A Place for My Poems to Live

Just in case I have readers left here...

2007-04-15T07:18:00.000-07:00

I'm now blogging on wordpress. You can read my blog
here or my poetry here.

xoxo

4 way stop

2007-02-28T00:06:00.000-08:00

I can only hope
that the way to freedom
and the
breaking
of
bad
habits
is through careful consideration
of
each
and
every
decision,
great or small,
and overanalysis
of
conversations,
but as I type this
I'm thinking
that
I
could
be
wrong.

random

2007-02-17T23:29:00.000-08:00

Funny to think about
how life changes direction
with
one ring
one click
one glance.
attempting a return
to pre-ring
pre-click
pre-glance
is futile.
Makes you wonder
who is really
in charge of
ringclickglanceness.

lecture.

2007-02-03T20:24:00.000-08:00

yeah face the black
just look at it
for what it is
your
weakness,
failings,
continuous blunders
(no that implies an accident.)
in your inactivity
you perpetuate all the things
you hate about yourself
yet still you sit
and write about it
instead.
don't you know
that you can make yourself happy
you know.
you've always known.
you had an excuse before
(not the real reason
but the excuse)
so now
what will you use?
for once
beth
stop trying
and
do.
because really
if you know what to do to be happy
but choose not to
then
You
are what you've been fighting against
all along.

brain ejection

2007-02-01T14:56:00.000-08:00

And the
cage
protects you.
Don't forget.
Who needs
a
broken heart?
Not you.
Don't forget.
You are fine
on your own,
even if life is better
with him.
Don't forget.
Remember,
to borrow
from someone utterly unborrowable,
that who you are
is not about who you are with.
baby.

Not yet

2007-02-01T14:44:00.000-08:00

I could make
forever
proclamations...
but
I close my lips,
fearing their escape
and the consequences
undetermined.
Thoughts of
floating bubbles
eventually bursting
keep words
caged
inside.

Lie.

2006-09-28T15:33:00.000-07:00

you are a very selfish person and a bad mother

plus

I still care about you

e q u a l s

zero

9/27/06

2006-09-28T13:17:00.000-07:00

"I'm tired
of being nice to you,"
you hiss,
venom dripping
from your lips
and eyes
hurling
poison darts.
Ugly and vile,
yet somehow
preferable
to the
niceness
you speak of.

happy

2006-09-01T13:30:00.000-07:00

rereading my life.
snippets of
love
hate
sorrow
and joy.
seeing that
no matter what,
it goes on.
and
I'm
not
complaining.

Hai-Clue

2006-07-21T11:28:00.000-07:00

there were no rope burns
so miss white is going free
but where is the pipe?

Literati with Johnny

2006-07-20T21:38:00.000-07:00

as i watch you
ponder over letters
i wonder
do you
spell out my name
as i spell yours.
does each word
relate to me
as mine
do you.

she
foibles.
at war
with finery.

word upon word
encased in emotion.

and
then
you spell
nub.

Saturday night

2006-07-19T21:46:00.000-07:00

2 feet away.
too far
and I'm not sure
why.
The first
out of
365
multiplied.
Distance
should
have been
easy.
Technically.
But no.
So.
on the floor.
With
one
eye
open.

It did.

2006-07-19T09:11:00.000-07:00

Meg Ryan just got hit by a truck
and I'll be crying myself to sleep again.
Why is it
that one minute I can see happiness stretched out
but the next I see it wiped away?
I want your brain, your way of seeing this.
But all I have is my own.
I look at you and I see joy, and laughter, and love.
And I want that forever... the opportunity to discover you
and be discovered.
If I could only look in your eyes, there would be no difficulty.
But all the other eyes looking our way,
how much pain will I cause them?
And will the guilt I feel
ruin me for you?

09/27/05

2006-07-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

what do you do
when your mind is filled with grandiose ideas of love and forever
and you want desperately to hang onto them
but there's that little space deep inside
that keeps telling you,
that in the end,
your heart will be in pieces,
on the floor
of your emptier-than-before soul?

A couple new ones...

2006-07-03T23:11:00.000-07:00

and it's coming.
the day of
reckoning,
I reckon.
decisions made
choices pondered
too long.
tired of thinking,
let's just
not.

my feet
barely touching now
and I press hard
so as not
to know
the pain of falling
down again.
somehow
waiting
for the ground to pull
out,
forcing
me
to
fly.

Me? Goth?

2005-04-20T15:10:00.000-07:00

Ok, this definitely isn't one of my finer writing moments, but since I'm keeping all my writing in one place, I figure this has to be included. I just entered it into a Jane Magazine contest to win a collection of best selling books. The topic had to be "Why I need a little more Goth in my Life," and it couldn't be more than 5 sentences long. Here goes...

Ahh, Goth, the land of ebony eyeliner and heavy combat boots, not to mention the "I Dare You" mentality. Why do I need a little more, you ask? Black eyeliner hides bags brought on by spending the night next to a puking six-year-old, heavy boots make 'putting your foot down' much more intimidating, and ohh that mentality works wonders on eight-year-old boys who stoop to pick on those who are smaller and more innocent than they. Mothers everywhere could use a little more Goth, I say. Our children may thank us for it.

Untitled

2005-04-19T20:07:00.000-07:00

Eyes galore,
ever waiting
for one slip,
one offense,
one appearance of evil.
Watching for the moment
to judge,
convict,
roll skyward
and declare
foreknowledge.
Unaware of the trespasses
being flaunted
under guise of
protection and piety.
Having read and forgotten
that
mercy
triumphs
over judgment.

Thinking of a Title

2005-04-01T22:31:00.000-08:00

And I've found, really,
that the lack of words speaks volumes,
the absence of an embrace,
a smile given
with just enough hesitation.
The casual glances away
in the middle
of what one of us considered
an emotional breakthrough.
All that it takes to create
enough self doubt,
bitterness,
and eventually,
the strength
not
to
care.

Sincerely

2005-03-27T22:42:00.000-08:00

And some don't understand
that friendship can
be far more intimate,
enduring,
dependable,
sure,
than any sort of feigned romantic notion,
filled with
expectations and flutterings
that are sure to disappoint
and fade
in time.

Righteous Indignation

2005-03-27T22:41:00.000-08:00

Smiling, attentive faces
all focused forward.
I think.
It seems.
Or are they contemplating
past wrongs,
hidden burdens,
pain unrevealed,
buried within their
hardened skulls
and caged hearts?

Untitled

2005-03-27T22:39:00.000-08:00

And one has to wonder
if the intention was this.
Is it made for our happiness,
or only for his?
Oh the two are supposed
to be entwined, no doubt,
where noone is sad,
and noone wants out.
The blame can be thrown,
and rightfully so,
but once it's been caught,
one may still want to go.
So is this the norm?
The way things should be done?
with one conscience clear...
and one
ready
to
run?

Of Course I'm Happy for You

2005-03-27T22:33:00.000-08:00

I thought of you
saying I Do
today.
Looking at her
the way I dreamed
you would
someday
take me in.
Your hands,
fitting together,
the way we
not so long ago
imagined ours.
And I cried,
knowing that what
was once
reserved for me,
has been
given,
gladly,
to another.

What he said

2005-03-27T22:32:00.000-08:00

He said I do, but he didn't,
thinking it was too much honor,
not enough obey.
The thought of forever haunts
him, locking him
into a Stepford-husband world
of what should be.

The Point Where One Becomes Jaded

2005-03-27T22:27:00.000-08:00

You turned the page,
and pinned the butterflies neatly
into your book of memories,
leaving me here with a
head full of verse,
and an
empty net.

Nevermind

2005-03-27T22:25:00.000-08:00

As you talk
of signs,
and omens,
and next life reunions,
your speech slows,
and,
as smoothly as they emerged,
the words retreat,
as you inhale,
to
take
them
all
back.

You Know

2005-03-27T22:23:00.000-08:00

You said,
Write one for me.
I couldn't.
A sign,
that what couldn't be written,
shouldn't be lived?
An indication,
that dedications
require truth?
The discovery
that perhaps
you are not my home?
I say,
as I inadvertently do your bidding,
Realize...
this is the last.

The Flood

2005-03-27T22:20:00.000-08:00

Moment by moment
You race through my head.
Little by little
you seep in,
keeping me on a permanent high,
wondering when I will see you,
touch you,
hold you.
Will you be a dream realized,
or a fantasy unfulfilled?
Only time will tell,
and until then,
Moment by moment
I let you race.
Little by little,
I let you in.

Warning

2005-03-27T22:16:00.000-08:00

dirt with pretty packaging
filth tied with a bow
don't you dare unwrap me
this present's just for show

place me high upon a shelf
look at me from afar
disappointment looms for those
who think that I'm a star

leave this gift upon its pedestal
display it there with pride
just don't allow yourself a glimpse
to see what is inside

for bows can be deceiving
and packages can lie
whats within will ruin you
so turn and say good bye

To Abby, and her funny pencil

2005-03-27T22:12:00.000-08:00

My pencil is smiling up at me,
revealing thoughts held captive,
turning somersaults as he changes his mind,
ridding himself of perceived error.

He is alternately sharp and dull,
relying on inspiration for work,
and praying for deployment.
Laying in wait while images and syntax race,
yet quickly responding when called to serve.

His stature decreases as life continues,
the honing of his talents and
the consequence of mistakes
contributing.

Retirement comes only with
the disappearance of creativity,
the absence of invention,
yet still he smiles.

Unwanted Guest

2005-03-27T22:06:00.000-08:00

The moments pass
and she wonders,
one more step,
one more smile,
how life would be altered.
The thoughts surround her,
encompass her,
not letting her escape.
The questions form,
dissipate,
and form again.
She pushes them away,
begging not to hear them.
Not wanting to entertain,
invite,
welcome the wonder,
she closes the door,
locks it,
and waits...
for wonder to knock .

Story of My Life

2005-03-27T22:00:00.000-08:00

Give her nothing and
she runs with it;
give her the world and
she freezes, afraid.
Give her a moment,
she frantically fills it;
give her a day,
and she slumbers.
She knows not what she wants,
but aware she can't have it,
she slumbers, and freezes, and runs.

My Daughters on a Sunny Day

2005-03-27T21:54:00.000-08:00

Purple umbrellas prancing,
bobbing up and down,
gesturing to each other,
moving in unison along the hedge.

High-pitched noises ripple,
emanate from below,
beckoning the other to follow,
each one making the same plea.

They part, if only
for a moment,
until a discovery brings the two,
like magnets, back together.

The canopies continue their pursuit,
seeing none but the other,
emerging from their universe
only with a gentle call inside.