Poetry     

Before you write all of this poetry stuff off for the hot garbage that it sort of is, please keep in mind that I'm only recently learning how to write it so a lot of what you'll see here is largely experimental.  Bottom line, I know they're bad, I'm trying to improve (I swear).

My Heart's Cave Is Filled With Crushed Tomatoes (Edit)

The purple grooves of real adoration 

Typically fill the soul with abysmal bitterness.

This in turn begins an ice skating tournament in hell,

Which as far as I know has no winners–

Perhaps after the conclusion of this recitation

It is that the blue of the sky does gray

An overcast under which you may ask yourself aloud,

¿Cuándo es la fecha de mi muerte?

“I really shouldn’t tell you,” says the sidewalk– and it means that.

My heart’s cave is filled with crushed tomatoes.

My Heart's Cave Is Filled With Crushed Tomatoes (Original)

My heart is a deep dark cave that is fraught with stalactites 

That pierce the calves of bodies thrown inside.

It smells of musk and mothballs, much like a decrepit closet

With a taste to match its cold rock layers.

The graves that consume its floor leave a warm, lingering tang

That is not unlike old tomato sauce

Though it smells heavily of the store brand fettucini.

In times of rain, Arizona’s canyons 

(not the ones you’re thinking of), fill with sludge

Maybe due to the constant bulldozing in the noon sky.

The purple grooves of real adoration 

Typically fill the soul with abysmal bitterness.

This in turn begins an ice skating tournament in hell,

Which as far as I know has no winners–

Perhaps after the conclusion of this recitation

It is that the blue of the sky does gray

An overcast under which you may ask yourself aloud,

¿Cuándo es la fecha de mi muerte?

“I really shouldn’t tell you,” says the sidewalk– and it means that.

My heart’s cave is filled with crushed tomatoes.

Haiku Set

#1

When the world does spin

Three times as fast as normal

Sunlight is not din

#2

Each day’s new blue sky

Which tree rings cannot recall

Does often pass by

#3

If I spelt french words

With two syllables, not one

Should I ask for thirds?

#4

This poem is last

Cause’ I’m bad at this

In its defense, it went by fast

4 Beat, 8 Syllable Poem

I wish we had met in Summer

Before I rode a train to you

When breath did not dangle ahead,

Nor shoe soles wore down to white bone

Before I wrote bad poetry

And us our paling boneless swill

With words and words of feigned triumph 

Crooning to overcast above

The thud of a bass may ring out

To shake faux crystal in cabinets

And to break an unbroken peace

Built around eight months worth of Spring

And though my hands may sore and shake

And my eyes may fog in sorrow

The worst will come to you in time

And for me the rain is cooler.

Beat Experiment

I can’t know why my dog has died. I cry.

First Successful Iambic Pentameter Poem

In any sense of anything, 

I haven’t got a clue;  

My house is gone,   

My dog is dead,     

Whatever shall I do? 

Second Successful Iambic Pentameter Poem

I think it was my Aunt Marie, 

And though I cannot prove, 

She’s sort of weird 

And I have feared 

She may be too far gone. 

A Poem About Death and A Rock

In any sense of anything, we die

True in its fact, sad in its nature, death

Mothers may cry, and broken friends alike

But the rolling stone of death shall not desist.

Rhyme Experiment- Screwing Around With Rhyme and Meter

I sit here in the Spanish class

And sound moves very fast

Except out in the hallway

To go I'd have to ask

I sit here in the Spanish classroom

And though I wish to leave

My train of thought

Does often crash

And there is nothing to upheave

Things I Wrote Before I Knew Anything About Anything (not that I do now, but you get the idea)

Pretty Thing, Pretty Baby, Pretty Much- Surrealist

Sleep easy 

Pink is traditional

She’s maladjusted

Don’t just stand there

Not so close

Your body

My choice

Pretty baby

Pretty thing

Pretty much

Sung Over A Sound Collage- Pretentious Abstractionism 

मम पादयोः शिशुं स्थापयतु

The River Is Loud

वयं पिकेटवेष्टनं निर्मास्यामः

Winter here is brutal

हरित रैप्सोडी शृणुत

You’ll have to listen carefully to hear her tonight

घण्टा भवतः कर्णयोः परितः भवतु

All we have is cinnamon

तस्य माध्यमेन शीघ्रं धावतु

Let the egg drip down your hand

किं भवन्तः अद्यापि तत् अनुभवितुं शक्नुवन्ति

यदि भवन्तः समीपस्थं श्रुतवन्तः, तर्हि भवन्तः तां श्रोतुं शक्नुवन्ति। सा वायुवे अस्ति, सा रात्रौ भाषते। यावत् हिमपातः न भवति तावत् अधिकं कालं न भवेत्।

Sandworm

In the dirt

Under darkness

Sandworm

Life Is A Do Not Touch Sign

Keep Hands Inside

Turn Out Pockets

Do No Harm

Make Way- Children

Stay Behind Line

Area Inaccessible

Drive Slow Your Kids Live Here

Adult Assembled

Feed Sea Monkeys Daily