I wrote this down

I thought of you,
And in thinking,
I scribbled out this note
I poured my heart and soul out,
It was deep and rich and true,
And I rushed to you to hear it
But first I gave it one read-through
And I realized that my rhyming
Is really very sad
My words were weak and trembling
My handwriting is bad
You see that wretched rhythm
That I can't seem to keep up?
I wrote this down for you
Thank heavens I tore it up!

Egomaniac? I'd go for just misunderstood.

You know, I wrote an essay
the persuasive kind, you know.
My mother wept with joy
as she read my blessed lines
It was published in the paper
I had book deals on the line
I was interviewed on Oprah
It was awarded Pultizer Prize
So I proudly came on monday
To turn this sucker in
I thought I saw the teacher smile
As i placed it in her bin
This paper was pure genius
As anyone could tell
You know, it saved the life
Of a man sentenced in jail.
The teacher passed our papers back
She was looking worn and pale
This teacher was quite stupid,
She mangaged me to fail!

Sometime

I wonder where we store the time
That we give away with ease
When we plan with friends we never see
Or give the promise we never keep.
I've given you a sometime
Like I've given all the rest.
It's just one word you can't explain
On word you just can't test.
Sometime I'll tell you what I mean
When I give you those old lines
I use it for the things I fear
For the things I cannot face,
I hate to tell you but
Sometimes,
I wish Sometime
was never here.

Did the Wind Call

Did the wind call,

Did it come tapping on your window,

Or did it use the door.

Is the china in the cupboard safe

Or did the wind topple every glass,

And swell inside the dining room

And crash each single chair.

Does it cage itself inside the trees,

And make the branches shake,

To kiss each and every leaf.

Does it rush and roll across the lawn,

Does it ebb away the sky.

Did the wind call?

And did it wipe away,

The places that we used to know,

The places that we loved.

I Hold The Ugly Flower

I hold the flower in my palm

it kisses, white lips, to my skin

It winds between my fingers,

growing sturdy, growing thin.

I hold the live thing in my hand

as if it might just float away.

It nibbles on my toes and chin

and drinks in rain, and sleeps in day.

The insects that do pocket deep

between my aging tongue and cheek

Will scuttle over and beneath

But leave the flower be.

My agless eye will roam the vine

without its blooming bold,

The blood that painted first my cheeks

has left the flower's hold

And gladly I will hold my pet

until I come to see

I hold the ugly flower's hand

that's planted over me.

Unforgotten

She unfolded the letter once, every year, but still its creases were nearly worn apart, as if she had folded and refolded it every day, every minute, the way she did in her head. She re-applied her lipstick for the thousandth time, and dabbed it off for the thousandth time; carefully running the soft white linen around the corners of her mouth, leaving red sighs on the smooth hankerchief. She spread the letter out across her lap, and her ironed skirts rustled. His picture fluttered to the floor, resting beside her shiny black heels. Her thumb had erased any recognizable features, and age had faded the detailed lines. She quickly tucked it into her white starched glove, next to her wrist, as the door squeaked open and a customer came in. She smoothed her fading blond hair back into its perfect placement. A bird sang out in the street and a woman and a man walked in, wrapped in each other's arms. The woman soon left his side to wander the shop, bringing a hint of clean air to the stuffy sweet flowers. He stood behind the woman as she smirked and fingered the roses and gardenias, and scrutinized every leaf on an orchid. She finally chose a small tree plant, scrawny and without marking, proudly planting its grubby pot on her spotless counters. She could see the woman thinking of how she would plant the tree in the center of her garden, and sit with the man while he idly stroked her hair and she sketched their little, ugly tree-child. And she would hang it in her studio up in the woods, by the lake, where she would paint in overalls and a farmer's tan. The man paid for the woman's free willed plant; handing her crisp clean bills across the counter. His smile was warm and his eyes were ice blue; a glimpse of deep brown hair creeped under aging gray. The bird outside stuttered to a stop. But the woman lugged the dirt crusted plant off the counter, leaving dry crumbs of dirt, and heaved it back to the car. The man left with her and the store was quiet. She pulled out the letter once more, and slipped his picture out of her glove. Her eyes roamed over the unrecognizable face. She still dreamed of seeing him in front of her, she still unfolded the letter every year, and saved the forgotten face.

I would show you a broken piece, if you promised me you'd cry.

I would show you a broken piece,

If you promised me you'd cry.
If you promised you would care ,

If you would finally ask me why.

I would show you all the bones,

That I broke and didn't tell.

I would show you all the scrapes,

That I taped and glued as well.

but if you'd rather not,

I think understand.

To know someone takes awful long,

And you've barely shook my hand.

So I think we're out of time,

and I think you have to go.

I'll leave the lights on for you,

But I won't expect you home.

You don't really have to care,

and I hate to see you try,

I would show you a broken piece,

If you promised me you'd cry.

Perhaps I Should Say

Perhaps I should say
all the things that filled my day:
I won a million dollars.
I got married;
had a child.
I was bitten by a dog;
who had rabies,
but no fleas.
I discovered I'm a twin
and guess what,
we're siamese.
My best friend died.
My hamster called;
You know the one we buried
in the yard.
My shrink prescribed me
With some meds.
forgot to take them,
grew two heads.
Perhaps I should say,
But I really don't know how.
you ask me how I'm doing
I guess "I'm fine" will work for now.

A Tree That Doesn't Hide

a tree that doesn't hide

is a tree that's stretched out wide.

like a hand over the heart
with the fingers spread apart.

thin branches overhead

shelter living and the dead.

and with arms held hideless wide

we see our hearts pulsing inside.