Gravity

When you sit there and listen
to your fears come true,
that's when you wonder
why you're even here.

There is nothing more
rotten than your beliefs fraying-
and soon there is nothing
but that gnawing in your stomach.

Sonnet 2

Across the way a stranger stands alone,

The man wears a frown and dark clothing.

He glares at something in his hand- a phone.

He scowls at the phone with bitter loathing.

His posture grows more rigid and I wonder,
Who is this man that seems to blame humanity?

He disappears as the morning grows lighter.
Reality has chased away my hopes of serendipity.

Oh, to be the reason for your smile.

To feel the vibration of your laughter
in my heart as I lead you out of exile.
I want to be the one you call enchanter.
For I wish that one day we would meet.
It is the only dream I have that is sweet.

Poetry in Motion

Happiness is being reminded
of why you love
to teach others about the harmony
between horse and rider.

Happiness is being reminded
of why you love
to train horses about the joy
of working with humans.

Poetry is not stationary-
it is forward moving.

Poetry is horse and rider
dancing with each other.

Sonnet 1

Time to write or else you will forget
what has been on your mind for ages.
Then you will feel something like regret
as your thoughts flee their rusted cages.
Once more the bell tolls for creativity
as it becomes apparent that your ability
to write was nothing more than a fallacy
and that you will leave behind no legacy.

So rush now and make use of your thoughts
before they disappear into the sunset,
or else you will drown amidst the onslaughts
of those who once called you an asset.

Scribble down some fevered words for it is late
and if you pause you will never meet your mate.

Valentine

You have an itchy spot on your shoulder

that you keep wanting me to scratch.

I chide you and you give me that look

that says I'm being a silly human.

You are everything I dreamed of when I was younger.

A southern belle with perfect poise;

except when you trip over nothing

or swallow water too fast and then it comes out your nose

You always look shocked when laugh at you.

You don't mind that I dress you in three layers 

when I'm sure you'd rather roll in the mud

until every inch of you is covered with it.

Even when you're the only one in the barn

you fall asleep as I pamper you.

When most other horses would flip out.

Other people say you're easy going

but I know the truth;

you are calm because you know how much I love you.

In return you take care of me,

unless I insult your pride-

then I end up on the ground wondering what happened.

I cuddle with you before I get into the saddle.

You give me your mule look if I don't cuddle long enough.

In truth you won me over the first time

you shoved your forehead into my chest

and let me rest my chin on your poll.

Love isn't a thing only found between two humans.

It is every where and you remind me that

you love me

as much as 

I love you.

Digital World

Blank screen with a cursor waiting
to give my thoughts life.
Not on paper but on a screen
that shows a representation of those ideas.

The words are produced
by code that enables the computer
to interpret the tapping of my keys.
These words aren't really here.

They aren't like words written on paper
for words on paper can't be unwritten.
Even if you try to erase pencil
there is always the remnants of what was once there.

However if I wanted to I could delete the files
that hold the digital representation of my thoughts.
With just a few clicks I could wipe away all trace
 of what I wrote.

If I was well adept with computer code
I could make sure any erroneous bits of my work
that might have been saved on another
part of my hard drive (or elsewhere)
was gone without a trace.

Indeed, this digital world is transient-
easily erasable and easily changed.
Now if I wanted to, if I was skilled enough;
I could disappear without a trace.

Just by knowing how to change code
and hack into health networks.

Everything is transitioning to the digital realm;
the question is-
are we prepared to lose ourselves amid the code?

Love Song

Write me a love song 

and I will be yours.

My heart has its price-

Just one little song

and I will be sold for a ditty,

and with your crooning I will swoon

for your voice is the tune to which my heart beats.

Just a few words,

and a melody are all you will need

to claim me as yours.

My heart has its price-

Just one little song

that sings about the truth 

of what love really is.

My heart can't be sold to just anyone

for it takes more than a song

to make my dead heart swoon;

Your voice will have to jump start it.

For my heart lost its tune and now it
 is just a muscle inside my chest

that beats a rhythm to keep me alive.

The truth is that love is just 

something we sing about
but never actually experience.

Only In My Dreams

You-
as in the proverbial "you"
that everyone talks about,
dreams about and wishes was real.
Not the actual I met you but a-
I met you in a dream I once had.

Or maybe it's a dream that I keep having
 whenever I close my eyes.

You, as in I dream of you because
I've never met you but I wish that I had;
instead I only know you because
I dream about who you might be
because all I have is a dream;
 a lingering sense of you.

I write about you because I want you to be real.
Not I can see you when I close my eyes
kind of real-
but I can see your smile with my own two eyes
and I can feel your heartbeat against my cheek
as you hold me in your arms
kind of real.

I'm tired of the theories and the fairy tale stories
that tell me you'll come for me one day.

When honestly-
I don't believe that opinion for one second;
because how could you ever come for me
when you don't exist.

How could you exist
when I've never met you in this physical world.
You are too good to exist
as in you are too perfect to walk this earth.
Therefore you can't be real because
if you were real then you wouldn't be you.

So you see you can't exist
because by existing you don't exist.

I believe in the idea of
being held in your arms;
by being loved wholly by you.
But I believe that you will never materialize because
you are of my dreams.

 A man- a perfect man- that won't ever be a reality.

You as in you are my soul-mate I dream of;
wish for with every breath within me-
but I wish knowing that
my wish will never have any weight to it.

Therefore I will only ever meet you in my dreams
because in my dreams is the only place we can be together.

Auction House

There was once a girl who
decided that to write a story
she must first find something to tell.
What could she write since there was nothing
extraordinary about her?

There was once a horse who found her human
that human didn't want that horse.
It was love, yes love,
that was the truest love
the girl had ever known.

You see, this girl was used to pushing on despite
some very unfortunate events in her life.
She was a survivor, you might say.
This girl had seen her father die by his own hand
and her mother drink herself into
a stupor that fried almost all of her brain cells.

I am not this girl
but rather I could have been
as I could have been any number of other girls.
Like this girl I know what it is to press on
when the "odds" are stacked against you.

The horse that found this girl was a big black mare
who had a history of attacking people.
The girl was at an auction,
yes, the kind of auction where horses are sold as cattle are
and these horses end up on some one's dining room table.

The girl was there because she'd just lost her partner in crime-
a flea-bitten pony
that could unlatch the most elaborate stall door locking system.

The girl's friend conned her into going to the auction by saying
"Let's go see a movie".
He was like a brother to her,
and his mother was her true mother.

They walked down the line of sad looking horses and there was a holler
as a big black horse spun to kick at one of the auction workers.
The auction worker let out a curse and then there was the crack
of a whip on horseflesh.

The girl opened her mouth and prepared to scream
at the man who grinned
as blood welled up on the horse's flank.
Her friend put his hand on her arm and said
"No sense in getting on their bad side."

He pulled her away from that stall with the big black horse
and they went back to the ring
where the unfortunate horses would find their fate.

She sat beside her friend and
watched as horse after horse
was saved from the clutches of the meat buyers.

Then the horses that no one wanted started coming through.
They were the old Amish horses and broken down thoroughbreds
that could barely stand on their own.
They were also the backyard bred horses that got too dangerous
for their uneducated owners
and she watched as the meat buyers
bought them all.

Then the big black horse with four white stockings came into the ring
and everyone seemed to shy away from that horse's hooves.
The auctioneer said she was a mare with great bloodlines
and he had the authentic registration papers to prove it.

The tale of this horse was that she was sent away for training
and instead of being trained she learned that humans were evil.

The horse's neck was one tight muscle and she was
a dragon from an old fairy tale.
She even exhaled twin streams of steam
as she looked down on all the humans.

The horse's eyes met the girl's.
Without knowing why the girl raised her number
and without a counter bid

She bought the horse for $200 dollars.

Her friend shook her shoulder and began the tirade of
"What are you doing?"
"Too late now! She's bought her." said a stranger near them.

The fire breathing horse watched as the girl got up.
No one went near the horse as it walked slowly
up to the fence around the ring.
The girl stood on the other side and breathed out slowly.
The horse breathed in her scent and then exhaled.

A bond forged.

Growing Up

There was a moment in time that I felt as if I had
all the time in the world to figure out who I was.
That was before I decided to pursue knowledge.
The funny thing about knowledge is that it makes you realize
how very dumb you are.

Childhood is the time in life when you are your smartest.
Everything around you is nothing compared to
the imagination in your mind.
The world isn't dictated by opinions and beliefs
but by your dreams and your wishes and your hopes.

A child can say to the world
"I am a prince(ss) and I will fight dragons
to save the day since only I can destroy evil monsters!"
Then the days change and the child is now standing
in the line at the elementary cafeteria and staring
into the red face of a cafeteria lady who has most likely
spit in the food she is now serving as she doesn't stop coughing.

Then there are the rules for proper school etiquette and sanctions
if the child doesn't fall those silly rules adults create to
take away the fun of saving the day and at the same time
those adults take away freedom with each year that passes by.
It is no wonder that adults say in the most wistful of voices
"Oh, to be a child for just one day."
When all the while they take the freedom from children
and say that they are just teaching them to be a part of society.

Is it any wonder that the older we get the more we wish to stay young?
When you brush your hair and all of the sudden find a grey hair
that refuses to be pulled out despite repeated attempts to make it go away.
Or when you look in the mirror and see that youthfulness
has given way to that scowl line between your brows that refuses to smooth out.
Why wouldn't you wish to be a child for just a little longer?

The worst is when you aren't allowed to be either.
When you're stuck between childhood and adulthood
and then you can't get away from that trap of being in between life stages.
It seems like the only way you can prove you are an adult
is if you get a job, get married and have kids of your own.
Then, well, then, you have to pretend again
that you know everything about the world
when in reality it is your children that are the true holders of knowledge.
And you, well, you are the greatest pretender that teaches another generation
that freedom is unobtainable when in reality you took it away.

Untitled-1

Creeping, crawling
along my arms.
Leaving a trail of goosebumps.

Echoes.

Chains

The echo of the chains falling
still rings through the darkness.

You left me to free another;
Told me to follow the light.

The light is so far away
Too far to follow.

My wrists ache
for the metal safety,

That is actually
My death sentence.

I am free to be
anything that I dream of being.

I bend down and feel for the chains.
My hand touches one and then the other.

There is that reassuring click
and I sigh as I feel their weight
on my wrists.

Flip-Flop

Flip-flop.

Almost done!
Almost done?!

How can that be so?

The years have surely flown by,
indeed they have.

Too slow I must say,
Nay! Too fast!

In just a few short months
I'll walk across that stage

and yell
YIPPEEE! I'm FREE!

or else

I'll whisper
No, not yet, I'm not ready.


To leave this place.

Flip-flop.

No Smoking

(narrative poem for class 2/7/2012- from a classmate's descriptive paragraph)

She is squished with three others in an old hospital room,

With an IV attached to her; it drips with the rhythm of the slowly ticking clock.

She lay in that starch white bed surrounded by

 used tissues, crumpled and covered with her blood and mucus.

There was that feeling of wanting to be free,

 to throw open the window and

Let in the cold, cold air.

Instead,

 I walked out of that room and into the hallway.

A man stands beside a dirty window.

I press my nose against it hoping for some air.

Instead I inhale smoke as the man puffs on a cigar.

“Vietato Fumare!” in bold black letters on a poster that

hangs on the other side of the hallway.

Her language is gone now,

Except for that phrase.

Memories of her hacking coughs hit my heart;

 guilt and loss roll over me again.

I want to scream:

“Can’t you read?- Vietato Fumare!”

As if saying it now

Would have changed

What happened  last week.

My Human

(narrative poem for class 2/7/12- mine)

I watch her walking towards me with another.

I’ve been replaced!

How could she?

After all we’ve been through!

I am the shoulder she leans on when her cheeks

are damp with tears.

I’ve fought so hard to hold on

When she talked about us parting.

We are a team.

I am her support during the darkest times.

There must be a mistake.

Her voice!

I hear her lyrical voice as she whispers to that

Other one.

Am I being replaced?

That other one is not better than me!

I cannot believe this.

I’ve been with her through life’s changes.

I eased her anger and frustration.

When everything else disappears on her

I always stand beside her.

She’s told me that I am her only happiness;

That I remind her that the world is good.

We are a team,

Her and I.

She trusts me to take care of her;

I am the one that keeps her from falling

That three year old can’t possibly care for her

 As I do.

How dare she replace me with some one younger!

I turn and kick that other horse.

Hard.

There is a hierarchy to be followed.

She is my human!

Her voice chides me as I nuzzle her elbow.

Two-Fold

I was about to write,
to dig deeper into why I am who I am.
The thought unfurled and changed-
A story between God and me.
I thought perhaps not yet,
It isn't developed.
I think a lot about life-
I'm only an average writer.
I do not trust myself to write about-
the dark vibrations in my heart.

Moments often lost before they're captured; 

and desire to create a wellspring

of thoughts, gone before there is fodder

to be called consequential.
 Not my own self doubts

but the falseness of the world.

Writers distrust everything,

You must be willing to rethink 

those relationships that you held dear.

I cannot dig into my ponderings-

 uncertain truth lurks there.

Revised 5/3/2012

Narcolepsy

It was just a funny word,

One that brought to mind-

Pictures of old men

passing out in their rockers.

That was before

I started getting tired.

That was before

I found myself 

falling sleep in every single
one of my classes.

Then came the confusion

and frustration

of not being who I once was,

not caring about

anything other than sleep.

Which started-
A quest to answer 

"What is wrong with me?"

That fateful afternoon

with the sun drenching the world

I sat in an office,

and waited for the diagnosis;
except I already knew

I have Narcolepsy.

Addiction

In the morning,

I take them to wake up.

In the evening,

I take them to go to sleep.

Without them 

I am lost.

Chemicals churning

in my veins.

Will I ever be 

just me?

Without them

I am not sane.

I feel the change 

in my thoughts,

if I forget them.

Addicted,

to a concoction of drugs,

prescribed to alleviate

my disease. 

I'm Only

as beautiful as you see me to be

as unavailable as you believe me to be

as much of a stranger as you perceive me to be

as interesting as you think me to be

as intelligent as you allow me to be