This Time of Year

Between the traveling to Washington DC for the National Poetry Out Loud Competition and the make up work, I have finally found the time to post again. Everyone from Poetry Out Loud was extremely considerate, and inspired me in unimaginable ways. I thank them for that. This half-written poem was inspired by a closer friend though, and I like it so far. 

This Time of Year

At this time of year,

I am cold.

My heart slips between the lines of your pages,

and falls into the abyss of unsent love letters. 

At this time of year,

The Earth pauses in its rotation to give me a moment to think. 

And all I can think of... Is that the sky is blue.

As blue as words on a rainy day,

Or the notes flying off ivory tongues filled with heart ache.

She whispers riddles, 

And I think..... 

What would the world look like through those eyes?

At this time of year,

The wind is harsh, 

Its leaving me battle bruises,

and I'm sore,

From oblivious sentences casting spells of insignificance,

and sometimes.... 

I want those eyes to see through mine.

To  see how hypocritical love is.

Because if love is blind....

And ignorance is bliss,

And ignorance is equal to being blind,

Then love is being ignorant.

 Which is true.

But then being blind is bliss,

and with every missed first kiss I realize how untrue this really is. 

At this time of year...

I can feel my heart slipping,

Slipping,

Slipping from our worlds grasp,

And I start to find it a little bit harder to free climb up its ragged arms.

Because my hands are getting cold in your absence.

I am getting cold in your absence,

My frozen fingers are slipping from a past reality. 

Je veux te connaître.

Pourquoi ne peut-il pas être aussi facile que "Je t'aime"? 
Je veux te connaître.
Je veux connaitre comment ton cœur bat, 
comment tu déplacez ton pieds à la rythym de pluie d'été. 
Je veux pas connaitre qu'est-ce que tu crois, mais qu'est-ce que vous pouvez croire. 
Je veux te connaître.



It has been a constant barrage of bullets I've been matrix-ing lately, I've missed posting. Anyways, this is my rough French at work, hopefully its correct. Here is the actual English meaning I was trying to do titled "I want to get to know you"

Why is it never as easy as "I love you"?
I want to know you.
I want to know how your heart beats,
How you like to move your feet to the rhythm of summer rain.
I don't want to know what you think, but what you can believe.
I want to get to know you.

Why--Haiku

Why do you leave these 

Hallways unpainted with the 

Joy of old friendship.

Upcoming poem!

Here are a couple lines from a poem I am working on.

"We don't know if the choices we ultimately decide are right, or not.
That is why they are called "Decisions".
We can't pick-pocket perfect outcomes.
We have to determine whether to make THEM happy,
Or to resolve the situation to best suite yourself.
We must either solve for X or Y,
Because any line we draw will only be crossed once by the axis that your world revolves around."

Daffodils

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils. 

----William Wordsworth----

Without Hope

Bleh. Sick for a week... then school make up  for another week. Its nice to be back on here though, with a new free time as Spring Break is in now in our midst. Back to posting!

Today for poetry club, we took an assortment of random words clipped out of magazines, and turned them into short poems. Here is mine:

Without Hope

My chances speak between my spine and skin.

All southern country people know the gateway to a guesthouse under a baggage hotel,

is across short coasts...

A long need to just be with them.

There you have it, kinda odd, but I liked it :)

Thank you to Carlos

I was never very sure about performing my poetry. Ever. Until I met a man, who still doesn't know how much he affected my life. Carlos Contreras. He is poet from ABQ, and I met him at a slam once, then a workshop later on. He is awesome, and a true comedian with crowds, and his poetry is amazing to read, but even better to see and hear live. I'm sure a lot of his work will eventually make its way here. However, today I leave you with less of a performance, but an introduction to who he is, and  maybe he can influence you as he has me. Click------> Carlos and his Poetry