I've written a lot of poetry over the past six months....and actually in my opinion it's the best batch I've constructed. I thought I'd share them with you. I would send them out to get published, but I think I'll wait until I've graduated with a Creative Writing degree before I do that. Enjoy!

"Bitten by a Rattlesnake"
I was bitten by a rattlesnake while
holding the bluebelle flower it gaurded.
The flower's brilliant blue petals began to
swirl together in a sickening clockwise
motion. Like a whirlpool in an ocean, it pulls
my eyes down like a wayward boat. Green
careens around the edges like seaweed
as they race around the circular levels
of the aquatic vacuum. When the snake's venom
wore off, I saw the flower for
what it is. Dull, everyday, unappealing,
fit for being crushed under my merciless
pressing shoe. I threw it down on the ground
and left...only to return by the moonlight
glow and feel the painful grasp of agitated
fangs.

"Bad Sanding"
When the sanding is finished
I see the lumber shine.
It's indeed a wonderous sight
although there still are imperfections.
Like a band-aid to a bullet wound--
though the wood is far more presentable
It is still not fixed for other eyes.
I feel the fault of it is on me
Perhaps I've sanded too hard
maybe I forced these imperfections
on what the good Mother Nature could
make perfect.

"Pixie's Replacement"
My pixie sits in my pocket and
never comes to bug me
By saying one option is better than the other.
Its voice so subtle, a dog could walk by and not notice.
So soft, had it been an object it’d be a featherbed.
So calming, like a violin to the evil monsters of the movies.
My pixie and I live peacefully until one day
He calls out sick and sends Replacement.
His voice is not near as gentle, but demanding.
It has the calm sound as an out of tune orchestra
And as soft a feel as unpaved asphalt.
Pixie says “it’d be good”;
Replacement says “Do this!”
Pixie says “be strong”;
Replacement says “Stop his eyes out!”
When I tell Replacement to go
to my pocket he becomes obstinate.
He throws down his wand and
throws pixie dust all over commoners.
Seeing his mess up, he flies away instead of cleaning up.
Leaving me alone with nothing,
except for a strong yearn for Pixie.

"A Loaf"
I stand in the bread aisle
looking each loaf over
My body can’t decide
which is the best choice.
What tastes the best
is bad in the long run.
The rumors of it stopping my heart are
sweet nothings to my tongue tainted in desire.
What is best in the long run
tastes like cardboard
Though the heart is more important
The thoughts of chewing such grossness
is my tongue’s private hell.
There are kinds
I’ve never seen before
Ones that could outlast
even my body’s hunger.
Kinds that should be
thrown away, making a meal
for those less fortunate
and far more desperate.
I walk on to the next aisle
and tell myself that perhaps
I will find a good loaf
next time.

"Dirty Laundry"
My dirty laundry hangs
unsteadily on a clothesline
like carcasses of lunatics
at the front of a town;
Their bodies dried out
and chapped like raisins
dreaming of grape-like “used to be”s.
Some passing on horses
dash away from the sight
hoping to not become an example.
Others ignore them completely,
their eyes immune to the sight
like neon lights in Las Vegas.
I stand beside my garments,
hoping that someone will give
it more than simply a glance.