Sunday, January 25, 2009


So I wrote this little ray of sunshine on a night when I was frazzled, depressed, and generally "femininely moody". I shall not give particulars, but it was circling round in my head last night, (after a very bad day at work.) So don't worry about me, I'm fine, just feel like posting this.


Today I saw the saddest girl
the world has ever seen.
Her face, the holding place of
unwept tears, unrealized dreams.

Her eyes were pools of sorrow.
Face lined by secret fears.
Her mouth -- held closed and silent
hadn't truly smiled in years.

It made me weep to watch her,
so I slowly turned away.
Then she vanished from the mirror
until another day.


Saturday, January 24, 2009

Some of my favorite poems and poets

Siegfried Sassoon
~Glory of Women
~Suicide in the Trenches
Wilfred Owen
~Dulce et Decorum Est
~Anthem for a Doomed Youth
Lewis Caroll
~The Hunting of the Snark
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
~Charge of the Light Brigade
Amy Lowell
~Sword Blades and Poppy Seeds
Algernon Charles Swinburne
~The Garden of Proserpine
Rudyard Kipling

The Voice of the Wilderness

The voice of the wilderness
Is the wind, blowing
Reminding us of time passing by

The voice of the wilderness
Is the rain, dropping
Telling of of times that we will cry

The voice of the wilderness
Is the sun, rising
Sending us to face another day

The voice of the wilderness
Is the moon, shining
Speaking of the things which fade away

The voice of the wilderness
is the mountain, standing
Firm and unyielding in the sky

The voice of the wilderness
Is the butterfly, flittering
Wherever the breeze may chance to sigh

The voice of the wilderness
Is a small brook, rambling
Saying, "come see what's round the bend

The voice of the wilderness
Is an old oak, falling
Proof that we all must meet our end.


Monday, January 19, 2009


The lonely hour of midnight rolled
across the empty land

The deafening ring of the church bells tolled
to the click of the hour hand

Another day has gone and I
will never get it back

In bed I look to the night-time sky
encased in robes of black

Another space of calendar lined
a number scratched away

The though most pressing on my mind
I've lost another day.


Thursday, January 15, 2009

something of a complaint from freshman year.

Up and down

Up and down I often wander.
Up and down I ever go.
Up and down the stairs I journey.
Up and down and to and fro.

Up and down what does it gain me?
Not a pound I’ll merit that.
Up and down a drumming rhythm.
Meant to keep away the fat.

Up and down in quick succession.
Take the stairs and change your fate.
Up and down a short recession.
From the looming shroud of weight!

Up and down the blood is pumping.
Why must these dratted stairs I take?
Up and down but with good reason.
I take the stairs ‘cause I took the cake.

Up and down this constant climbing.
Of theses stairs in any shoes.
Up and down I must be careful.
Lest I fall and claim a bruise.

Up and down like all have told me.
It’s the student’s lot it seems.
Up and down, ‘cause we are fearful.
Of the dreaded "freshmen fifteen."

Up and down till knees are shaking.
Up and down till legs give in.
Up and down ‘cause teachers told us.
Elevators are a sin.

Up and down my fate forever.
Up and down my end will be.
Up and down till I have vanished.
A stain on the stairwell is all you see.


The Artist’s Fate

A poet heeds the muses,
Who bring tears and love and life.
Brilliant lines dance from the shadows
To the glory of the light.

We watch their words shine brightly,
To great for time to touch.
But man, unlike the poem,
Cannot withstand so much.

While the rhythms and the cadence
Stand the passing of each year,
The day dawns when the poet
Is to far gone to hear.

The painter gets his visions
From the dream gifts of the gods,
His masterpieces show the world
A heart and mind at odds.

The head cannot with conscience
See the world as being good.
But the heart sees hidden beauty
The embodiment of could.

Protected from the cares of time
The paintings in the shade,
Stay, whilst the painter crumbles
And his color gradually fades.

The maestro hears the music,
As the song for all lifes’ dance.
Mother Nature sings it to him,
As she holds him there - entranced.

The swelling of the ocean,
The rushing of the wind
Like phantoms caught forever,
From the moment they are penned

Though the music echos ever
"Listen" to the world repeating
The time will come when maestro lies
Unhearing and unheeding.

Yes, the poem lasts forever,
Lest the manuscript is lost.
And the painting rarely fades,
Lest the sun has shown his wroth.

And the music stays in memory
Lest the instruments are broke.
But the artist tastes the rhyme,
Hears the note, and feels the stroke.

The old must clear the way
So the young may come to give.
Yes, the artworks last forever,
But the artist gets to live.


Wednesday, January 14, 2009

I'm a bit morbid at times

The Dead Lay Buried Deep

The dead lay buried deep
The past now locked away

Some cry and mourn and weep
I would forget the day.

The dead were buried deep
My hopes with them were lain

The grave will always keep
It's memory of the slain.

Though they are buried deep
And can no longer rise

Their spirits soar and leap
Unbound by mortal ties.

Oh to lay buried deep
To share their fateful end

But I alone must weep
My true and faithful friend.

Soon I'll be buried deep
In my place beneath the grave

The price we pay is steep
To walk among the brave.


a calvin and hobbes poem

I made a big decision a little while ago.
I don't remember what it was,
Which prob'ly goes to show
That many times a simple choice
Can prove to be essential
Even though it often
Might appear inconsequential.

I must have been distracted
When I left my home because
Left or right I'm sure I went.
(I wonder which it was!)
Anyway, I never veered:
I walked in that direction
Utterly absorbed it seems,
In quiet introspection.

For no reason I can think of,
I've wandered far astray.
And that is how I got
To where I find myself today.


half a league half a league half a league onward. . . a wind which whips the puddles dry. . .my friend you would not tell with such high zest. . . here where the world is silent. . .he took his vorpal sword in hand. . .nothing beside remains. . .the sun was shining on the sea. . . all the kings horses and all the kings men . . . lives of great men all remind us. . .

Once uttered, the words can't be unsaid
Once thought, a thoughts un-unthinkable
The written word can't be unread
A dream, once dreamt is unsinkable

So exposed our lives are filled
With a richness incomparable,
Which in time will always yeild
A damage unrepairable.