Public Eye

I wrote a poem

and someone asked me if it was about you,

but from you, my mind and I do roam;

we are not stuck together by invincible glue.

I reread my words

and asked myself why that question was automatic.

Was it not my own voice and experience heard?

I guess it could apply to anything really, thought based in specifics.

I rewrote my life

as I moved myself away from what was,

but that’s still a part of my past strife –

not only in glimpses and fuzz.

Why does public eye choose what gets over-blown?

Am I no longer a person on my own?

Cons of Your Pros Not Cons

Generator running

Back-up power switched on

Elevators moving

All of the pros and almost none of the cons

Just a week off to vacation and explore

Some wind and rain outside

“What’s the big deal?” you implore

We have a place to reside

But leave it anyway to go out and about

Where is the media getting its hype and clamor?

There’s always another route

Get out of town, walk around, enamor

Have you cared though to look?

More than out the window and down a few feet?

Through laughing eyes and the camera lens nook?

To the blocks shut down, evacuated, drowned and beat?

Generator running – but so are you

Back-up power switched on – but perception switched off

Elevators moving – but is your upper floor functioning true?

Pros for you and cons for them – all that’s in common: a common cough

Mentality

Mentality

You questioned mine

Contradictory

Why would I spend my time and money

Other than on myself, to wine and dine?

Mentality

Why would I choose to pay to go overseas

To give aid to those whose lives aren’t as fine?

Contradictory

You say I have a good heart and generosity

But then you say to care for my success first – that’s the bottom line

Mentality

Contradictory

Jail Cell of Memory

You were just some boy

I didn’t even know your existence

I didn’t even know your name

Then you spoke to me

A single goodbye

And you had my brain entangled

I had to know more

I had to satiate my curiosity

I didn’t know what I was getting

            myself into

            my heart into

            my emotions into

            my life into

Except that I did

I knew

you were that boy

you would have your life

you would have admirers

you would have your flaws

you would make me forget – or, rather, not care

you would break my heart

you would one day leave, be gone, be free

A final goodbye

            just as it started, it would end

            you with your singular line – your single goodbye

            and I would be caught off guard

Stunned

            into silence

            heart pierced

mind racing, wondering, curious

by need, to be satiated

without a response to sustain moment

And eventually, you have been erased

– removed, except not really

And that goodbye, that forgetting

            is the best and worst moment of my life

Because I cannot deal with all the pain and tears

            that you caused me

            that I brought upon myself in my paranoia, my silence, my presence by your presence

Glad to be away from it all,

            Yet I want to be back again

Glad to know I’ll still have you in my brain and heart

– memory

yet I want to know why can’t I free you

            from this jail cell within me

                        and why can’t this jail cell let me free?

Locking up these emotions and thoughts and memories

            is the best and the worst for me

                        it was and is the death and life of you and me

                                    and of you

and of I

Marriage of Time and Nature

Father Time:
He sees the leaves turn green and life give birth.
He stirs the leaves in the wind and tends to the house and mends the socks.
He lets the leaves die, licking at it with tongues of fire.

Mother Nature:
Is she dead?
Reach out for her?
She isn't dead.
She reaches out for him.

Father Time:
He flees from her.

Mother Nature:
She is following.

Father Time and Mother Nature:
Are they dying and at their end?
Are they continuing in their cycle?
No, they are dying in cycles
And continuing through ends.

Us:
We see
We feel
We live
We are a part of
This marriage of Time and Nature

Us:
We grow old
We leave
We say goodbye
We are no longer a part of
This marriage of Time and Nature

Three

Three. More than three.
Reckless drivers. Turning corners.
Eyes only 5000 miles away at where they are supposed to be
The cars a blur, the trees a blur, the signs a blur, the people a blur, the blurs blur

No sounds get through; they can't get through
The roaring engines of the hum of your voice
The beating music of thoughts your mind accrues
The swish of the cars' 5 wheels turning, uniformly and without much choice

Three. More than three.
Calmed bikers. Peddling straight.
Eyes as far as 5000 steps would make be.
The cars will wait, the lights will change, the signs will stay, you won't be late

Then sound envelopes you  with a screech, thud, clash, halt
Front wheel crashed and bent, bike flat on the cement
Your cheek blushing like the sun, crying leaves of red, kissing the asphalt
And I am home, wondering where you went

Minutes pass and I am admiring the sun
Hours pass and I now am admiring the moon
Days pass and I am admiring the changes in the sky
Thoughts pass and I am still wondering where you went

Under this sun, your face burns against the scrapes
Under this moon, you're walking back home
Under this sky, they drive on by
Under the impression that one, three, more than three, isn't much to give to get where they need to be

Minutes into hours into days into eternity
Until finally you show your face to me
Upon it drying blood, peeled skin, the hickey of the sidewalk's embrace
But I am admiring the smile on your face

Awareness Subpar

This is my version/interpretation of Carl Dennis' poem "The God Who Loves You."

Imagine a god who loves you
And knows your every what if
Imagine a god who knows you
And loves what could have been

Wouldn't it hurt this god to sit and watch?
As you go about your job and life and death - ignorant?
Wouldn't it hurt this god to know and see
As you choose paths subpar to your potential and possibility?

Does it haunt you not knowing
The what-ifs and what-could-have-beens?
It does haunt him knowing
The could've, should've, and would've beens

Where does he sit
But at the back of your head, nagging?
Where does he pace
But in your heart racing?

But are you aware of his existence?
And are you aware of your existence?

Lullabies and Goodbyes

What are lullabies and goodbyes

but words sung and spoken?

What are words

but thoughts outwardly spun?

Thanks to lullabies and goodbyes,

now you’re set a spinning

Thanks to lullabies and goodbyes,

now your thoughts are a whirling

When come lullabies and goodbyes

but at the very end?

At this end where they have last reply;

and to your dreams, you’re sent

Dreams where lullabies and goodbyes are not

Dreams where thoughts cannot be outwardly caught

Puppet Afire

Guilt can do the craziest things

to the puppet woodenly stern yet slack

mouth and hands and feet and tries

to be tripped and drawn on string

The puppeteer goes wild and blind

lashing wide and fast

the puppet is pulled from end to end

but the string still won’t snap

The wooden feet continue to dance

upon the coals of heat

lit afire and burning deep

while the guilt continues to keep

To keep on moving and going while falling

is to keep them entertained

to keep on smiling and dancing while bawling

is to continue on their game

Guilt can do the craziest things

lashing wide and fast

lit afire and burning deep

is to continue on their game

Monochromes and Metronomes

Wrote my first Villanelle for AP Literature. Here it is!

I see the world in monochrome.

I feel the world in devotion.

I hear the world in metronome.

One color put to use in and out of home

to keep the norm and cause no commotion.

I see the world in monochrome.

A metrical tick tick, unfree to roam

from the synchronized, fixed pulse and motion.

I hear the world in metronome.

Varying the hues, unafraid of the single color home

base; each tint, tone, and shade is a brand new notion.

I see the world in monochrome.

Staccatos and legatos played - resonating within the dome

with crescendo and diminuendo - orderly, yet filled with emotion.

I hear the world in metronome.

In one, continuous, permanent sight and sound tomb,

are variations unknown and new found depth set in motion.

And I still see the world in monochrome.

And I still hear the world in metronome.

Smile For the Camera

A snapshot perfect memory
So-called candid imagery
Stopped mid-way, poses set
Sometimes real, sometimes fake
But always forever kept
In times, for the camera, we make

Never-ending Calendar

When the heart stops beating
And the mouth stops breathing
When the soul and body part
Forget them not, not the end but a start

Can never truly die when remembered
Lived life worthy of being honored
Carried on infinitely
By word of mouth and memory

Reveled and embraced by those that have been touched
When then most needed a friend, a companion, a crutch
Grateful still and love past the brim
Knows no limits, every look, plan, and whim

A guardian sent to generations unofficially met
Fireflies from the sun, uncapturable by any net
Sprinklers are rain falling upward as we start again
Birds chirp their laugh as we remember when

The Murmuring Crow

The murmuring crow gets little respect

And much fending off and neglect

Along with their raven brothers

Counted as bad omens and bothers

Their black shining coats found too dark

Would much prefer colorful plume or even white stark

The murmuring crow chased away - never kept -

With words, sticks, stones, and rampant steps

Met with such apprehension, disgust, and sorrow

The murmuring crow thought to tell of bad tomorrows

Found in dreams of disappointment, death, and loss

From the shadows and underworld they cross

Slaughter-greedy, dirty, and brooding they’re said to be

Even worse, they mask the skies in masses ceaselessly

Noisy and cacophonous from their perches surrounding

The murmuring crow far from murmurs in its proud cawing

The murmuring crow thrives still – but how?

Naught from a curse demons and witches endow -

The murmuring crow, mysterious, defensive, and ingenious,

Safe in a team protective, adventurous, and curious

Lion Dreamers

Lion dreamers dream lion dreams
What a mouse typically cannot find
And fears -
Scared of the possibility
But once the dreams claw free
We'll at last hear the mouse roar

We, the Pretenders

Hidden in the open Shadows only within In the light, darkness stays shrouded Posed as flesh – a mask too realistic Until morphed into truth Forgotten secrets and infinite creation

Feather of a Rainbird

Pitter patter comes the sound of the rainbird

Landing upon your porch and roof and sidewalk

Splish splash their wings taking off heard

Only to perch a few seconds away to taunt and mock

What is this contradictory creature

Untamed by any intruder?

No tangible scales, hair, or fur

These feather light touches are even falser

This bird come here and again

Migrates with the wind and breeze

Clouds are their homes at every bend

Shifting and morphing with such ease

Why do they carry such sounds of sorrow?

I cannot answer because I know not the trill

I only hear the cheery pitter patter and chilly blow

Of wind that brought them near my windowsill

Why do they come during the gloomiest of grays?

I would not be certain as I watch only their flight and descent

Accompanied with a splish splash and feathered spray

That never seems to get neither damaged nor bent

In my hand, I try to lift a gentle feather

But with me it cannot seem to stay

Out of my hand, it continues to flutter

To meet with its companions til the arrival of rays

So adaptive to the minds and ambiances

Environments, habitats, and realities it creates

Real is only what it is and becomes as it dances

And the swirls of color and lack of it baits

The symphony and silky feather touch lure

But run your hands through and it’ll keep steady path

Trickle, drip, drop, flood – always part pure

So light and trance fulfilling, yet pounding full of wrath

A feather of a rainbird like any feather

Tickles soft and lands with an unmatchable flow

But is a pound of feathers to a pound of rocks any lighter?

Time to meet your rainbird and let your pattern show

Midnight Fever

At the soft darkness outside cast a simple glance

Just one look for your mood you enhance

Still awake and busy or more like starting

Because all day you walk around sleeping

But now in the depth of the night

Where almost every soul is tucked in, out of sight

Your music turns back up from its earlier silencing

Your mind now reels and is racing

Who says the night is dead?

Who prefers the bright morning instead?

Who fears its endless jaws?

Who takes apart its beauty and finds flaws?

They are at loss because they have not lived

They expect each aspect to give, give, give

They have yet to be awakened by their own drive

They have yet to catch midnight fever or catch alive

Dread Omen

The dropping feeling in your gut

People may say it is cliché

But have you ever experienced it

Then you too will say

That horrid silence of no breath

Mixed with the dreadful emptiness

Of the stomach filled with anticipation

Sprinkled with the endless heartbeat

Racing time in reverse

Slow motion seems endless

Right on cue as if you would rehearse

But who wants this practice?

Wishing it wasn’t so familiar

Wanting to flee from this dread omen

The draw to go run, hide, die, disappear

All to avoid that look, disappointment

Anger, rage, silence, d-day

Something and everything

It shall happen either way

Let the dread omen sing

Only time will truly tell

But past and premonition foretells

Fallen into trap and spell

Stomach knotted, bottomless wells

Don’t deny it now, I’m already sold

It’s sure to come soon

The future has been told

It happened already last sun and moon

Salted Apples

A single apple, rounded and red

Bright as blood newly bled

Sliced into pieces, juicy and fresh

Soft and succulent as flesh

Too beauteous to consume

But it can’t forever loom

Why not try to defy time?

At least for a while pantomime

Create an illusion for yourself

To shelter the pain and loss in stealth

Sprinkle salt like magic, sleight of hand

Shed reality momentarily, find new land

Cheated the due process for a bit

But when will the inevitable hit?

The slices remain preserved, like new

But hours passed, it’s sat to stew

Take a bite now, as life shan’t wait

No matter mind in any state

The sweetness lingering but tainted

By the wish to keep restricted

The taste of salt now lingers along

With the intended sweet; did it belong?

Cannot tell if it was right or wrong done

But regret can’t rewind, only momentarily stun

Ultimate moment like the original one

Evades intention like a magician

Salt cheating the browning of loss

But eventually eaten or left for moss

Butterfly Wings

Go home and write

a page tonight.

And let that page come out of you-

Then, it will be true.

My name, Greek meaning butterfly

My childhood interest, butterflies

My name, simply an overlying umbrella sly

My childhood interest, spread much wider before my eyes

The allure of the butterfly wings enchanting

Its vivid colors vibrant and alluring

The complexity and simplicity so intriguing

Its frail frame and delicate grace flitting

Much like them, I’ve come to realize our selves follow

In complexity yet simplicity, vibrant yet delicate still

I grow observing the nature of nature unfold from depths and shallows

And know that I, like many more, make of myself what I will

I flutter through the crowds of people, watching, listening, and being

From all the experience, observation, emotion, and secret

Told in confidence and kept in confidence can truth and reality ring

For us to learn as I have, to learn from mistakes, but neither fret nor regret

From my position as a butterfly on the wall and amongst the fields

Of people with their gossip, drama, and troubles

Of nature with its placid differences, yet a parallel which it wields

Of silence with myself, reflecting in the serenity and anxiety that doubles

From all that I see, hear, learn, and am told, I intake

All the vivid colors spread through the skies and before my eyes

Sheltered under my sly umbrella, these are what I shall undertake

Reacting with delight, horror, expectance, and surprise

In the form of all that I do, speak, and create, I partake

Through my actions, art, and words – spoken and written

I build up, create, lose, and find myself for mine and others’ sake

Showing who, where, what, when, and how I was, am, and will have been

The butterfly wings drew me in and hold me there still

But that is only in my mentality and heart for otherwise I wander

Through my mind and body walking and searching for lives to fill

Much like the vivid black upon white butterfly wings of this page yonder