Awfully hot for December

It was an indecisive afternoon
already we had spent an hour
in deliberation
perhaps to give ourselves relief
from the overly dictated school day

I threw out suggestions absent-mindedly
kicking the dead grass by the curb
our dissatisfaction with each of them
seemed to satisfy us well enough

Even once I had climbed into the driver's seat
a stillness hung between us
like the one suggestion both would agree on
but neither wanted to make
to drive and drive 'til we were lost
but I pulled up to a Denny's instead.

The Missing

Into the morning,

the world that is stillness,

coldness pierces her everything.

The warmth that escapes her

billows up, and is lost to the night;

with a gulp she attempts to reclaim it,

only a burst of ice meets her sore throat.

Over the treetops framed in darkness

tiny dewdrops rest

like diamonds, the glowing frost casts light

which whispers the impending dawn.

At daybreak, the girl, the earth,
Union, holds her breath.

The last night in the nursery

I did not sleep with you last night
my body did not keep you warm
you did not have my neck to hang on to
when you were scared
my watchful gaze was nowhere
to be seen

You did not have my nose to kiss
or my hair to dry your tears
only the plain blue sheets for company
as in dreams you ventured, you sailed
forth into tomorrow

In common

In a world where no one is listening
We sit secretly cynical
We see through different lenses, you and I
not just the ones that rest on our noses
Singular observers in a swarm of teenage drama queens
always speaking, they hear nothing
Silently we watch useless words fall from their lips
mourning each one with our snideness.

So similar yet different, you and I
each day more resigned to our fate
To live in a world of so much noise
while music goes unheard, our idols misconstrued
A search for truth compells us, though we've chosen different paths
We confuse each other like we confuse ourselves
I think that's what we have in common.

Literary Liking

I wish that I could write for you,
this poem, the least that I can do.
Impress you, how I wish I could,
no words are ever any good.
You might tell me that you don't mind,
my little rhymes, but you are kind
enough it seems to overlook
that. If I were to write a book,
I'd write forever of my wonder
at your most amusing blunder,
wishing my poor hand to take
in your affection, which mistake
you must bear the consequence of,
ill-penned poems to share a shy love.

Caramel

We had breakfast together this morning
like an old married couple
we took in the coffee shop.
Scores of people we watched
pass by us and take no notice.
All around was sound and motion;
only we were still.

A businessman bumped
your shoulder with his briefcase;
we looked serenly up,
he did not look down.
Sharing a smile we brushed the leather
cares of the world off our shoulders,
and said nothing at all.

The sparrow

An unimposing thing am I
I soar all day in the blue sky
and when the day is gone and done
then I descend and home I run
home, where on the window sill I sit
and by the lamplight grey moths flit
they fly a pattern rhythm-driven
to the tones within God-given
sadness, sorrow split the night
the moths, one last ascending flight
echoes the unnerving strains
a broken heart's unspoken pains
a melody that weeps within
the sweet voice of the violin.

1st period

Leaning back
shoulder embracing the schoolbench
forehead conversing with the windowsill
hoping knowledge pours through her pores
because her eyes and ears sure are closed.
Tomorrow could be different,
but how would she know?

Falling out

An autumn day shuffles along
stirring up the leaves that pale
the well-kept lawns
with a swift wind
chilling the little sparrows who
have long since abandoned the birdbath.

Two sit on a bench
bent against the breeze
that ruffles their hair.
Neither speaks
so that, by their silence,
the day might pick up its feet.