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The BrokenThe beauty of the broken
Was what she loved
Seeing the fragments
Of all that he was
She glued them together
Held them close to her heart
Did not see the edges
Of each individual shard
So they cut her open
And tore her apart
Now she too is broken
'Cause fixing is hard.
of trees and poets.she is death and he is life but i, am
somewhere in between.
Mother says I have a poet's heart and Father tells me that I have a swimmer's physique
but I feel
that only poets understand poetry, swimmers were not meant to have a weight of
more than 111 pounds, and irony is bitterly
I had always thought that class clowns weren't meant to be poets,
but yesterday a boy said
That he loved the pages in the science books that smelled like
you told me that there is shelter under the youngest of redwood saplings,
beauty in he most rugged of olive trees,and
That there was a time when the world was blue and green
but maybe that was a lie. my beloved books have betrayed me for
factory smoke and lung cancer.
i used to believe that boys with the names of heroes were
worth more than bloody stubs
of what-used-to-be-wings and tailbones, but
maybe I just won't be your evergreen.
Poetry: Too Damn LazyThis poem and others may be found at the following link:
Warning: Fuck it
So damn lazy I shouldn't be a poet
Over here like damn I know it
Writing this just to write
Teach me I only write well at night
It's the fucking AM
I can barely even begin
Pray to the Lord Amen
Scratch that let's start over again
Monday isn't fun
One day I might be done
Sit back and watch Doctor Who
Just like the Doctor I know what to do
I feel so lazy
And I feel hazy
And I feel crazy
Scratch my ass like a Pokemon
My friend reading like "It's Tolkien Mahn"
Lord of the Rings is my jam
Treants tearing down that dam
I'm a pretty big fan
I watched the movie
Like The Mystery van
Scooby and the gang got me feeling groovy
Groovy Dubie snacks
Chilling and feeling lax
Scruffy's spraying the axe
Watching Mad Max
Mad cause it's filled with talentless hacks
chemically"What do you think of when you think of me?"
A hand against skin in moonlight-
A heavy sigh laced with warmth-
"What do you mean?"
A gentle pull-
"When you, ya know, think of me and love?"
I think of October breezes and warm cinnamon; the magic of Christmas through a child's eyes; the first breath of spring that God exhales with heavy lungs; the summer's clouds and raging winds that show the universe's true power.
I think of clarifying pools of blue and Indian's Moon corn; strong buildings that reach far past the horizons; trees that remember they don't lose their buds forever and bless the Earth with a blanket for winter.
The Poetry PotFirst we start with some words that rhyme,
And add an amount of alliterations.
Then we set the cooking time,
Add ingredients of different rations.
Now we personify,
The pencil dances across the page.
Bam! Onamonapia identified,
Words of emotion like rage.
And then the haiku,
The first line, five syllables,
And so is this one.
Internal rhymes such as this are hard to miss,
The skill to rhyme gracefully is added with bliss.
Stir the words together with a wooden spoon,
Then let the stew sit in the light of the moon.
Imagery is added, so picture it now,
The sweat gleaming on the chef's brow.
Words, like ingredients for the mix,
The poem is almost ready, one more stanza for kicks.
Then that special something is added,
What makes every poem unique.
[Insert your own lines of ballad]
The poetry stew is ready now, let's eat.
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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