Sestina (Original Draft)

World Works

Tottering about every which way, all around

Laughing eyes and stinging cheeks spread wide in a smile. 

Squeals of excitement.

Can’t be caught.

Little hands and feet make their way up playground.

Far off worlds are hidden in the fort, stow yourself away.

Childish things, stow them away,

New stability helps to get around.

There is no limit to the playground,

Now more a smirk than a smile.

Can’t be caught.

Challenging boundaries is cause for excitement

There is a roar of excitement,

For once there really is no limit to where you can go away.

Dreams can be caught.

Everyone is gathered around,

The crowd shares an encouraging smile,

The world lays open to your beck and call, your playground.

It’s time to get off the playground.

Nothing has ever created more excitement

You can’t help the cheeky smile

If only you could just whisk her away.

Good wishes are passed around.

Your dream has been caught.

Can’t be caught.

This is some kind of cruel makeshift playground.

There is nowhere the enemy is not around.

The rush of adrenaline is the only cause for excitement.

If only you could get away,

Maybe then there would be cause again for smiles.

Blank eyes and unfeeling smile.

You’ve been caught,

It’s time to go away.

Darkness is now your playground.

The last thing to be felt is excitement.

But maybe you’ll still stick around. 

Sonnet (Original Draft)

Changed Thoughts, New Normalcy

A whirlwind of crazy, then they’re gone.

My life has become irrevocably altered,

Preconceived notions, erased, redrawn.

You’re the wrecking ball that sauntered.

I never enjoy confrontation,

You relish in being the source.

But what’s love without opposition?

Who wants a smooth sailing course? 

The warm glimmer in your eye

Never falters, but stirs others to convert.  

Suns and moons stain unperturbed sky,

Raw exposure turns to comfort.

 Challenged and changed thoughts,

You were what I sought. 

Slam Poem (Original Draft)

God’s Fundamental Impact

Bad things happen to good people,

Structure of life is quite feeble.

Some unlucky twist of fate,

Darkness will seep in, filtrate,

And still I’m told,

Onto blind faith I should hold. 

Fantastic buildings topple down,

Entire cities are left to drown.

The child with the bloated belly,

Wastes away, body shell, empty.

Lovely mother of three,

Cursed with terminal disease.   

Man in war killed,

Life forever stilled.

Tragedy strikes every waking hour,

 In every imaginable way that’s sour.

And still I’m told,

Onto blind faith I should hold.

It’s said good people do not exist …

To God mankind is an annoying syst. 

Disasters are His almighty wrath,

Paving the way to a righteous path.   

But this leaves more pressing questions,

Why must He teach with such awful lessons?

Nighttime strikes the shining day,

It sucks the airy joy away.  

Good things happen to those who don’t deserve,

And unfeeling smile I must preserve.  

To some outrageous ideas I shall submit,

For the sake of my own spirit.

Because there will come a day suffering abates,

The day we stand on the brink of pearly gates.

People Watching Poem (Original Draft)

Petition for Rebellion

Little ants scuttling around, jobs to be done,

I remember a time I was that complying.

Not a single hair out of place, so orderly,

I can’t believe they can stand it.               

Listening without question,

I wonder at who taught them that.

Where is the spontaneity?

What gives you spots instead of stripes?

No one knows how to be their own person,

Each will grow up to be identical copies.

Rules are closing in, constricting breathing,

Expectations pasted on model walls.

An awful world, a boring future,

I petition for rebellion.

                                                                    

Found Poem

Heir to the Throne

Tender sweetness, coming down.                             
Dearly departed but not forgotten.

Poison results.                                               
And we cater to                                               
The twisted devil,                                       
Abused Power. 

Corporate arrogance,                                         
Take it with you.  

The Real Marriage Chest

This is a picture of the box that the "The Marriage Chest" got its inspiration from. It is featured in the 2nd floor medieval gallery in Rochester Memorial Art Gallery. From the description of it, the chest was indeed a marriage chest, from about 15th century Germany. In German it is known as a "Minnekastchen." Click here to learn more 

Ekphrastic Poem (Revised)

The Marriage Chest

Musty boards complain under pressure of weight,                                                

The bones, long ago sucked of their marrow, creak.                                             

Years had trudged by like months of hibernation;                                            

Now the attic awakes with begrudging groans.                                                      

The room inhales with sickly moans,                                                            

Wind tears through thin walls, in lingering wisps.                                         

Then room exhales with heavy ferocity,                                                      

Beastly, warm, belligerent, prey stalked inch by inch. 

A single window, shadowed with sooty dust,                                                     

Looks out to packed cobble roads and thatched roofs                                           Of an age past. Its roof slanted, the whole room                                          

Closing in like folded paper. Oppression oozes from cracks,                                     

An out of ground coffin. This grave not one, but many.                                   

Haven to objects obscure and forgotten.                                                            

In the heart of the beast lays its prized gem,                                                          

A chest, possessor of a single treasure itself.  

Drained of goodness, honey sucked. Cracking blackened wood,                       

Missing chunks of meat. Adorned with crude depictions of the fanciful,            

Winged creatures of imagination, breathing animals of truth.                  

Partners in unity, each with an unpolished face, curled horns,                                

Bent limbs, tucked tails. Beady griffin’s eyes, grumbles of                                        

The lions. Feast upon your fruit. Top sits upon bottom, crooked                      

Tooth, like a door popped from its hinge. Molting ashy feathers,                          

Iron lock sits squarely upon front, key stuck in, unturned.         

No possession was superior, there only was the marriage chest,                    

Innocence clouded bright eyes, ignorance muddied young mind.             

Undeserving of the gifts of gods, she was but a moth caught to flame.       

Fearsomely drawn to the enigma, with prying fingers denied access.                         It was beautiful she thought, yet how she longed to peek inside.                     

From man she received murderous grimaces, forbidden as fruit atop trees.              

One night she snuck from her husband’s sleeping form,                                       

And to the box she went, diamond key in hand.                                               

Thereafter Pandora’s box lay to rot away. The only Hope                                 

Rested within, burdened by the weight of the world.