2 days worth

Wrote the first one last night, and the second one tonight. Hope you like them. I'm still trying to shake off the rust.
---
How could I expect you to understand me, when I really don't understand myself? And oh, I'll tell you what you want to hear for a minute or two, and then I'll say the wrong thing, and, well, that's the end of it. I never thought we'd end up together, and so we never did, but sometimes I wonder, when I'm lying alone in my bed, with only my mind to keep me company, sometimes I wonder if I could have had you, if only I had tried harder, or made a point to not shoot myself in the foot like I always do. I guess I'll never know.
---
A haunting melody pierces my thoughts, as I sit alone tonight. I wonder if it's you that's on my mind. It's hard to say for sure what such a simple song could be, without your words to make it complete. It's not that far to where you sit, but you're not alone, and I'm left to wonder, and so I wander, and as I walk these streets we used to walk together, I can't help but think of how it was, and before I know it I'm outside your door. I knock, but you're not there. I knew you wouldn't be. I watch as the air crystallizes in front of my face. It's colder this year than it was before. Or maybe it's me that's colder. It looks like it's going to be a long hard winter, and already I can't wait for this cold to break.

I'm back

I'm going to try for the daily updates again. We'll see how it goes.
---
They tell me practice makes perfect,
But if I believe that it's true,
Then where is my patience.
My focus is gone.
I know I can do this.
It's within my power
To spend just a few of my minutes each day
And stretch out the parts of my mind
That have become so recently lax, oh and so undefined
And my hope above all in this venture is just
That I might yet be able to shake off the rust
And apply a light oil, or reshape and tone
Even though I mix metaphors, still I'll be known
As the one who remembered, in spite of himself
That even your passions are dust on the shelf
If you don't take them out every now and again
And so I'm returning, like to an old friend
Whose embrace is familiar, and so it shall be
Because this time I mean it.
No, really.
Come on.
You've got to believe me.
It's okay,
I'll show you.
I'll show all of you.

I Live My Life In Hypotheticals

Should I wait for you to come find me contentedly alone
Or should I try to make my way to you, not knowing where I'm going
What if we cross paths? What if I don't notice, then I think again
That there is no way I won't notice you in the crowd
Then I'm singing it again so loud

I can't wait to finally meet you
And you smile like you know what I've been through
And say "It's you I'm looking for."

I'll see your eyes, the way they pierce
And when you smile, the way they crinkle at the edge
And your body, looking fierce
Leaves me speechless, but I'll gather up my nerve
Because I know that I can't let you
Walk away while I don't even know your name
So I'll walk over, and lean in closer
Tell you somehow that you're driving me insane
I'll say that

I can't wait to finally meet you
And you smile like you know what I've been through
And you say it's me you're looking for.

I can't wait to finally meet you
And you smile like you know what I've been through
And I've found what I've been been looking for

writer's block

It's like the blank space is staring right back at me.
I try to write, I really do. I'll put down words here and there
A pencil mark, or some pixels on the screen
Depending on my medium
I'll look at it, measuring its worth
And then it's gone
Scratched out
Deleted
Erased
No bad writing.
Finally I'll get fed up and leave the whole project
Later, if I was lucky enough to write it down in ink
I'll look at the lines I crossed out
And it will hit me,
"That wasn't bad writing at all"
And I'll make a couple of changes here and there
And share it with anyone who wants to see
But most of the time it's just gone
And I live on, forever believing it was just awful
Sometimes it really is.

Drive-Thru Window

Takes care of hunger
Staple of the working class
Dinner's in a bag

Running out of steam

I've been patient, waiting all this time
I thought I'd found you once, but now you're gone
The only thing that keeps me going on
Is thinking how you'll bring me joy sublime
I thought of late I might have seen your face
But only found another door was closed
Events unfolded not as I supposed
But still I hope to feel your fond embrace
See no one cares for love as much as I
I think about it oftener than not
I dream sometimes, when thinking is forgot
It makes me laugh, and also makes me cry
A younger man will feel love in his heart
An older man will know it in his head
A foolish man will chase it 'til he's dead
A wiser man will give it a head start
To none of these outfits do I belong
(I have or will to each of them in turn)
But still it seems a lust for love will burn
And overflow perhaps into a song

But from my heart I give you all this rhyme
And whether rapt, or causing you to yawn
I do my best to keep it up to pace
Perhaps a bit of levity enclosed
And if you have a feeling to reply
Then go ahead, and give it your best shot
And if it makes a point that's truly smart
And still it lingers once it's fully read
Then whether you have called me right or wrong
From your words I'll make a note to learn

insomnia

I can't sleep, so tonight you get not a poem, but my thoughts, pretty much the way they flow through my head. I'll probably stop and correct typos, and maybe pause momentarily to see where the train is headed, and if I really want to go down that road, but in general this is what it is, and it's not really filtered all that much. I'm doing pretty well I suppose, though it's been a long time since I had a date. That one has been bugging me lately. I thought I might have met someone recently, but it doesn't look like I have much of a chance there. Oh well, that's life, moving on. I'll find a girl one of these days. I know I'm being saved from much heartache, but I'm also being robbed of a lot of happy memories, and I can't help but think I'm the only one robbing me. I um, I need to take out the trash. Not sure where that came from except looking over at the trash, and that A&W Root Beer empty 12 pack that's been sitting there for a couple of days, just waiting for me to have some excuse to go to the dumpster (which they felt necessary to place in the most out-of-the-way location possible. I really don't know how the trash man even picks it up) and unload it all. Anyway, it's 3:41 AM, and I really should be asleep right now, but I've been reading Harry Potter. I'm almost done with the fourth book, and it's really quite entertaining. I imagine I'll have to buy the fifth soon. Oh yeah, that reminds me that Ashley wanted to borrow the first one. I'll have to remember to take it to work. That shouldn't be difficult, since work is coming in like 4 hours. yay. I just drew a blank, but since I'm writing like this, I figure I'll just type out that I drew a blank, and that will keep my fingers going. It's interesting how that works, 'cause inevitably my mind works faster than my hands, and by the time I finish putting my thoughts down, more have popped up, so if only I can keep on going, I'll almost never run out of things to write. Well, someone has just messaged me on Facebook, so I guess I'll wrap this up. I promise I'll be good and start writing real poems for you all again soon. I do kind of feel like I'm running out of steam there, but I need the practice, and apparently a few of you enjoy reading them, so I might as well keep it up. Good night.

another sonnet (try something new already)

I find my favorite part of every day
To be the time I take to talk with you
And though it seems my words get in the way
Intentions still at least seem to get through
And if you were to go along with me
I promise I would treat you with respect
And give you only care and honesty
And never ask you more than you'd expect
I think we could be wonderful, we two
It's been so long I'm not sure of the words
To find out if you feel the same way too
Or if you think me just a bit absurd
But if you should relent and tell me "nay"
Then "friends" is still enough for my to stay

Something short today

I've been a bit cloudy of late
I've a feeling that it won't abate
I recently met her
And now can't forget her
I'm hoping I might get a date

Orange And Purple...Colors are hard to rhyme.

I awoke with a start, and I reached for a pen
There was something I had to remember
As I focused my brain so the details remain
I guess you saw me losing my temper
My face was all screwed in a weird sort of shape
And I must have looked quite a bit batty
By the time I had stopped, and my pen was re-topped
I was shaking, my hands rat-a-tat-y.
So I read what I'd written and checked for mistakes
As you read o'er my shoulder quite deftly
I, if not for your hair, wouldn't know you were there
(Oh no, nothing rhymes with 'deftly'!)
The story I told had turned out quite mundane
And you laughed a bit after you read it
But you took it with grace, said the look on my face
Made it worth it every word that you dreaded.
So I lie here again as I drift back to sleep
Positively confused by what happened
But I finally dismiss it and give you a kiss
It's just one of those things I suppose...

Starting up daily again (my apologies for the break)

If writing songs can be like finding gold
Then maybe I should pan a little more
And this can make it easier I'm told
To write a poem a day forevermore

A single kiss can make the sun shine bright
No matter if the skies before were gray
And lately I've been thinking I just might
'Cause I could stare into her eyes all day

Disjointed quatrains, disconnected verse
It echoes what it's like inside my mind
Though always true, and rarely too perverse
A stranger place you'll likely never find

The day escapes me, sitting in my room
As time continues passing all around
But here it waits, reluctant to resume
And so we hide and daren't make a sound

Together we could be a team of two
But that requires something first from me
To take a sort of leap and hope that you
Can see in me the things in you I see

A turn to love, as poems so often can
How terribly cliche of me to write
At least the pen keeps moving in my hand
That's a lie I typed this with a keyboard

Verse one and chorus (mostly verse one)

Take a picture. They say it's worth a thousand words, and one day it may be all that you have left. Write a song, sing along, and make the world sound better. Take a chance on me that's all that I can ask of you right now.

Write a love poem, not to me but to yourself. You know you are the only one that counts. Read the lines, now one more time, raise your voice up louder. Join the chorus of the ones who've made up their minds.

Say oh, I will be just fine.

Haikus

The easy way out
Shift work has ruined my sleep
Days run together

A momentous day
Part Seven Part Two comes out
Are there tickets left?

Keys not meant for words
W, A, S, and D
Think fast, or be killed

I wrote a poem
It was short, like this one is
It had more meaning

Ten holes, Twenty reeds
It rocks you all the time, too
Like inward singing

Falling Behind

The salt air of the sea woke my senses, so as I approached you I couldn't help but notice the casual air you wore about you was just as put-on as the scarf around your neck. I couldn't blame you for either though, what with the cold days we've been having and all. I was determined to break through the barrier though, and so I opened with a nervous "Hey." I am such a charmer. You looked back at me with eyes that seemed to move back and forth from subdued interest to total indifference, which only added to my supreme confidence.
"It's late," you replied. My hope grew weary at such a frigid reply, but I pressed on.
"I know. What are you doing out here, anyway?" I asked, though we both knew the answer already.
"Look. I don't want to talk about it, okay? You know how hard this has been on me, and you haven't been making it any easier."
"Hey, I've tried. It's just that every time I open up my mouth, something stupid comes out. I know it isn't fair to you, so I came out here to tell you I'm done. I'll just leave you alone from now on."
For a very brief moment I saw a flicker of emotion. "Maybe that's your problem. Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut."
Your words seemed to be telling me to go, but something in your tone told me to stay. I walked to the railing next to you, and took your advice. We stared out at the deep almost-black of the water, and I tried my best to ignore the sniffling I heard, because I knew that if I tried to comfort you, all of this would end. You would look at me, embarrassed and look away, and I would sheepishly retreat. I was thinking so hard about what I couldn't do that I didn't even notice that your hand had come to rest on mine until you whispered "Thank you," and started to walk away. I knew the morning would bring with it the same cold air as before, but at least tonight I could fall asleep knowing that we were friends, and I guess that will have to be enough.

Something short to set my mind at ease
Since other things are pressing to the fore
Harmonica has stolen all my time
But writing is one thing I simply can't choose to ignore

I'm doing very well to keep the pace
This once-a-day can be a little much
But maybe once a week or once a month
I reach you for a moment, and through digital lines we touch

So this is all, three stanzas is enough
Four lines a piece, with a, b, c, and b
The meter doesn't fit to say its name
The last line longer makes it somewhat special, well, to me

And one more couplet brings us to a close
So that is how tonight's poetry goes.

Sleep is a fickle friend
We never can agree
On exactly when and where to spend our time together.
Sleep is a fickle mistress
When I want to share my bed
She never seems to share my mood
She chooses instead
To bother me at work, or when I've just made other plans
She seems to know how quickly I'll give in to her demands.
We spent a lovely weekend
Just the two of us alone
And though I didn't see another soul all day
By nightfall she had vanished
Simply gone away too soon
And I'm stuck here writing poetry about her
One day I'll have her for my own
One day she'll never leave
But she'll be disappointed in the end
In truth that day will be my last
And so the story goes
About my ever fickle mistress-friend.

Open Mic

An open mic is a wonderful thing.
It gives nobodys like me a chance to feel like somebody
It gives patrons a free show
And most of all it gives aspiring talent a place to go where they know they'll be among friends
Even if they've never seen you before.
I've seen poets and comics
And felt like what I did was easy compared to that
And the musicians
Oh, the musicians!
I've listened to horrible renditions of amazing songs
And amazing renditions of horrible ones
I've tried intently to listen to the painfully awful singer pour out his heart
And as the crowd tries to drown him out with their conversation I just want to stand up and yell
"Shut up!"
Because I want to hear what he has to say
And because he took a chance and got on the stage
And to me that counts for something.
I've seen a man with a gnarly goatee get up and play the most beautiful violin I've ever heard
I've seen a man in a business suit break down a mean "Simple Man"
And I've seen a girl who's only sixteen years old blow my mind with her voice.
I've seen ukelele players play industrial music
And then bust out into pop songs.
I've laughed, and I've sang along
Sometimes both at the same time.
I've gotten on the stage myself and played a few tunes I wrote.
I've gotten long, boisterous applause
And silence
I've been encouraged with words
And used my words to encourage others
I've forgotten the words
Three times in a row
But later I remembered them and played the song as well as I ever have.
I've done all of this, and it never cost me anything
Except to listen
And to share.
And I hope wherever I go next
Wherever this journey takes me
That there will be a bar
With a mic
And an open mind
Because that's where I live
And that's where I love
And that's what makes all the rest of my week worthwhile.

Ten Things I Know To Be True

I've been told that when you're writing
And you reach a loss for words
To write a list of things you know are true.

My list begins with simply this:
I know that love is real
Despite the evidence I have
From relationships that never last,
And a marriage that just fell apart
Before it had a chance to really get going,
I know that one day I'll either die happily in love
Or happy knowing I never gave up on it.

The second thing I know is that everyone has a talent.
Some people don't know what their talent is
And some have been cultivating and growing theirs for years.
Some people have put in the sweat
The blood
The tears
And some just pick it up without any effort at all
But no one is completely without any creative outlet.
Everyone can do something
Whether you draw
Or paint
Or write
Or dance
Or sing
Or play
Or listen to a friend
Or teach.
Maybe you're a dungeon master
Or maybe you can tell a joke.
Maybe you don't know what you can do
But whatever it is
Be proud that you're the one who can do it.

I also know that the internet is wonderful.
Sometimes it's scary
And sometimes it's gross
But if you took it away from me, I think I would be lost
Honestly, I don't know what people did without it.
They probably got a lot more sun.

I know that nachos were made for cheese,
And so was macaroni.
I know that counts for two
And this one makes six total.

I know that the best feeling in the world
Is the one I get when I hear someone else singing along to words I wrote
As if the words are actually meaningful to them.

I know wearing a shiny belt won't stop a car from running over me
And that there is no substitute for common sense
I know things the government hasn't figured out yet.

I know that I'm not always the best of friends
That there have been people in my life I've let down.
Maybe I didn't listen when you needed me
Or maybe I simply wasn't wround
Or worst of all, maybe you called me "friend"
And I didn't return the favor.

I know that the density of gold is 19.3 kilograms per square meter
I learned that in school
And for some reason it stuck.
And I thank every teacher I ever had, for all the bits of knowledge that stuck
Some were in school
Some were at home
Some were myfriends
Or my enemies
Or someone I watched a video of
Or heard on the radio
But all of them, whether they meant to or not
Have taught me more than I could ever have hoped to know
So the next time I think of ten things I know to be true
It will be just as easy
Because I know by then I will have had a hundred more teachers
Teaching me a thousand more things about this world.

So Tell Everyone

"Turn your ear to me," he said,
"and  hear the words I say.
I haven't got much time before
I have to go away.
I've been a lot of places
And I've seen a lot of things
And in my travels I have dined
With emperors and kings
I've lived alone in solitude.
I've lived with two or three
I've lived among the multitudes
Who never noticed me.
I've seen the shores around the world
When I did sailing go.
I've climbed the highest peaks you've seen
And lived off melted snow.
I've fought the very worst of beasts
And all of them I'd kill.
I've bent a spoon in half again
By only pow'r of will.
I've ridden on the back of beasts
As big as any house.
And even once was almost thrown
When one did see a mouse.
I've studied with the scholars
And I bested nearly all
Philosophy, Mathematics,
Every one of them did fall.
In wits I have no match
So you should really never try
I speak the language of all men
From 'Hello' to 'Goodbye.'
Technology comes naturally
I have no greater gift
So trust me with your problems
And you'll never go adrift.
So answering your inquiry,
As only I can do,
The time is quarter after twelve,
Now I must part. Adieu."

Sometimes it's good to stretch your mental mass
And sometimes you can still do it with class
Though sometimes crass
Or filled with sass
And sometimes I can be quite an ass
But alas
The time will pass
And like the grass
We'll wither and fall away. 

I hate to use some kind of lame excuse
Like awaiting inspiration or a muse
And so I must admit for all to see
My failures lie with no one else but me
I tried to write, but that's a partial lie
Since no attempt was made, like I imply
I simply sat there, staring into white
The cursor blinking in and out of sight
Until I finally gave up on the task
And went to bed.

The weekend is here, and I'm afraid
I've nothing yet to do
So I'll just sit alone up in my room.

I'm feeling like I did back then
Before I moved away
I try so hard to put away the gloom

Perhaps I'm better on my own
I certainly should know
It seems like that's the only side of me

But still it would be nice to know
Just what it's like to fit
I try too hard to find my place to be

The loneliness has threatened to consume
But I'm the only one who gets to see

The wind whipped at my coat as it blew across the lot,
Turning the corners up as if it were searching for a lost object,
Or an idea, that it had misplaced.
It blew, and I was reminded of the time we took a midnight stroll along the water's edge
Our bare feet leaving temporary footprints in the wet sand,
And the ocean, like an over-attentive maid, washed them away after only a few seconds.
I'm quite sure we talked about many things as we moved along,
Staring alternately at the giant resorts on one side,
The ocean on the other, which made the buildings seem insignificant,
And each other.
Mostly each other.
I'm sure we talked about many things,
But I only remember how striking you looked that night,
And the way your hand felt on my arm as you leaned in closer.
Sometimes, when the preacher talks about heaven I'm reminded of those days
And I think "That must be what it's going to be like."
I remember when you started laughing and attacked my legs with icy ocean water,
So I chased you down and when I caught you we tumbled over,
And both got soaked, as the waves made their foray onto the shore again.
As we laid there in each others' arms,
Time stopped,
And though I can't remember
(An unfortunate side effect of stopping time)
I'm sure we experienced a lifetime together,
In that one moment.

I remember a lot of things that never happened,
But that one is my favorite

ugh

I'm sitting here, forcing myself to write
But the truth I don't have anything to say
At least nothing that I haven't said before
I wanted to write about love
To set that record straight
Because no one else has ever tried to do that before
Then I wanted to write about loss
But I've written enough about that to be considered an expert in the field
So tonight, you get the speechless poet
The man who ran out of words, but kept on speaking
But sometimes it's those times
When you don't have anything to say
That everything comes out
So I'll just keep my fingers on the keys
Because at any moment inspiration will strike
Like lightning, straight to my brain
Or I could rip off lines from old movies
And get the quotes wrong.
But whatever it is that I do tonight
Tomorrow always brings with it the possibility of trying again
And with that thought in mind I close
Because really, who wants to keep reading this?

More Sonnet

If you had played a song for me as well
I know you could have won my heart for sure
But such a prize, as far as I can tell
Was more alike to sickness than the cure
So let me say instead, it's sad to see
A beautiful young singer have to go
I know you won't be thinking now of me
I wouldn't have expected you to know
My nerves can get the best of me at times
And so we barely spoke while you were here
And if you ever get to see these rhymes
I hope my motive isn't too unclear
It's just that, from the sides of you I've seen
You're beautiful, and that's all that I mean

Sometimes, when I think about the word creative
I get a different idea in my head
Is it really "creative" to put words together for just my amusement?
Is it really "creative" to write songs that only reflect on my past?
Well, yes, it is,
But that's not the only definition
And if that's all the creativity that I have then I might as well just go home
I'd like to think I can do better though
That somehow my words could affect someone
Make someone smile
Or rethink their decisions
Perhaps I could creatively solve a problem you've been having
Or maybe tell you a story about how I got over that same problem in my own past
Maybe being creative should be about more than satisfying my need to make something
Even though at the heart of it that's what the word really means
To create something
But is it worth creating if your creation doesn't matter?
So what does matter?
What changes the world?
Do I need to convince you of something?
Maybe open your eyes to a new way of thinking, that perhaps you didn't realize existed?
Those are all good options
But my real goal is just to entertain you
Maybe that's not "creative" enough to change the world
Or maybe
Just maybe
It is.

It's Been So Long

Woke up this morning with an old song in my head. It still reminds me of you. I must have been dreaming about the good times that we had, when we were both in love with you, and it's been so long since I could forget about you, yeah.

Feet touch the floor and I'm not even out the door before I shake off that feeling of regret. It doesn't take long before I find another song, and I think nothing that you could do would get to me, but it's been so long since I could forget about you, and we both agree that I'm better off without you, so why can't I get you out of my head.

Back to the grind, and I've got nothing on my mind except the ticking as the time keeps rolling on, when I hear a familiar key, I say that it won't get to me, but the radio is playing that old song. It's like a sign and now I've got you on my mind again. I haven't had this kind of feeling since God knows when, 'cause it's been so long since I could forget about you. Why can't I get you out of my head?

I think that I have discovered a place where dreams really do come true. I think I have discovered another where they only take control of you, when it's not like you believed, and I'd give anything to leave, 'cause it's been so long since I could forget about you.

Tell me now, before I go, that this is what you want, because the moment I step out that door, you know that nothing in this world will make me turn around or make my feet forget to move. I've heard it all before, but go ahead with your last chance to prove to me that this is better for us, being separate and alone. I find it hard now to believe you, maybe harder once I've gone, so now's your chance. Speak up! Enlighten me on what you know of love. You said you're doing this for both of us. I guess I just don't see the bigger picture then, if this is really helping me get by, because we got by well enough together. What's the reason behind all the reasons you've been sifting through to find the perfect one to give to me so I won't be upset, well guess what: It didn't work. I'm walking out now that I've said my piece. Your silence all the confirmation I could ever need. I think that you'll regret this one day after I'm long gone, but what do I know?

1 part hyperbole, 2 parts truth

My face tear-stained, emotionless, my voice a crystal rasp, and sometimes what it is I want is not the same as what is in my grasp, so I keep saying to myself that I don't care for her at all, but all the while I'm still sitting here, just inches from the fall, and talking myself down with sensible yet so transparent lies, back from the risk of tumbling down again. I've had too many tries at love for one more wasted effort on an obvious mistake, but if you've been there then you know that it just isn't quite so easy to convince yourself of something which your self is well aware could lead to just another heartache, if you think that on the way there might be happiness in store for you, a taste you can't forget, but which you haven't had a drop of since you can't remember when it was she last gave you a smile that you knew meant she was yours, and then the one you gave returned the sentiment. I just can't help myself. Sometimes I wish convincing me was easy. Oh, but then I'd never let myself do anything I wasn't sure of when I started out, and all the best of all the journeys I've been on have been so littered with uncertainty, inspiring words and songs and all the best of me comes out when I'm not sure of where to go. Will this step make the sun shine brighter, or will this one bring the snow? It doesn't matter at the time. I simply follow where my feet would like to go. But this time I've a clear emphatic no. But have I ever listened to myself before?

Sonnets Are Fun

In looking at the time that we had shared,
There isn't much validity to find
About my basis for how much I cared,
Or how it felt to then get left behind.
The timing wasn't perfect for us then,
And once we even tried to make it real,
But that's what scared you off I guess, since ten
Days after that was nothing left to feel.
I should have seen it coming from the start,
And hey, you were the best I ever had,
But when the time did come for us to part,
I did get quite unreasonably mad.
For though it was as simple as a fling,
I haven't since found any better thing.

Another night I spend with naught to do
But sit alone and dream a dream of you
I made a list for all the world to see
But hid it from the closest ones to me
I don't want them to see my perfect one
Or maybe just a fantasy undone
But either way my public private list
Is all I've got, and so it's all I get
It's been too long since last I felt the tug
As one heart needs another like a drug
But pharmaceuticals are not my thing
My proof is in a box that holds a ring
A ring that once adorned my lover's hand
Accompanied by yet another band
The third was mine, but that's to say all three
Are now the property of only me
They sit inside their cardboard home all day
And though I try from half a world away
To vanquish all the thoughts they used to bring
I always end up focused on that ring
And that's why love is such an awful thing.

The Apology

"Give me one reason," you said as you stood in the doorway,
arms folded as if they might break from your control at any moment.
At once a million thoughts rushed through my head,
But no words accompanied them to compose the apologetic symphony
With which I could still the fear apparent in both of our eyes, which screamed
"It's over!"
without either of us saying a word.
I tried desperately to conjure the magic words that would steer the fire
From anger to longing,
Hate to desire.
I knew there had to be something that would cause this to end well for us.
As I drew a breath and prepared to speak, I knew that this would do it.
I knew you would come back, and we could go back to how we were
Before,
Like we always do.
Three simple words would make it all better,
For now.
I opened my mouth, but the look on your face grew so hot
I swear it burned my tongue.
As I sat alone in confusion, replaying it all in my mind,
I realized my mistake.
The apology had disappeared when my mouth opened.
Three words caused you to storm out instead.
"I wasn't wrong."

Oops.

To My Crate CA-60 (a bit of silliness)

Sounds
Locked in a crate
A crate that I've found
Isn't it great that this crate does abound
With sound
All around me

All at once
It's as if there was nothing before
Only grunts
Where the music now fills up the floor
Can't ignore it
Watch me soar with grace and ease

Lightning strikes
And the thunder still deafens my ears
I shout "Yikes!"
But the laughter persists through the tears
All my fears slip away
When I hear her voice
Never clearer
And now I am left with no choice
But to draw e'er nearer
The beautiful singing
But now there is a ringing

(oops I got to close
My feedback sounded gross)

Flip the switch
And silence the angel for now
Curse the witch
Who decided that sleep was more important than me and my guitar.

I've heard it said that poets who use rhyme
And meter limit creativity
But I have tested for myself with time
And found there is no such proclivity

In fact, from the experience I've had
It takes a more imaginative mind
To put what's in your head to pen and pad
While keeping to the structure you've defined

But sometimes you just have to go off book and write what you feel.

Complicated matters don't seem to matter much to you
As long as you're the one we're looking at, it's all the same
But no one here compares, so where's the challenge?
Even you should understand that only fools would suffer you to stay
And what a fool I am. I sometimes wish I were another
But a braver type of man could never hope to turn your disregard
Into a watchful gaze, where all the lights and sounds would disappear
And you and I would stare, my dear, until nothing else was left but you and me,
And then you couldn't help except to see me standing there,
Hopeful yet apprehensive, awaiting your next move in this game
Where even if you win, you keep on playing until you lose again.

I cry out and I scream, but no matter what I say nobody answers me, at least not with the words I want to hear. So maybe I have a problem listening, but at least I have the courtesy to do this on my own, away from everyone and everything I used to hold so dear.

Just before dawn

Just before dawn

Time breaks the rules like a mischievous child

When Mother isn't looking.

Moments stretch on forever.

In the blink of an eye, minutes disappear.

Just before dawn

when the first light is only a glimmer

I swear it reflects in your eyes brighter than the stars.

And though the moon's light wanes

I swear it left its glimmer in your hair.

Finally the sun breaks onto the horizon

And we're forced to admit the night is over.

Though the day is new

And brings with it endless possibility

It marks the end of what was

And will never be again.