St. Patty’s Day

is an abomination of mankind

is a drunken debauchery invented by Americans

is a disgrace to Irish heritage

is an event for college students to lose their dignity

is when people wear green to fit in

is when people wear orange because they don’t understand anything

is a day where Guiness and Jameson sell out

is where anyone can yell Erin Go Bragh, without knowing what it means

is when An Irish Blessing means nothing

is when an Irish Curse means a bad hangover

is a time for fish and chips and a big breakfast

is a time to act like the Irish and kill your liver slowly

isn’t even a real holiday- it is St. Patrick’s day or St. Paddy’s day

Get it right.

Clap Along

Do I not be passive aggressive?

The opposite of love is

indifference.

I’m waiting for the next big

compromise.

 

I don’t know what you want me to do.

I cant  capture you the blue side of the moon,

with its dips and concave parts,

the incredibly edible blue cheese.

The things we lost, I could bring back.

I could find them.

 

 

Without gravity to hold me down, without negativity

to strip me of my confidence. Shredding my clothing

piece by piece, until my vulnerability is revealed.

I’ll scramble and sew them back together. Stitch by

stitch, compliment by compliment, I’ll pull myself together.

 

Give me that old school love, I’m not even sure of myself.

Phoneless

If I do say so myself, I can’t answer.

I cant respond, type a snide message, or sass you back.

I’ll ignore you for hours and not feel bad.

I’ll go all night without you and not feel a thing.

I won’t feel a vibration or feel a ding.

I won’t check the time all night to see what you want.

I’ll dance with the lights and flirt for the drinks.

I’ll find someone who thinks they’re special.

I’ll come back, drunk in love, and not turn you on until morning.

Rainy day two-liners

The Eiffel tower of death

Floats in a green river of toxins

 

‘Cuz I am a champion

…..waiting for your call

 

The drone of the bass of speakers,

Dear life….

 

You know I know what you did last night

Burns before it sizzles

 

“Can I take you home with me?”

Penetrates instant coffee like hot water

 

I slept for fifteen hours after eating 4 eggs, 5 slices of bacon, and half a pizza

The wind slams me like a brick wall

 

On a stormy day

The sun never fades

 

Your compliments are more pestering than flattering

As the paint shreds off the walls

For Bob l’éponge

Now, today I would like to recognize my dearest Bob l’eponge

for often visiting me in the mornings when I make breakfast.

Your little wings propel you to the window like springs,

popping up and down with a surprisingly controlled grace.

You flutter your wings, tilt your head, and dart inside.

You aim for underneath the kitchen table,

pecking for scraps. You hop about the kitchen

from the floor to the fruit.

I love how you chirp at me with a bright fierceness.

You are one so small.

 

I want to celebrate you Bob l’eponge, for being more than

just my little bird pet. I want to thank you for

showing me that every day is a new day, one to pick and

choose what I want, and to leave

the scraps of life behind. I want to thank you

for being reckless enough to hop on

my frying pan and stare at an egg,

which you once were.

I want to thank you for always looking into my eyes,

reminding me that even the shortest

glance can come back to mind. Your small moves

demonstrate precision and grace, qualities I hope to obtain.

Thanks for popping in, I’ll see you tomorrow.

13 Ways of Looking at Living on a Mountain

1. Down, of course

2. During sunset as the pink’s and orange’s  of the sky caress the dark waves

3. When raindrops pelt against the window because the clouds have descended around your flat.

4. A non-athletic individual who becomes a hiker with great calves

5.  At night, watching the city light up like a miniature toy town

6. To know you’re always in danger of earthquakes, to not let that thought get to your head

7. A driver who speeds around curves for adventure and slams on the breaks for fear of hitting pedestrians

8. Hills, stairs, stairs, stairs, hills

9. Arising extra early because the sun seems to gleam through your window before greeting the rest of the world.

10. To appreciate lazy afternoons on the bay more than any movie marathon 2+1 has to offer

11. Birds are likely to fly into your flat and act like you are the intruder

12. Never forgetting how close humans can be to nature once you extract yourself from civilization.

13. Realizing that you live on a mountain. A very, very large mountain444

 

“Wish you were here!”

I am a postcard whore.

The four lines on the back entice me,

it is just limited space to say how I

feel and explain my adventures.

The address bar arouses me.

Any place I can be

from, I can never remain

there again.

I shall not return!

The postal code is not one I own, but

it will be one you desire to live in.

I can have everything you want and be

everywhere you want to be,

all 2 for $1.

As you stare at the luxurious beaches

and mountains you will envy me more

than Robin envies Batman. And I will smirk.

I will buy glorious postcards that say “Wish you were here!”,

even though I don’t desire that at all. I’ll send

you every postcard I can

find after I fondle with each one’s beauty.

I’ll dress it carefully with stamps you’ve never seen.

I’ll use as many as I can,

I’ll sign them with love.

Disposition

I have been annihilated by history the same way a wife gets jaded by her husband’s mistress. I’m about to explode at the atomic level G. The light of the Exit sign isn’t close enough for me to touch the handle of the door as I hear the shrill pierce of an alarm inside my head. I taste the leftover coffee on my breath and smell the confusion and smoke of others around me. I want to feel alone in this room full of people. Charles Ferrall believes my heart and soul have come to die in Cotton Hall. I want to feel like I’m with others. To have friends, to smile and laugh, to play like a child on a swing again, who needs nothing more than a slight “push”. But maybe I’m just a nerd. I should stop being an eater of chicken heads. The Exit sign still isn’t bright enough.

Writing poems in class

….is probably something I shouldn’t be doing.

But I feel rather rebellious sometimes.

 

People say I shouldn’t smoke cigarettes, or drink alcohol. They are scientifically proven to rot my body.

People say I shouldn’t eat cookies or drink coffee because I’ll over-indulge to the point where I look similar to a Pillsbury dough boy who has the jitters.

I have been told many times to switch my major, because I shouldn’t study something that is going to leave me A) unemployed or B) a children’s school teacher.

It is very possible I will be unemployed, for my writing is neither clever, nor skilled enough to make the New York Times.  Which means, it would be to my ultimate benefit to listen to this lecture. I did pay for it, after all.

But, since I am rebellious, I will write silly poems and doodle in my notes.

Maybe after, I’ll smoke a cigarette and have a beer.

Or possibly eat a cookie and grab a coffee.

Who knows?

There could be a cute guy version of a Pillsbury dough boy  with jitters.

Almost so Far Away

I miss your beautiful everything.

The curve of your smile on the right hand side,

and the way you lean your chin on my chest so you can just gaze at my eyes.

 

There is a beauty in the way you say “I love you”,

one that makes me feel as if I were closer.

 

I know this is hard, we have yet a long way to travel apart.

The only reason I will allow myself to miss every ounce of you,

is because I know that I will return.

And then, I can have your beautiful everything.