Grateful

There's a lot of things to be grateful for in this life;
But most of all, I'm thankful for my friends.
Friends are those who stick to our sides,
Through the tough and the fun,
Through the discouraging and the exciting.
They're the ones you chair race with at 2 a.m.
And watch reruns of Friends
And hold a philosophical debate for 5 hours with.
In a strange world,
In a new space, a new life,
These friends are those that matter the most.
Bonding together, working towards a common goal,
Of just wanting to get by and get by happily.
They are the ones who will catch you when you climb too high in that big ole oak.
Or walk at 500 miles an hour when you just need to vent,
Or look over the icy bridge with the chill of the wind whipping through your every hair.
They are the ones holding your hand and giving you a giant hug
When that loved one passes away or the anniversary rolls around.
They're the ones who say "it's ok"
When you go visit the loved one who no longer knows your family.
So this Thanksgiving,
I'm not just grateful for just anything.
I'm grateful for the people,
That changed the way I live my life,
And give me the strength
To just always keep on going
And reach towards the stars.

Heartbeat

Dance til your feet get sore and
Blisters break out on the heel and toes.
Sing til your voice is hoarse and
You can no longer talk.
Climb til you can see the mountains and
Scream when you're up too high.
Live like there is no other
Life in your control today.
Love til your heart breaks and even then,
Keep on loving til someone understands.
Embrace those you love
Because one day they may save your life.
Never let go because if you do,
Every last breath
Will slip away just as your heart
Skips beat
By
Beat
By
Beat.

A New World

Hidden behind the veil of imagination,
Sits the forests and mountains and sloping valleys of a land never known
By the footsteps of men and the female touch or
By the dangers of tornadoes, hurricanes and flame.

It is a land graced only by the presence of
Purple people eaters and giant green goblins and of
Creeping cold cats and menacing mellow minions and of
Leaning lanky lemurs and pawing precious panthers.

The lights gaze down from the leafy branches of the tallest forest.
Softly touched snow dances down and rests on the stones of the mountain.
Blades of floating grass dazzle in the wind of the valley.
But not all is good in this land.

No one dares to enter the vicious volcano of Vain.
It overfills and gushes with the power of rock and flame.
Pain comes to whoever nears and in the corners
Lurks a creature, a creature not known to man or can be told in words.
For it is the creature of Death.

The Break Up- another revision

“Let’s just take a break.”

“We’ll be ok.”

And all the memories began to float away as

The red rose from the first date at Ruggeri’s Italian Restaurant

welted.

The stuffed animal panda from the carnival in Hatsfield

 became scratchy and broke.

The little red heart card claiming “Be mine forever” from Valentine’s Day

ripped in half;

Just like my heart split

after he broke up with

 me.

My room was no longer my room;

 it was a museum to his memory.

Sitting Indian style,

curled up in the middle of the dulled blue carpet,

 forehead on knees,

 I cried.

There was the green hoodie hanging

 limp and spiritless from my bed post.

There was the Abercrombie navy blue t shirt I used to sleep in,

wrinkled and dirty.

He had been my world, my first real boyfriend.

I couldn’t go back to that high school, not with all of them watching.

They would know;

they would realize I wasn’t in the outfit he gave me for my birthday.

They would know I wouldn’t smell the same,

wouldn’t have that rustic guy smell that was his scent alone,

 that smell of smoke and hazel and coffee all stirred together like stew in a pot.

They would see the bracelet gone,

 the little heart charms now hiding around my room,

scattered from an

angry rage.

They would notice the empty fingers without the many silver and gold rings he

spoiled me with.

The Fenway Golf mini golf score card from our third date on June 4^th was

torn up and faded,

swept by the wind out of my window like his love for me,

 gone just as quickly as it had come.

The Magnificence

Pen to paper, magic flows from the ink.
Words link together, sentences weave.
Poetry is formed like an angel sewing a blanket of inspiration.
But there are those, those who cannot believe, who cannot see;
The magnificence of the poem. 

They live in the darkest corners of the dustiest basement.
They thrive on the cores of rotten apples.
They feed off the lies of politicians and the flames of Satan.
They cannot appreciate what is great in this world, or
The magnificence of the poem.

But there are those who see, who understand, who absorb,
Everything the poem has to offer, from the tiniest similie,
To the greatest extended metaphor and the longest alliteration.
To the deeper meaning swimming inside the depths of words.
For the magnificent poem is one that can be seen through a thousand eyes.

These Thoughts

These thoughts are nagging at my bone and striking with the pain,
Off past things forgotten and feelings filled with the chains
Of a life gone past and a future far unmade,
Of the tightness in my chest I wish I could wish it all away.

These feelings I never wanted to feel,
Always trying to deny, have filled me with an uncertainty I always wanted to leave behind.
These feelings that I'm feeling would mess everything up,
Ruin all I've worked towards and thrown it into the dust.

 These things racing through my mind,
Never want to be ignored.
Yet I must, I know I must, I've got to keep on fighting.
I know I'm not strong enough for
These thoughts I've been thinking.

The Celtic Music- a villanelle in progress

The soft music fills the ear.

The sound of the Celtic fiddle sings a joyful beat.

The Irish castle looming in the distance.

A soothing voice gentles the pain.

The shine of a Claddagh warming in the heat.

The soft music fills the ear.

A history of bloodshed fills the hills like the story of Abel and Cain.

The young goats suckle on a mother’s teat

The Irish castle looming in the distance.

The silence of the grassy hills broken by the screech of a train.

The towering silver and gold and gems sparkle the noble’s seat.

The soft music fills the ear.

The shepherd relishes in his monetary gain.

The locals celebrate the latest hunt for meat.

The Irish castle looming in the distance.

The roads are soaked and flooded with the daily Irish rain.

The clothes line pulling in the wind, the little wife’s apron clean and neat.

The soft music fills the ear.

The Irish castle looming in the distance.

Oh the Places- a sestina in progress

I watch as little children in bright swimsuits settle in a circle, diligently digging a moat in the sand.

The black raven flies, drifting in the gentle wind in the sky.

I admire the slithering skinny worms crawling through the dirt.

I push aside towering leafy plants, finding my way in the labyrinth of the jungle.

Wildflowers blowing in the wind of the fluttering grass.

Hoping not to break their mothers’ backs, children leaping over the cracks in the concrete.

Construction workers drill in the squares of concrete.

My voice drowned in the crash of the foaming waves against the sand.

Livestock grazing and live off the fruits of the grass.

Giant white elephants and fluffy bunnies shape in the sky.

Shadows drift down from the heights of trees in the jungle.

The rainwater pounds on the ground, making mud pies from dirt.

Busy construction sites work, forming mountains of dirt.

Soaring skyscrapers bud from the sidewalks of broken concrete.

Patches of sticky moss take over the floor of the jungle.

I draw, tiny fingers tracing letters and drawing smiling faces in the sand.

My eyes are blinded by white light, a glowing ball of flame, rising in the sky.

Clean bright white picket fences sitting softly in the grass.

New red and green and yellow lawnmowers munch on blades of grass.

Huts sitting on a hill, hiding in thatched roofs with floors of dirt.

My shadow lurches in the darkness of the night sky.

Blots of blue and pink form lines and shapes from chalk on concrete.

Pale feet stumble and sink, lost in the depths of wet sand.

Hanging upside down, monkeys taunt my journey in the jungle.

Skins of slithering scaly bodies of lizards and snakes slide through the jungle.

The house is overcome with the smell of freshly cut grass.

I gargle as the salty taste of sea water fills the mouth, surrounded by sand.

Hiding black spots of arms and legs, beetles tunneling through the dirt.

Strings of clothing hang from looming apartments above the concrete.

The squawk of seagulls fills the sky.

The cold metal of roaring shining silver slip through the sky.

Color streak by, flashes of blues and reds from the feathers of talking birds in the jungle.

Rushing highways, painted with yellow and white, roar over concrete.

Tiny white round seeds, hiding in the patches of brown in the grass.

Giant brown drafts horses taking baths, rolling in the dirt.

I pick up colorful shells, of purple and pink and gray, hiding in the sand.

The coldness of concrete is warmed by the sun in the sky.

Small particles of sand hide in the dark depths of the jungle.

Blades of grass disappear in the mounds of dirt.