Compilation Poem for April 23, 2015

SPEAK FOR YOURSELF COMPILATION POEM

23 April 2015

I’m okay.

I know how to close my eyes.

I could not afford to stay,

But I made the pilgrimage

Before it became a more practical work of art,

As big as taking a second wife,

A girl in a dress of broken glass

(I kept the first for another day—

The logistics just about did me in).

Stealthily before sunrise

You tripped toward me, a tangled tease,

And crossed the wide, black street;

Wandered through the woods and meadows,

Three steps on the moon.

You sent a soft letter

Which made me think of the three degrees of glory,

Clean counters, and folded laundry,

A hundred pencils with a rubber band,

The possibility of cancer.

I put them in my car with ideational animals;

That’s where they live.

We still smell like pine needles

 (Inhale, but don’t swallow—

I inhale and my heart skips a beat).

Simply waiting for the phone to ring,

I get lost in the stars.

I listen to the cry of a lonely crow.

I know that loneliness,

What the west wind whispers

When it calls out to me late into the night,

For in my chest a tiger rages,

Moves in light, dances on air,

Slayer of souls.

What is it?

What does it mean?

My astrological sign can’t explain this one.

It’s coming people—

Be ready for it.

Looking through crystal clear glass at the end of my chain,

I see through eyes that don’t seem like mine.

There is no door from the outside.

They say dreaming is dead;

No one does it anymore.

Playing pretend is a lot more fun.

I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m asleep.

I pretend I am asleep,

And before long I really am,

Surrounded by pillars of salt and coffee.

Compiled by Colin Douglas

Compilation poem for April 16, 2015

To the Girl Who Made the Microphone Explode

Hello, down there
Searching for an individual
To fly where you can't stand
You're better than the lies they tell
I'm still me, I'm just not all there
Something old from up the river
Judging every single moment
She tries to breathe
Walking is harder than it was last week
My eyes don't have quite the same light they used to
Fumes erupt
Strangle sweet
We're withering
I don't think I can escape and I'm not sure I want to
Please don't hurt me
Let the spirits go free
Infinite fatigue
Cut the eyes of their sister
The time of earthquakes is at hand
It's called a test
Pizza has unlimited potential
Sugar is true love
Then my heart with pleasure fills and dances with the daffodils
I can't yell from a mountain...because I'm afraid of heights
I hope that it's enough
Climb that tree that seemed inconceivable
How beautiful you are
Your smile lights up your face
You will forget that you are loved
I'm the number between 0 and 2 but I'm still lost
Do you want decisions to be made for you
Sometimes you just gotta
Choose strength and shun fear
Our pictures never match
We don't belong anywhere else

Compiled by Portia Densley

Compilation Poem for April 9, 2015

The word is alive,

Clean and clear,
In the cemetery of our desires,
Moving over the ruins of cities,
Through chalky streets
In the brisk winter of our northeastern sky,
A cheap bottle of table wine
Always waking me too soon—
It takes my umbrella and jacket
When the doors and shutters give way,
Then burps loudly
In the shadowy mist,
And then chants as a fickle friend
Not to be trusted.
You will never know the sweetness on the tongue.
No one knows that you dream of me.
I am under, too far under,
But the scenery sure is nice,
Stuffed with morsels of sun and candied ginger.
It was a long journey—
I figured walking on two legs was better than four,
So I tried.
Perfect me—
My life is determined by letters and numbers.
I am addicted to stress;
That’s the way I get things done.
The hands of my clock are spinning in opposite directions.
I am a bird,
I am a paper plane,
A silent blaze,
Someone who can put a ball through a hoop.
I am two scars on my arms old.
I realize now that I have never been awake.
(If I sat long enough in silence,
The answers would come.)
Please swing low
And come to carry me home.
I want to be your favorite mistake.
I want to get sick of kissing you.
You will recognize me by the bent bridge of my nose.
If I were a mystic, there would be a metaphor here.

Compiled by Colin Douglas

Compilation Poem for April 2, 2015

1. The sisters of Cassiopeia are dancing in the arms that have always embraced them.
2. It is very easy to take more than nothing.
3. Refugees writing love poems to sheep.
4. The twinkle of your love will fly off in a billion directions.
5. Words try to strangle them while they sleep.
6. Black holes will evaporate like the Cheshire Cat.
7. What book is this that speaks of fish, snow and grass.
8. Days of endless banana pie filling.
9. Beautiful things don't ask for attention.
10. She cannot make sense of things that are made for her.
11. Being in love is one hell of a roller coaster ride.
12. I miss Sequoia.
13. O great creator being grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.
14. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Compiled by Micheal Clements