Thursday, April 11, 2013

A tanka for a little brother

Scheming little boys

I will be hiding 
From scrubby ten year old boys 
Who seem to have fun
Telling tall tales and stories 
To avoid brushing their teeth 

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The un love poem

Sorry for slacking these last few days but here you go

There's something about eraser shavings
 that just crawls under my skin
We just brush the off so casually 
and they disappears 
only to reapers in sweaters and socks
 but what happens to those shaving, 
do the disintegrate to dust? 
Do they serve as a fuel source to other countries? 
Or do they simply fly off to their own colony
somewhere far away and procreate 
sending their children to hatch 
in clingy sweaters and ratty socks 

You and me, we'll were like and artist and her eraser shavings. 
Your useless and irritating 
whereas I am the embodiment
 of aesthetic perfection. 
But I guess if you disappeare ,
 I might spend a bit too much time fretting
 over something's insignificant
 as the mystery of eraser shaving. 

Saturday, April 6, 2013

I hate waking up

Early this morning 
I said good bye to good night 
And the octopus under my bed
Grumbled to me grumpily 
Sleep for five more minutes 

Friday, April 5, 2013


It's the fith day of napowrimo so here's a cinquian 

Two O' Clock in the morning 

Warm us all from
Bone chilling nightmares and 
Making caves for book-lights to dwell

Thursday, April 4, 2013

My sarcasm hold the world together

Slipping into sweet sadness
My despair like a cradle 
The only thing that I know 
Will be there when I come back 
From my happy delusions 

Its the bandage that keeps 
My heart from writhing 
Some call it pessimism 
 I call it steady reliability 

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

From Kansas to Kenya 

I am chapatis and sweet smuggled sausages
Wearing red, black and green
 like peppers,  olives and flags 
Im a self proclaimed foodie and a big eater
And frequenter of the bolivian deli
 where raw lumps of meat hang like Chandeliers 
I am from farmers markets and dirty gravel roads
With dragon fruits, cactus pears and Cow stomach soup 
I do all this in fluffy hand stitched dresses
On a too-high cacti porch ( of doom)
Where I learned I learned bake pie and ice tea 

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Poem one Tuesday

Tuesday mornings

I'll try and start a fire in the ocean 
to try and draw you out
Maybe you'll drown in my direction
Take the slip into insanity 
Or maybe try to hang onto the sand 

Will you play the broken viola 
while I dance a syncopated step 
And I'll sing for you in blue green chords 
A song all our own, taking notes for granted 
Leaving the sand behind 

And I'll kiss your lips blue 
and you can whisper a tune 
about Tuesdays and turtles and thorn apple flowers
And I'll chuckle at our failed attempts at normality 
But we're  as normal as one can be when chained to a tide