Can you feel the earth moving?

No, really, stop and feel it.

Don’t you feel like you could fall into the sky?

Like very little is holding you to the grass?

You’re dizzy,

You’re dazzled,

You’re floating,

You’re a little bit sick.

There’s a pull on your sneakers,

Your fingertips stretch toward the sky.

And if he doesn’t hold your hand,

You’ll be lost to the stars forever.

 There’s a little toy dinosaurCrouching on my desk.He’s speckled and green.His upright smile remains. He wobbles if I touch him.His plastic balance Can be broken With a breath and a smile. His dumb eyes can’t see.His blind nose can’t smell.He can’t speak,Or filter air. His name is PicklesAnd he will sit in a landfillForeverWith his gaudy grin. The MADE IN CHINA label,Strapped across his belly,Will remain long after The Chinese are gone. He will continue to toppleAs others join his stateAnd people make toys Of them and their stupid smiles. But I will pass beneath,The musty weight of Earth,Becomes my bonesBecomes my Earth. But Pickles,As he wobbles on my desk,Will stay. 

I’m sorry Mom,

I broke your shoes.

Not sheets of rain,

Not a drizzled, pounding background,

But a pillow of rain.

I’m sorry Mom,

I broke your shoes.

A smothering, fluffy pressure

That blocks out companions sound,

And noises of anything but the dirt path.

I’m sorry Mom,

I broke your shoes.

A lovely rain of playful hands

That lift and twine my hair about

And baptize me with their singularity.

I’m sorry Mom

I broke your shoes.

And settled at the bottom of the pillow,

Great gaping puddles of confused color.

Just an unfathomable ankle-deep

I’m sorry Mom,

I broke your shoes.

So, as drizzled hands urge me on,

I sleepily drag my feet through the puddles,

Feeling the pull of the bottom sand on the sandal straps.

I’m sorry Mom,

I broke your shoes.

here’s the first poem we did in the class

I am chicken soup

With cinnamon and gizzards.

I am Halva

Slowly eaten with pursed lips.

I am catching butterflies.

I am fishing

With swallowed fear and squirming bait.

I am a cleaning house

With overwhelming smell and cold water.

I am catching butterflies.

I am a picture book

With riddles in the dark.

I am a mother’s voice

Emerging from the tesseract.

I am catching butterflies.

I am Russian tea

Cuddled on the sofa.

I am a monopoly board

With tumbling money castles.

I am catching butterflies.

I am a Journey to the Center of the Earth

Played with tables and blankets in the basement.

I am a Narnian

With a lion at the head and a white witch at the tail.

I am catching butterflies.

I am the library

And bargaining for more books with mother who doesn’t want so many.

I am Star Wars

Memorizing the alien names and places.

I am catching butterflies.

I am mud

And the wanted and unwanted places it gets.

I am lady bugs

Pulled from the pine trees.

I am catching butterflies.

I am grasshoppers

And then I am not.

I am bike rides

To McDonalds for ice cream.

I am catching butterflies.

I am sparkly dresses

When whatever shines is beautiful.

I am racecars

And then Barbie dolls.

I am chasing butterflies.

hey everybody!  I’ve been offline for a long time.  I’m going to start writing regularly now, and I hope that I can get some good comments.  So here’s something new.  The next few posts are going to be poetry, which is completley unlike me.  I’m not a poetry person, because it always ends up being really dark.  But during my Intro to Creative Writing class, we wrote some and I discovered that I don’t hate it.  So let’s see what you think.  Are you ready?