Birthday Song
Another year, another day,
Sunrise, sunset, these are times
To be left behind.

We grow old before we are young,
Like a seedling left to wilt,
Rotten from the start.

Like waves receding, memories
Fade, dim, and wash away to
Unknown points of hope.

Each passing minute reminds us
Of each moment before it;
Like crystals smashing.

We celebrate the passage of
Time with smiles and laughter, though
We dread tomorrow.

So we live in yesterday while
Knowing it will cry tears of
Tomorrow’s daybreak.

Happy birthday to us all.
Fire and lightening scorches midnight skies.
The souls of strangers look for hidden stars.
Yet with tears of dust we keep up the lies.

Pregnant with pain, deaf ears hear muffled cries.
Bound with chains, our fears are cage bars.
Fire and lightening scorches midnight skies.

The life inside us is worth all our tries,
But no life can forget the deaths of ours.
Yet with tears of dust we keep up the lies.

New morning breaks give light to all that dies,
Bodies decaying in the trunks of cars,
Fire and lightening scorches midnight skies.

Graves of mud and fruit infected with flies,
Nothing safe, nothing known, we’re all liars.
Yet with tears of dust we keep up the lies.

These are my nightmares I wake from with sighs,
I fear our future, because in our hearts,
Fire and lightening scorches midnight skies.
The souls of strangers look for hidden stars.
Not Ready
Point of entry:
            Gaping, bare, slick.

Course:
            Veins, heart, lungs, liver,
                        Cells.
 
Coma, flu, ambulance, tears,failed cocktail.
Closed casket, shamefulwhispers.
            Did you know?
            So young.
            So stupid.
            So easy these days.
 
Who knew?
            It’s always the one you never suspected.
            Always happens when you feel the safest.
 
Lesions, thrush, blood,shit.
            Embarrassed sobs alone in the ICU.
            Not ready, not ready, not ready.
            Too young,
                        Too stupid.
 
So pale.
Nothing’s left
            Skin and bones.
Fine a year ago,
And now there’s nothing.
            Not long left.
            No one will visit anymore.
                        Cries all the time.
 
































Not ready.

synapticjava: (Default)
( May. 22nd, 2006 02:42 pm)
Bartender's Song
Pouring White Russians and pink peach Cosmos,
I make the register sing happily.
Lighting cigarettes and watching them glow,
I smile and laugh; this is the place to be.
A man is weeping into his Guinness,
a woman singing with the radio.
“It’s almost two AM, time to finish.
Drink up, people, get out, you need to go!”
The lights are off, everything’s locked up tight;
green vinyl bar stools stacked on black lacquer.
My tips are counted; it was a slow night.
Will tomorrow be better? I wonder.
I grab a six-pack for the long walk home.
It’s a bartender’s fate to leave alone.
synapticjava: (no!)
( Apr. 26th, 2006 06:45 am)
Here's the short story I'm turning in today for my Creative Writing workshop. It sucks, I know, but I just started it three hours ago.

Queen Victoria )
synapticjava: (fly like a falcon xander)
( Apr. 23rd, 2006 10:48 pm)
Once again, my creative writing ASSHOLE professor strikes again. Our latest assignment is was a free-write open poem that had to have an intentional form. Then we had to have a consultation with him so he could proof it before we turn in a final copy. This is what I came up with:

Here at Home
Bombs are raining from the sky,
diving to the earth.
Wars are raging through the world,
in every nation.
Famine plagues the population
in every empire.
Clean water cannot be found
in rivers, lakes, streams.

But here at home
all is as should be:
Boys and men kill each other
for any reason.
They seek to destroy themselves
to not be destroyed.
Women, young girls starve themselves
to look too perfect.
They cry crystal tears that crack
their perfect faces.

Elsewhere things are horrible,
as we have been told.
Everywhere else things are bad;
we should feel lucky.

But here at home
all is as should be.

My commentary on this piece, and then his comments on this piece. )
.

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