She Had Ice Water Running Through Her Veins

She had ice water running through her veins,
yet her chilled heart felt enough passion
to fulfill the deepest of love stories.
Her eyes locked onto him at every glance,
yet still she said nothing. A thought of
There could not possibly be anything between us
ran through her head as she stared holes in the back of his head
and she daydreamed about days at the park with him,
lying in the grass and staring at the clouds overhead.
She knew he was somewhat of a romantic like that,
and that he was someone she probably could never have.
And so she said nothing, even though she felt everything

Little does she realize, he loved her more than she loved him.
His favorite way to pass the time was to write poetry
and she was his favorite topic.
He often wondered if she liked him at all,
and he fantasized about being with her forever,
lying in the grass at the park and watching the clouds fly by above them
but he assumed she couldn’t ever like him;
she was far too beautiful
and he was far too normal
and so he kept his mouth shut.

While she was at the park one day, she thought of him
and the fantasy that ran through her head,
and she fell into what she thought was a day dream
and she laid down on the grass
and stared at the clouds,
wishing he was next to her.

He was at the park on the same day,
writing a few love poems that he hoped
he could find the courage to give to her one day
and he saw her lying in the grass.
He saw her eyes closed, and seized the opportunity,
Whether or not she loved him, he had lost control of his mind.
He laid down in the grass next to her,
and grabbed her hand
and just stared at the clouds running across the sky,
hoping she felt the same.

She felt someone grab her hand,
and she opened her eyes and looked at him
and the ice melted in her veins
and she just smiled.

And the pair just lay there, the passion flying
through their fingertips, as they held hands
and lay in the grass at the park,
and just watched the clouds fly by overhead.

#117                                                 04-30-07

Five Years Ago

Five years ago in science class
I first heard her voice, first saw her eyes
and at first we became good friends.
She was there to help me through an attraction
to one of her friends, and she defended
me when things fell apart, and then
I realized that I felt dizzy , but only when she was around
and I thought maybe I was just sick
that maybe the butterflies in my stomach would go away.
But at that time, when I couldn’t understand
the intricate feelings and exquisite passion of love
I was falling in love with her.
At a time when I couldn’t understand
why I thought about her so much
she was becoming the object of my every desire,
and eventually, there was no escaping the passion;
it had infected my system like a virus
and for years I have longed to press my lips against hers,
to feel the warmth of her body against mine
to stare into her deep blue eyes and tell her
that it is far too late fore me to stop loving her,
that the feelings flow like blood through my body
that I could not possibly live without her near me.

Five years ago, I didn’t know why
she was on my mind all the time.
Five years ago, I didn’t comprehend
that I was falling in love with her.
Five years ago, when I fell in love with her,
I didn’t know what to expect.
Five years ago, I didn’t expect
that I’d still be in love with her today.

#116                                                        04-30-07

A Lonely Game Of Ping Pong (An Epistle Poem)

To A Lost Love,

Four months doesn’t seem like much
when I’ve been here fore four years already
but even though I still see you every day
it’s like you’d rather not allow me to exist to you
and that last ping pong game held so much indifference
that my uncontrolled heart lost touch with the fantasy.
The game was played in silence, except
when you would only announce the scores,
and it was the last time I wanted to be alone with you.
But the anger and silence written in your green eyes
told me this game wasn’t the same for you.
And I remember only the sight and the sound
of the ball hitting the table and the paddles
and I remember only hitting it like a drone
and wanting to win just to spite your hatred
and wanting to lose to make you like me a little more.
I felt like I was losing a friend, losing interest in
someone I had wanted to be with, and the feelings
faded with every bounce of the ball on the table.
And when I won the game, it wasn’t to spite anything
because just like you, I didn’t care about this anymore
I didn’t say goodbye before (although I didn’t get to)
and I sure as hell won’t say it now.
That game was the end of a friendship that didn’t end mutually.
And I wouldn’t say anything to you now,
because it wouldn’t make any difference to you,
it wouldn’t change anything that could have been.
You destroyed my hope for a relationship,
hardened my heart so it was just like yours
and just like you, I don’t care anymore.

#115                                                                 04-30-07

65 Is Too Slow

As I drive along a traffic-filled highway
the sign on the right, hurtling at my car,
reads, “SPEED LIMIT 65,” and I sigh resignedly
because, when you’ve been living life at 120 mph,
driving at 65 just doesn’t seem fast enough.

Project 51: Day 5, #114                                                           04-30-07

In The Middle of Nowhere (A Grammatical Meltdown)

There is no somewhere in the middle of nowhere
but there is an over-pronounced “whe” (or “we”)
and its still said that “we” are still just friends
even though I wish “we” were something more.

I’ve been hanging on your words
and lost in your eyes
for five years, just waiting
waiting for you to change your mind
and have a change of heart about me
because my heart refuses to beat
for anyone but you

and even if “whe” is in the middle of nowhere
“we” are still somewhere as long as I’m with you.

#113                                   04-29-07

This Cup Of Coffee

This cup of coffee feels like lead in my hands
and diluted poison on my tongue
and with the caffeine infecting my brain
the temperature of the brown liquid still rises.

Project 51: Day 4, #112                                                  04-29-07

First Waking Thoughts

The birds tweet their morning melodies outside my window
and the sunlight pours in through the opened curtains
and I stare at my white ceiling, lost in my love for you

Project 51: Day 3, #111                                      04-28-07

A War Torn Country

A ripped flag flutters in the shifting breeze
and shrapnel and small fires lie scattered everywhere

Project 51: Day 2, #110                                   04-27-07

What Revenge Feels Like

She plunged the dagger in my chest, and it’s getting harder to breathe.

Project 51: Day 1, #109                                         04-26-07

Questions For Her

Do you get it yet?
Do you understand that I can’t live without you?
Do you see that I’ve fallen too hard for this to be a passing desire?
Do you get that I can never let this passion die?
Do you realize that I can’t ever let you go?
Do you get that only you can make me truly happy?
Do you see that I would be by your side forever?
Do you understand that you mean everything to me?
Do you get it yet?

#108                                           04-24-07

This Fantasy World Of Mine

Only I can claim a pocketful of sunshine
where the grass knows no color but green
and the rushing brooks under the horizon line
reflect the purple and gold sunset in this halcyon scene

This is a place where conformity speaks no name
and I’m free to write my words of passionate fire
and do whatever I please, with not a single claim
to spark controversy in this sweet, innocent desire

This fantasy world of mine chases the desperation
from my mind, and I can finally think clearly
and publish the lines sparked by the inspiration
of the objects and desires that I hold most dearly.

And nothing here can infect my thoughts of a love
which has developed and filled my mind with elation
and every moment in these last five years is reminiscent of
how I fell in love with her without any provocation.

#107                                                   04-24-07

5th Prelude – A Dreary Look at 1920s Urban Life

–To accompany T.S. Eliot’s “Preludes”

The weary travelers cannot find solace
in these dimly-lit hotel rooms. Searching for treasure
in their previously-thought palace,
they find nothing but refusal of pleasure.

The water seeps along the cracks
of the cobblestone streets, and at midnight
a million homeless leave unseen tracks,
hopeless for a new life in depression of their plight.

The wine runs clear out of the collective decanter
as the poor suffer through sleepless nightmares
listening to the arrogance in the rich folks’ banter
and wishing they could find the palace stairs.

It’s tough to feel out of place when everyone
is the same and you can’t find any entertainment
in these silly games, and when they’re all said and done,
you’ve got nothing to show off but your little square of pavement.

These cardboard villages don’t show me much desire
but there is no desire when you have a palace of cardboard
there’s no hope existing here, none of the passionate fire
I’ve seen. But its tough to feel alive there’s nothing you can afford.

#106                                                                      04-24-07