a cork board

Day 14 / Poem 14 – NaPoWriMo
AMpThu, 19 Apr 2012 00:52:41 -040052Thursday 1, 2010, 12:52 am
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We Are


We are something

we never dreamed of becoming.

We are lips split from

cold winters and braving

the chill of the world.

We are the disenfranchised

and the broken social scene

tethered to the outskirts

of popular media.

We are proud and ashamed

all in the same breath,

because there is

no other way of existing.


We breathe in fire

and regurgitate it

in the form of words.

Of ideas that started out

as seedlings in the

caverns of our hearts.

Ideas that travel the earth

and scales mountains.


We build empires from

shambles of pillaged villages.

We bear the burden of everything

that plagues our day to day

and provides peril for the world.

We wear a badge of honor

for what the Almighty has gifted us with.


We will scream at

the walls that divide

until they crumble.

We will speak

in the place of the voiceless.

We have voices,

so we make choices

by tripping over verses.


We are not afraid

to expose our beating hearts

in the name of

expression and inspiration.

We are dragons flying overhead

in circles, spewing gasoline saliva.


We are verse.

We are prose.

We are not textbooks.

We are poetry.


Day 13 / Poem 13 – NaPoWriMo
AMpWed, 18 Apr 2012 00:07:05 -040007Wednesday 1, 2010, 12:07 am
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The Moment is Strikes


When silence settles over the woods,

and the luminescence of the moon

dances through branches,

there is a fear that grips you.


When the rustling of leaves

echoes from tree stump to tree stump

and travels from one ear canal to the other,

there is a paranoia that takes over.


When you’ve seen one too many horror movies

and your calculations add up to your certain demise,

you might find yourself running from your own shadow.

Frantically dodging trees while the amplified

sound of your heartbeat thumping

throughout your entire body races

your adrenaline into a fever-pitch.


A squirrel skitters across a branch

and the scurrying of his feet sound

like claws of hungry wolves

coming for you.


Civilization is just on the horizon

when you see a neighborhood

with windows glowing artificial light

and gracious streetlamps with their arms

stretched out like saviors.


The danger level escalates

as you begin to look over your shoulder

every 3 seconds and the sidewalk is coming closer.


It’s almost midnight

and the idea of teeth dripping in saliva

longing to tear at your flesh

has you picking up speed.

10 more strides,

you scrape your face on an unsuspecting tree.

5 more strides,

you stumble and slice your hand open on glass.

2 more strides,

you are holding your breath at this point.


You arrive at your sanctuary of a sidewalk,

out of breath with your hands on your knees

panting as if you’d just escaped certain death.

Your head swivels from left to right,

right to left and back again,

as you peer into the wood.


The moonlight cascades

straight through the winter branches

and across the bed of dead leaves.


The forest is empty.

The houses are quiet.

The night is still, except for you,

running for your life

from shadows and your own devices.


You pick up pace quickly towards home,

with blood dripping down our hand,

hoping nobody saw your pathetic display of unwarranted fear.

Day 12 / Poem 12 – NaPoWriMo
PMpMon, 16 Apr 2012 23:14:11 -040014Monday 1, 2010, 11:14 pm
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Okay, okay. So I messed up. I missed day 12 and 13. I did not write anything on Saturday OR Sunday. BUT, I am going to do my best to not only write a poem everyday this week. But I am also going to try to get an extra poem written on 2 different days this week so I can play catch up. It’s about 30 poems in 30 days, not 30 poems in 32-34 days.

I don’t know where this one came from. The first line is what spilled out when I say down to write and this wierd semi-erotic, semi-something poem came out about a man who is engrossed in something. Too engrossed to notice something precious slipping out of his fingers because her enjoyed the chase so much that he never anticipating an end in sight. Anyway, here is my day 12 contribution.

The Cat. The Mouse


There is something about

the way he looks at her.

Like he wants to devour her whole.

And she knows that

every movement she makes

drives him closer to approach.

Closer to completion.


She never leads on too much,

she maintains the mystery.

Maintains the unknown,

she is a constant enigma

and he becomes the philosopher

trying to figure her out.


He devotes hour after hour

trying to theorize

what makes her tick

and she waits and waits

while they continue

this game of watchmaker and clock.

Of Bomb-maker and explosion.


Until he becomes

so engrossed in the puzzle.

She becomes

too caught up in treading the line.

He becomes lost

and she becomes found.


While he is the one

that got away,

she is simply the one

that started the flood.

The one that

kick-started the engine and

lit the furnace in his research.

The thirst that was never quenched.


He is far too entrenched

in his devices to realize that

he lost the adoration of a woman.

That he missed out on living

for the thrill of the chase

without a finish line in sight,

without wanting to ever stop running,

in the end.

Day 11 / Poem 11 – NaPoWriMo
AMpSat, 14 Apr 2012 00:10:52 -040010Saturday 1, 2010, 12:10 am
Filed under: poems, the ether | Tags: , , ,

I wanted to start today’s Poem of the Day by implicitly stating that this video inspired this poem out of me. I know I am probably a little late in watching this video, but I finally did. If you haven’t seen it, then watch it before reading. It is amazing and left me feeling very inspired. It reminded me of so many things that I tend to forget sometimes that I felt the need to make an attempt to capture with words.

He’s In There



in that haggard body,

there is a man who was

filled with dreams

that are now fulfilled.



inside of that throat,

within those eyes,

there is a woman

who look by the hand

and never let go.


We lose sight of

who they are sometimes.

We forget that

they were once

where we now stand,

where even our children stand.


The cycle of life is a

continuous, ever-churning wheel.

Every ending brings about

a new beginning and

so on and so forth.

This is how generations are made.


As the years of our lives

peel away like layers of skin,

we are left with a movie

that looks more like

time-lapse photography.

Complete with twitching heads,

manic hands and missing moments

with no way to ever fill in the gaps.


Every moment is a

memory that we cherish.

That makes us who we are.


They pour into us the way

water swells into the potted

home of a tree, engorging the soil

and nourishing the roots

for a time to come.


It helps us soak in the light.

It helps us grow strong

and learn to adapt to survive.


And when enough time has passed,

the soil dries like deserted riverbeds.

The roots are left longing and thirsty

and tomorrow cannot come soon enough.


We are left in our present state,

which does not come close

to showing the glory

of our past lives.


When I look at

an elderly man or woman,

I don’t see who they are right away.


I have to pause

in order to see their hands

taking their son or daughter

for their first walk.

To see their eyes

beholding love for the first time.

To see their minds

experiencing the same things

that I have done,

and my children will too.


All we have in this world

are our memories.

Our crazy experiences

that no one would ever believe.

And our children,

we have them too.


And we can teach them

to slow down and take notice

of the things that don’t

jump out at you.

We can teach them that

inside of that frail body.

Behind those tired eyes

that look like they are itching

to tell you a story.

Underneath that head of

whispy, white hair.

There is a person filled with

amazing stories and enthralling wisdom.


There is an entire universe

of time-lapse photography,

complete with manic hands

and missing moments.

And if you just take a moment,

the universe will speak you.

You will find some truth,

if you listen.

Day 10/Poem 10 – NaPoWriMo
PMpThu, 12 Apr 2012 23:25:20 -040025Thursday 1, 2010, 11:25 pm
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It’s the end of the day and I hadn’t written a thing. I had no idea what to write about and just want to go to bed. So, I wrote about what I just watched on TV….the Chicago Bulls beating the Miami Heat in OT. I don’t even know what to make of this one. I have NEVER attempted a sports poem, so I don’t know if this is any good. Once again, feedback is welcome 🙂


One For The Books


It wasn’t for the championship.

It wasn’t for any title.

It was simply for a win.


To maintain the best record

in the entire league.

And it was a thriller to watch.


A coach not afraid

to bench his star players

when the momentum was not right.

A team of role players

against a parade of all-stars

all but guaranteed a title.


Against the same team

that celebrated their championship

before winning it.

Because apparently they were

never taught not to count

your chickens before they hatch.


I don’t have it in me

to root for the Miami Heat

because I hate it when

a team stacks the deck.

I didn’t root for the

Boston Celtics’ big three.

I can’t root for Miami and

I won’t root for New York.


Sorry, but I just can’t

root for the Justice League

or the Avengers.

Give me real basketball.


Give me teamwork.

Show me player who know their role

and play to it.


It wasn’t for the championship.

It wasn’t for any title.

It was simply for a win.

It was another mark in

a new school rivalry for the books.


Watching the Miami Heat

come up short against

the Chicago Bulls in OT

thanks to some amazing

baskets by the bench,

was a thrill to witness.


Go Bulls.

Day 9/Poem 9 – NaPoWriMo
PMpWed, 11 Apr 2012 23:39:17 -040039Wednesday 1, 2010, 11:39 pm
Filed under: poems, the mirror | Tags: , ,

Sleep, My Dear Friend


Sleep has always

come to me with ease.

I have always been able to

close by eyes and

put an end to the day

whenever I needed to.


Like an orange sun

succumbing to

the tidal waters

of the ocean.


There are very seldom

instances where I

find myself restless.

Where sleep eludes me

the way the enslaved

long to taste freedom.


What awakens me,

those things that leave me

stationary and laying on my pillow

are always one of two things.

My mind wandering,

or my heart longing.


Like that time she was

gone for 3months.

I avoided my mattress

like it was a torture chamber,

often waking up twisted and

aching on the living room sofa.

Not having slept nearly enough.


I would avoid

my house all together.

Asking the last remaining

stragglers at poetry slams

what they were up to.

I don’t wanna go home,

my house is too empty,

I would say.


So I would find myself

in Chinatown at 1am.

Jaywalking the city at 2am.

Driving to the lake at 3am

to stare at the water until 4am.

Anything to avoid those sleepless nights.

Those sleepless walls. Sleepless.


When my mind wanders

I’m nervous in anticipation.

I will stare at the ceiling

making constellation paintings

with the spackle on the ceiling.


It is on nights that

preceded or tail-ended

a potentially life-changing event.

I would turn from side to side

picking apart the pieces

of what was to come

or what had passed.


Like the time I knew

I was picking her up

from the airport the next day

after not having seen her

for 3months, but years earlier.


I would go to Wal-Mart

and play Playstation 2 on

the demo machine to pass time.

Just so I could avoid

that sleepless sofa bed.

Sleepless kitchen.



Sleep has always

come to me with ease.

I have always been able to

close by eyes and

put an end to the day

whenever I needed to.


Like an orange sun

succumbing to

the tidal waters

of the ocean.


Sleepless is not

something I see often.

But I know it like

a little brother knows

the mannerisms of his big brother.


So when I do find myself sleepless,

I feel like nothing ever changed.

Been there, done that.

I’d rather be dreaming,

but I wake myself

into a sleepless, dream-like state

in exchange for the real thing.


Day 8/Poem 8 – NaPoWriMo
PMpTue, 10 Apr 2012 23:49:32 -040049Tuesday 1, 2010, 11:49 pm
Filed under: poems, the ether | Tags: , , ,

Break the Spell


If I could cast a spell

on the entire world,

I would have everyone believe

that we are all equal.

No matter the age,

race, social status or sex.


The less we think

we have in common,

the more problems

we create amongst ourselves.


We are all stuck

in this hamster wheel.

We spin and we spin.

Some days are

harder than others.

Some days I would

love to collapse on my

bed of hay in defeat.


But I have to push harder

and stay focused.

We’re all trying

to get by in the same way,

one way or another.


If I could cast a spell

on the entire world,

I wouldn’t cast a spell at all.

I would break have to a spell

because we are all equal.


It’s the spell that we are under

that has us thinking

we are better than or

worse than one another.


We are all born naked.

We all shit ourselves when we die.

What happens in-between

is another step in the karmic ladder

towards nirvana.


So why must we hinder

the path of another

with judgment?

We have been hypnotized

to believe that we

are not the same.


I say it’s time

we break the spell,

fall out of the trance

and wake up to realize

that I am you,

as much as you are me.


Like blood vessels

connected to the same heart,

we beat for the same cause.