" Where better to be when Y2K hails? I am in the front passenger seat. I am looking out its window into nothingness. I am crying.
[LBP] Bristol Wants The Food
Today, I’m going to start a series called “Lunch Break Poems,” or “LPB.” I was going to call them “One Hour Poems,” but–alas–I don’t always take an hour for my lunch break. But I do eat! So, Lunch Break Poems.
And really, many of my “attempts” at “poetry” are things written during a break of some sort, or even in my head during a few moments of silence. Therefore, this isn’t really the first lunch break I’ve constructed a poem, or “ditty” as I’m apt to call them, but it is the first “Lunch Break Poem,” because, you know, I never titled them as such until now. Obviously.
Today’s inaugural LPB poem is, “Bristol Wants The Food,” because, well, my dog Bristol wants the food. All. The. Time. It’s written to the tune of Whitey on the Moon, by Justin Hurwitz and Leon Bridges:
It’s Six-Thirty AM
And Bristol wants the food
I go use the bathroom
And Bristol wants the food
I put on some warm clothes
And Bristol wants the food
I take her for a walk
And Bristol wants the food
I take her back inside
And Bristol wants the food
I watch her whirl around
And Bristol wants the food
I fill a cup of food
And Bristol wants the food
I pour it in her bowl
And Bristol wants the food
I hear her scarf it down
Now Bristol wants the treat.
tuesday
So if Monday
Is the first work day
And Wednesday
Is known as Hump Day
And if Thursday
Is Junior Friday
And then Friday
Is all like, Friyay
What is Tuesday
But just a weekday?
chirping
Nights that flew Dreaming Morning dew Gleaming Skies of blue Beaming Right on queue Singing Pretty you Preening Day's anew Ringing
will you notice?
I'm not a chef But I cooked you a meal I'm not a gardener But I grew you a flower I'm not a musician But I composed you a song I'm not a photographer But I took you a photo I'm not an author But I wrote you a story I'm not a poet But I wrote you this poem I'm not an optimist But I think you'll notice me.
cloudy
I like to let my poems speak for themselves, therefore I’m not particularly keen on prefacing them with any sort of context such as this. However, I feel it necessary to break that wall now so that I’m clear on one thing: I’m not depressed. If you’ve read within this space before, you’re aware that I enjoy writing about mental health–particularly my experiences with it. This is one such occasion. As always, thanks for reading:
A thought is lurking Inside me I'm aware of its Existence But I've chosen to Ignore it Not so much ignore As push it Beyond other thoughts Repressing Defending myself From its pain This is unhealthy I know this What else shall I do To forestall? Away, away please Go away Past the clouds into Deepest blue I'm certain we will Meet again Until then, away Away you.
eternity
What is eternity like?
What does one do forever?
Does one get bored?
Does one do the same thing daily?
Do days even exist anymore?
Do things begin or end?
What would happen to you?
What if you’re not there?
I’m not so sure about eternity.
I’m sure hoping you’re there.
theisswriter: typing things. for me. for you. 