Intermission: Giraffe

No poem today,
Instead a Giraffe,
You're Welcome.

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FYI, The cheyenne mountain zoo in Colorado Springs has an awesome herd of reticulated giraffes you can feed.

Poem 12 - Shards

Shards

Shards of broken glass

Catching the early light

Flying through the morning air

Shattering the solitude

As cars meet in fatal fury.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Today is a twofer.  I didn't really like the first piece of art I made.

Thanks for the glass brushes goes to :dev frozenstocks: 

Poem 11 - Desert Night

Desert Night

The desert sunset, darkly red

Clouds of shadowy moonlight

Hitting the starlight far above,

The symphony of desert night.

Crickets click, owls call.

Campfire burning yellow bright

As I watch the moon move on

In the symphony of desert night.

As I sit with the low fire

I begin to drift into dreams of flight

I see myself fly above

Through the symphony of desert night.

Hear me as I sing my song

Vocals of wailing might

I become the coyote running

I am the symphony of desert night.

I run, pure freedom.

A rabbit comes into sight

A howl of deep frustration.

Added to the symphony of desert night.

Slowly an owl takes form

I soar among the starry night

Wings sliding through the cool air

In the symphony of desert night.

I fling myself awake

The fire gives forth no light.

I lay down under soft down,

Drifting into the symphony of desert night.

+++++

Not sure I've every actually been camping in the desert.  You can tell from the cliches.  

Thanks to Horhew for the tree brushes 

Poem 10 - Marble Statues in the Yard

Marble Statues in the Yard

The marble statues in the yard

Sometimes dance late at night.

They possess a secret inner power,

Which lies hidden in sunlight.

I observe them from my window

From my room in the dorm.

They ignore me as I watch them

In their elemental form.

Demons and winged angels swing

Horse and gremlins fight.

They dance to a single rhythm

The cool music of the night.

Rolling, turning, moving as one

Shapes winding by on a top.

In and out, figure eights

Dancing with out a stop.

Color erupts like a kaleidoscope,

Broken fragments and form.

Purely abstract roiling

Clouds churning in a storm.

My eyes grow tired,

The spells almost complete.

But this night the dance changes, 

It takes on a ferocious heat.

The dance rages, moves ragged.

Swirling into a chaotic swarm

Something detaches from the discord

A single white carved form.

Emerging from the center

From the twisting broken core.

Different in its simplicity

A sculpted man, nothing more. 

He raises up his hands,

Begins to control the dance.

His presence quite commanding

From his fingers to his stance.

The dance gradual shifts

More beautiful than before,

Under new direction

The statues suddenly soar.

Shifting and altering quickly

Changing more and more

I feel my eyes grow heavy.

A slide softly to the door.

When I awaken in the morning

The yard is like before,

Except their is no man

Leading the sculptures off to war.

*******

With thanks to Auguste Rodin.  I have no idea what this poem means.  Maybe a night after too much pizza before bed.

Poem 9 - Abyss

Abyss

I fallen into a deep abyss,

I watch the wall stream by.

Hands reach out to help me

I don't even try.

Masked by the deep delusion

Everyone else can but me can see

The folly of simply falling,

What a nuisance reality can be.

Well I tried my best to reach you

This abyss is my reward.

I always felt, if only you just knew

It was a chance I could afford.

So this is my apology

To you, my heart, and all.

Sorry I thought you might be interested

Next time I'll know not to call.

Poem 8 - The Candle of my Heart

The Candle of my Heart

The candle of my heart burns bright

For only a few to see

Shedding a brilliant light

For all that is to be.

It lights the way through dark times

When misery blankets all,

It widens the radius of sight,

Guiding me from a fall.

I keep the candle aflame

With passion against the night

I burn with hopes and dreams

Battle darkness with their light.

I hope my candle gives you sight

Before my heart burns to ash.

I hope my light burns bright enough

For you to see the path.

I've lit a single candle.  For you.

Poem 7 - The Lifeguard

I was a lifeguard at the Craig City Pool for many years.  It was a great experience, if sometimes very boring. The worst place to be all day was in the west facing chairs at the wave pool at 5pm.  The sun struck full body and it was unbearably hot.  When I was a head guard I always let the guards who drew that rotation stand on the other side of the pool.  Besides, its not like they could see anything with the sun in their eyes anyhow.  I wrote this poem sometime during the summer after my senior year of high school.

 

The Lifeguard

Memories round a Wavepool

He stands,

Head held high

An observant eye

Watching all with benevolence.

An occasional whistle of warning,

Or at least that's what he portrays to the public eye.

Inside,

He sings silent songs to keep himself aware

Or counts the waves that pass him by,

Figuring in his head over and over

How many will pass in an hour,

A day, a season, a year.

He knows how much he gets paid for each

.0075 cents a wave,

And he knows how long it takes for each to pass,

1.33 seconds,

And it scares him.

He watches the sky

With an ever hopeful eye

Mourning the white clouds that pass by

Or the black ones that dissipate

Upon reaching the fence.

He relishes every cool breeze

And ever shadow

As a confused cloud

Wanders between earth and sun.

He watches the pool

Sickened by yet another disgusting couple

Taking full advantage of the waves

And each other.

he whistles at them to stop, 

And imagines his day off

Far, far away

When he can get away.

He listens for lightning,

And looks for thunder.

Amused silently at his silly game.

And slowly

Five o'clock rolls around

When the pool rats go home.

And then six

When the water is slapped into submission

By the lap swimmers.

Rain or sleet they show.

Then seven

Nearly empty,

Are his eyes open behind those dark glasses?

Then eight

The final whistle blows

And the sunset stains the sky.

Life slows downs and picks up.

And the lifeguard

Now sitting

Head held high

With an observant eye

Cleans and goes home,

Exhausted from doing nothing.

Poem 6 - Shrouded Friend

There were a lot of people in my high school around my age who didn't make it.  Most were in car accidents.  Two people shot themselves accidentally in the head messing around with guns.  This was a poem I wrote after a girl I worked with as a lifeguard was killed driving back from Grand Junction with her boyfriend.

Shrouded Friend

Welcome my shrouded friend,

You've been gone quite a while.

I figured that you might be at an end,

But I guess that's not your style.

We last met a few years ago,

Since then you've been a bit busy.

Life here as been nice and slow

Since you last made this town dizzy.

I'd wondered where you'd gone

And how you come and go.

Fairness demands that the young should live

But fairness isn't something you know.

Well, you've done it once again,

Claimed lives barely started.

Please don't be mad when I show you the door,

And wish that we may long be parted.

Poem 5 - What to Write

Poem 5 - What to Write

I apparent wrote a lot of poems about not knowing what to write.  Here is one.  When in doubt about what to write, just write.  Then edit edit edit.  Too bad I didn't do any of that edit stuff.  The art here was somewhat hastily done between a production meeting phone call and Robin waking up from his afternoon nap.

What to Write

"I don't know what to scribble down"

The poet started to write.

I could write about the treetops

In the sun's fading light.

I could make a cheap rhyme about storm clouds

Taking an eastern flight,

Or the deep grey blue of the ocean

When day gives way to night.

I could describe a snowfield

With flakes freshly fallen

Or a tree in summer sun light

Or Russia under Stalin.

Yet again I could write of highways

Long ribbons of tar and rock

The metallic animals that stalk them

Or about a boy who lost his sock.

I could write about a kitten

With soft whiskers and fur

Or a dog without a tail

A sad and nasty cur.

It wasn't really my point.

This wasn't what I wanted to say.

But anyhow here is a poem.

I just wanted to make your day.

(This poem took a lot of coffee stain brushes to recreate the Village Inn experience.) 

Poem 4 - Bus Trip

Bus Trip

Being tall is very hard

On bus trips to unknown places.

So many passing cars

So many unknown faces.

Like to watch the world go by

With my knees pressed to my chest

I wish bus seats were larger.

They're designed for all the rest.

Poem 3 - Adrift

Adrift

I'm Adrift amid torrent winds

Swirling around me, moving my hair

I've discovered no meaning

In a world without care.

Everyone needs a meaning

A sail to catch the breeze

To steer us in a direction

To fly across the seas.

Sometimes the ocean waves swell

And carry us afar.

Other times the winds stop

Dropping us where we are.

To find other oceans

You have to sail from shore.

Be not afraid of adventure

Life's meaning to explore.

(Who knows.  I still feel this ways sometimes.  Adrift in a strong wind.)

Poem 2 - Rain

Another one, because the art is fun.  I think I was being literal with this one.  I like rain, and always have.

Rain

The wind flies over the land

A churning, living storm.

Relentless in it's power

Seamless in its form.

Twisting, wrapping, uncontrolled

Lifting souls to new heights

Moving living lying leaves

In freedom of true flight.

I walk in a twirling storm

The clouds grow endless black.

A storm has come stongly

Blowing against my back.

Cold hard raindrops

Smack against the ground

Colder and colder it grows

The beast has broken its bound.

Hide from the fury

Take to strong cover.

Find yourself a deep hole

This storm is a mother.

Paths - Poems from my 16 year old self.

This is mostly self-gratification.  Last weekend my friend Jay and I found a couple of collections of poems written by our teenage selves.  So I thought a fun project would be to post those poems mostly unedited (I'll try to mute the most cringe-worthy moments.)  Additionally I figured I could practice my artistic skills and create an image to go along with the poem.  I hope you enjoy.

Paths

All paths have a beginning.
All Paths have an end.
Am I at the beginning,
Or am I at the end.

I walk the path of forever,
Toward a place of unknown lay.
The road behind behind me is severed,
And fog obscures my way.

I wander down the forgotten path
And dance with to be or to be,
Am I me and more than that?
Am I a soul to be free?

Forest looms beside me
Rising up to starless night
Clouds cover above me
From above there is no light.

I see no beacon and feel no pull,
Am I soulless as an owner
And ownerless as a soul?
I know only the path below me.

Shall I walk the path of tomorrow
Toward a place that could be no more?
Or walk the path of half promises
To the place with no reward

I could live in that of yesterday
Where the ghosts and shades abide.
Live where people live in used to say
Where there's nothing new to try.

I walk and walk and do not choose
The path of known fame,
The stone on this path is rotten
The forest is not tame.

But this path is comfortable
It's stone fits my kind
Many a soul has strayed
Caught in a shadows bind.

And so I walk.
This path is mine.
Without guidepost or milestone
My life will turn out fine.

All paths have a beginning.
All Paths have an end.
Am I at the beginning,
Or am I at the end.


(Okay. This poem rambles for three pages.  I've edited it down.  I guess I was pretty long winded as a 16 year old.  I blame all the coffee at Village Inn.)