Saturday, October 15, 2011


*Author's note: A Shakespearean sonnet about one of my friends

In Elwyn Woods, I first did meet my friend
Who's known as Wraivyn. "Hark," she cried to me
That night, "to Blue Recluse around the bend!"
And so we drank and sights we left to see.
For years we've laughed and fought along the land.
And though we've never truly met, except
In land of fantasy, I know the hand
And laugh of Wrai', in mind I keep her kept.
I must admit, she's quite insane that girl
Who I call Wrai'. She creeps behind and yells,
"Don't jump!" and laughs and gives her hair a twirl.
At night she hides (beneath my bed she dwells).
It seems the Blue Recluse is never far
From me and her: that woman quite bizarre.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Forged in smithy of my soul

*Author's note: A college professor once said to me, after analyzing a famous James Joyce quote, "Amateur poets borrow, master poets steal." I have embraced this concept and taken lines from four authors, re-organizing, altering, and re-writing their lines into a poem. Can you identify the author's I have committed forgery from? To add to the challenge of creating a unified theme from multiple sources (which in itself was was difficult) I wrote the poem to fit 1.5'(x3) 2'(x4) 2.5'(x5) 3'(x6) in a stress-unstress rhythm.

I am life:
Live, and breath
Think, and feel,
See. So be it.
Welcome, life, I
go, the millionth
time, I go to life
and to forge within
more than soul, my hope,
poems, and dreams. To tell
and create my own
life, my conscience, my
sight. For I, being poor, have
only dreams. Oh, dreams have
I. For tis not we but
those who come, make legends
of our treading be-ing,
poems and dreams and songs and
life. And I am spelled by art.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Waking Up in Sleep Paralysis

“My god, my god, I cannot move.
My god, my god, I cannot move!
Am I dreaming, still asleep?
No, this is not just a dream.
I cannot move, I cannot move...
Body, list'n, I am your master!
Obey and move! Obey me! Move!
At least give some sign that you hear
commands I give, do move, do move!

Tremble, shake, or wiggle toes!
I'm terrified, and cannot move.
Is this a coma? Is it real?
Maybe speak, let out a sound.
I cannot force a single word,
Only groans that go unheard.
Obey and move! My body, move!
I am your master! Master orders you to move!

Did I not just hear from a friend
that this is normal, not unheard?
Wiggle pinky on left hand,
Oh, there we go, "a fool proof plan."
Now to the toes, the feet and arms:
one by one, I fight to free
myself from waking nightmare, dream.
I cannot move more than my toes;
My god, my god, I cannot move...

Try lips and tongue, form shapes in shouts
Lord, someone, please do help me out!
I'm heard! She walks in puzzled.
How absurd, she walks away! Did she not see
that I am fighting to be free?
An S.O.S. with blinking eyes,
what must by terror stricken eyes.
As she walks I try to shout
for her to help. I cannot move!
I'm terrified, I cannot move.

Relax and clasp your hands to fists.
There we go, they start to twitch.
Now to my toes, and arms and legs.
I force a word, a begged command:
Move! Move! Move!

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Best Friend

The sun hasn't risen all the way
As through the yard I walk and think
And listen to the early sound.
I hear the birds: the wrens and ravens
The dove, the quail and crow.
My best friend comes and paws at me.
What is it, Zeke? I scratch his ear,
He paws again. He seems to know
That something's wrong, I'm not alright
Not after such a restless night.
Or does he just want to be pet,
Or is he begging for a treat?
I ask him if this is the case,
He paws again, as I sit down.
He licks my face, and walks around,
Then rests his head upon my lap.
He looks at me, I have to smile.
He wags his tail.
I scratch his neck under the collar,
He woofs approval, but as the smile
dissipates, he stands back up
and rests his paw on to my arm.
What is it, Zeke? He talks again
Nudges my shoulder with his nose.
"Do you want to play? A treat?"
He rests his head back in my lap
And moans, it seems he really knows
That something's wrong, how does it show
for him to pick up on my mood?
He stands up, walks, then spins around
He sits again, he's sitting proud.
He barks and does not break the gaze,
He only smiles, and then he yawns.
He bows his head, and creeps back up.
So proud, but humble to his master
--No, to his best bud and his brother.
I smile at him, he rises up
A grinning face, he paws again.
It's nice to have this: such a friend.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Look to the Sunset

*A note from the author: This poem is actually a song I wrote for a girl I fell in love with. It originally had no lyrics; but recently I found a need to include a message for her. Lo'sev, if you ever read this, and become upset...maybe I struck a chord of truth. Look deep inside, don't just reject it. Look. Think. Really look, think, remember.

Look to the sunset, and baby you will see
That there's more to life than just what you see.
So look to the sunset, and then tell me
Why do you live. Oh, why do you live?
It seems your life is empty. Oh, won't you please
Forgive how blunt your song may seem.
I don't mean to hurt you, but I have to speak the truth.
Sometimes I wonder, how can it be
I fell in love with an empty mind.
You rise, in the mornin', 'cause that's what ya do
Oh, darlin' why do you do the things that you do?
Please stop, and breath; please stop, and breath.

Now, look to the sunset and maybe you will see
That there's more to life than just what ya see.
Did you ever figure out why I left you,
Or why I let you leave, why I didn't fight
To keep you at my side when you left that night?
It wasn't 'cause of distance, Darlin', understand
The sunset spreads across the entire land
And as long, as the same light reached both of us
I would have stayed with you, I would have fought to keep you.

But you rise up in the mornin' cuz that's what you do.
You study hard, you fight for grades cuz that's what you do.
Do you crave the knowledge, do you have a dream?
What are your plans? Oh, what are your dreams?
What is your drive and where are you goin?
Why do you do the things that you do?
The answers that I craved, you never, never knew.
Look to the sunset.

Do you know how many times I told you lies?
I'm sorry, Lo'sev, me za'uv Lo'sev.
So look to the sunset and maybe you will see
It wasn't ever distance that kept me from you.
So look to the sunset. Oh, look to the sunset.
The only point to life is for us to observe
Everything beyond the sun, everything in between.
Look to the sunset, look to the sunset.

Best Two Out of Three

So this morning you find
You've lost your own game.
You once were the lion,
What made you so tame?
There once was a time
When you were her king,
There never were fights,
No tears,
No sting.
Only her smile
Her soft golden hair,
But now you are drowning
In waves of despair.
Short moments of hope
While you gasp for dear air
Fuel desire to live.
Don't falter!
Don't give!
Defeat is surrender,
Surrender defeat!
But still you are drowning.
It's painful to see
That now you're defeated
Best two out of three.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Rembering the Past on Lawn of Weeds.

Fresh cut grass, to play upon
with brother, friends, we sang along
the summer, winter, fall and spring;
What joyous times the past did bring.
It was once tilled to plant anew;
we got in trouble, playing through
the un-grown lawn, we couldn't wait!
We simply wanted dirt to cake
our fingers, toes and face.
We set up courses, ran a race
from jungle gym, across the lawn.
Good friends and I stayed out till dawn
from sunset in the summer nights

--Oh my Lord, those summer nights.

I made sweet love to Her right here,
and there I cried a thousand tears
when love was lost; and then again
I re-found love and lost again.
But now the green is turned to gray,
with yellowed weeds, just like my past.
Mark your spot, remember Zeke?
We played with Cindy just right there.
Before you were even a pup,
I yabbed with Yabber under stars,
bright summer stars.
The memories are turning gray,
Just like the grass, dying, gray.
Tackle football, water tennis,
Throw grenades! Defend the fort!

Such was the life in adolescence,
knowing only innocence.

It does not do, to be depressed:
It only makes your life a mess,
and hard to live, to dream, to be.
But right now all I see
is dead, gray grass and dying weeds.

I guess this is just growing up.

Like the grass that's turned to gray,
the mem'ries do all fade away.
Child inside: I envy you.
What a life, with watered lawn
on hot, hot days to fall upon.
But now the green is only gray
with yellowed weeds--God, what a shame.
Do not despair, for who said life was ever fair?
As is all, the grass must die
and turn to gray
just like the mem'ries, going gray.


A note from the author: This is a poem I wrote in Alrizan, a language I've been slowly developing for a few years.

Eya'n Alrizan uler von
Lu ar em z'pas
Lu ya sa'u yar au'av z'pe'as
E y'gorme y'go arv
H'yum zom au'ordez iv'z pa'yv'ray
Auye e sa h'yum a y'ge'eu az au'eya
An ma they h'yuth'm riz an zau'el
y'grom lay'g ro riff y'grom la'yx ro z'resh
Ya thin yar meshag 'an imp'resh
Me Alrizan, pehrapz they des'v
Ya do'o'au harses min az'tal
R'auri aha'e'i anu'au li'enz reke'al
Theym'zvan they ompleyx parv
Ya y'vul au'ordez lo nov im'peresh
They Alrizan ul z'pea'as an von

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


It must be madness in my mouth
That forces incoherent shouts.
Perhaps I'm crazy; no it's re'l!
I'm not insane! My god, it's re'l.
Why does the clock refuse to move?
Why do friends not understand?
What must I do to show, to prove
I am not crazy? Look, it's re'l!
The tide is red--or, is it teal?
I am not crazy, or unmoved.
Watch the sun, your eyes expand.
Who is it, Syylus? Did you prove
You are not crazy? No I feel
This must be re'l. This must be re'l.
It's not just madness in my mouth,
My mind has gone the loony route.


And when you speak in tongue of land
To which you journ'd, new shores, new sand
I swear, Los'ev, I've heard such songs before.
But not in realms of waking spoke such words
So soft, so sweet, serene.
For in my dreams when Angel's speak, it's in your voice
And in soft tongue from distant land
That forced apart my clasping hand.

Truth Is Hidden in Scrambled Lines

The day is done; the sun is set
my daily goals, it seems, are met
it may be true
I must confess
but from the morning to my rest
my nightly rest, I made no choice
I do regret
adieu, farewell.