Airplanes

[This ALWAYS happens to me: I listen to a song and the music--not the lyrics--expresses itself perfectly.]

I wish I could write music, codify it,
pin it down and bring it to life.
That's what I'm trying to do here,
I suppose--
write words that are more than words,
combine them, pile them,
layer them
and make them float.
Have you ever built an airplane?
Fusing steel until
it's heavy enough to fly.

Some lyrics buzzing in my brain

[This is a found poem. I figured I might as well make something from all the song lyrics circling my head.]

Here in this moment, like the eye of a storm
it all came clear to me--
suddenly, suddenly, I don't feel so insecure anymore.
So am I still waiting?
All the stars in the world couldn't help me
steer my way out of this kiddie pool.
Sisters, I'm not much of a poet, but a criminal.
Believe me, I'm okay. Trust me.
I'm fine.
Don't waste your time on me, you're already--
It kills me not to know this.
Don't hold me up, now.

Four years later

[This is a response to the following piece of crap poem, which I wrote in 8th grade (sorry to subject you to either of these):
A poem, with tattered wings
flying up--a bluebird sings
a buttercup is perched upon
by a spider dark as dawn
I take the knife
and slash the bars of
my paper cage--the silver stars welcome me
Come up, my daughter
to my arms
a spider's thread, the fragile strength
a rose, dead
of any length is
the string of fate, a maiden's heart
so hard with hate.
The unrest of a poet's soul,
insubstantial, undetermined goal ]


That poem, with tattered wings
Never made it through the screen--
Those mothlike words with broken things
and hopeless causes now do lie.
Now four years later I can see
The glory of the poet's truths
and noble deeds abandoned me--
Or did I see them there at all?
Searching for my destined goal
And grasping for the perfect words;
With four years gone not all is told
But still I see more clearly now.
And in the next four I'll come back
And mock my young words yet again.
What of that vision that I lack?
I'm chasing clouds towards better days.

Frustrated

[I'm taking a stab at angry poetry. I never have much luck with it.]

because I am
and I never think
I deserve to be--
but that doesn't change shit.
I could just explode
outwards
and watch everything
fly out
and away
except for that damn wall in front of me.
I wonder who put it there.