wonderwherewonderwhy

Walking one day In the forest near my home, Accompanied only By the Crisp autumn air cold in my lungs, And the soft rasp of the dry leaves. I disturb the slowly fallen blanket of time That piled unseen, Leaf upon leaf. And in the leaves, an old foundation watches, the lonely remnant of a time long forgotten. I pause, and watch back. The forest lives there now, But once, Once this was a place, A house, a home. Who lived here? A wife, neatly mending a torn quilt, A mother, watching children grow with every rising sun, A father bent with the age of a thousand cut fields. But, their lost now, Beneath time that softly pi

Its pretty simple see, and yes, I know that sweet girl named hypocrisy. See, what I hate about slam poetry Is long lines delivered With so much conviction, That FUCK and SHIT don't convey your meaning, But you use them liberally any way. I hate cotton muffled masses of misinformed, maladjusted, and malformed misanthropes mindlessly mulling, masticating, and fornicating in a muddled and messed up Monday. Why? Why you say, because That Don't Make Sense See what I hate about slam poetry is the writer, So wrapped up in a narcissistic, pessimistic, And down right masochistic world of their own creation That the sun ejaculates

Dance girl, dance Step in perfectly rhythmic time, slowly turning, as shadows try to  mimic but only grow jealous of your grace. Pale skin gathers moonlight In a perfect silver glow Making the heavens cry Against the window pane, Simple in body, simple in nature, Forever stepping gently in a time of memories and make-believe, of what ifs and half forgotten fears Slowly turning, Ever so slightly in a crescendo of beauty, the night forgets itself for a moment, and only exists to cradle you, perfect in your innocence, and perfect in your nature.

Crisply walking In the ancient forest near my home Disturbing the slowly falling blanket Of time, piling Leaf upon leaf. But in the leaves sit rocks, And I pause. The forest lives there now, But once, Once this was a place, A house A home Who lived here? A wife? A mother? A father? They're lost now, Beneath time, piled Leaf, by leaf

Where am I…not sure…what…what happened… Though we've been neighbors and friends since preschool, like some fucking lifetime movie we "took different paths".  Basically when she blossomed into prom queen material I just got left behind somewhere.   I don't know what happened, just one day things seemed, well, darker.  I'm sitting in my backyard on the old stone wall, looking out over the brown water of the pond there.  The sky is boring and gray, with a hint of rain in the air.  The brown leaves of the forest contrast the verdant trees, forming a cathedral of life.  The wall sits just over a short hill, so it's one of the

 Ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine percent of the time, an elevator runs properly.  The counter weight falls, the pulleys move the cables, and the unwitting passengers take this miracle of technology for granted.  But that one-billionth of the time, civilization loses.  Lucky me wins that lotto from hell. So, we have the intern who is dressed just a little too slutty, a short "robust" balding man with a strangely orange complexion and who smells oddly like onions, the Domino's pizza delivery guy, and myself.  Five bucks says that intern is banging her boss.  What a bastardized cross-section of the human species.  On

Glowing dagger burning bright To make the sun appear as night So many days to reach this fight And hold that gem within my sight But hark! The foe now seeks to strike me dead, A killing blow, just missed my head Again he strikes but meets my shield, As I look into those eyes of steel. No mercy bides, within those eyes That wish to look and watch me die "Leave now and you may keep your life Stay, and you will taste my knife These must you hold as true, So now I leave the choice to you." "Perhaps you'll try and hold that true, But now I must return to you, A warning that you should hold as true. A novice am I not, my sword is s

So quiet is the night, Unseen in the summer wheat, Wrapped in velvet darkness, A pale moon shining on your skin, The light just perfect, To see the swirling cosmos Of your eyes.

So many days spent driving, Turning the wheel just slightly, Staring at the unending blacktop Stretching out forever before me. "Low water bridge" reads a sign before me,  making me wonder what IS a "low water bridge?".  Its summer, so I presume the water will be low and the bridge will be there, to ferry me across a ragging torrent.  No luck is had this day. Do I see the things I pass? No, I'm driving to quickly now, Passing by unknowing, Passing by unseeing, Speeding without thought And seeing only shadows The sun is setting on another motel room, another darkness warded off by cheap florescent lights and a blaring television.

X-ball "five second burn in three two one" roars the ref from the fifty that five seconds, the longest moment of your life. waiting, straining, tense. that cold chill that pricks your sweat drenched skin breath, caught for all eternity in your mask, the spent fuel of singular intention. time slows the air seeming to thicken like cold mud the horn blows, muscles fire, cleats digging into the soft wood chips legs pumping to reach safety, "GO GO GO" ringing in your ears, as the your marker purrs sweetly in your hands. 20 rounds and 300 feet per-second, 7 men per team, one hundred and forty rounds fired in the first second alone