This Winter, Two People:

This winter, two people
edge upon edge
and the slight misgivings .
on the lawn the boy is rushing up the frost bitten lawn
his red button nose and pinched smile:

“what did you want from me?” he asks,
but soon all the boy remembers
is his father clutching his mother’s hand
(that’s him, that’s him, now hold it in, hold it all in)

why do all these idiotic
moronic
stupid
people
want a way out?

the world doesn’t come naturally to anyone!
when he was younger the boy lived in a strange world
full of awe at the bustle and life of it all,
in that dreamworld world where you forgot your own name
in the fancy of it all.

This winter, two people are on edge.
that delicate flower you were trying so hard to preserve
like melting snow, soon gone
and not till he takes her through the second barren dawn
will it lift her from the sleep again.

The mother will see the smiling boy
And she painfully
regretfully
remembers a lost moment.

Kissing is that act of sheer remeberance
as the two people edge upon edge
topple against the sunlight,
exposed and bare, unable to
remember anything, but trying so hard…

The boy enters the house,
his breeches worn from the wind
and the wintry weather.

Night falls on the county town,
and the homestead will slowly quiet down within the hour,
The father in his armchair, reading by firelight,
will see his son’s ruddy chapped face
in a bright white silhouette
imagining for one single guilty moment that he is his son;
and his son will catch a hopeful glimpse upward
and imagine that he is his father.

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

Advertisement

Untitled-poem written at age 11

Last night I was reading Pablo Neruda’s translated work “Extravagaria” translated by Alaister Reid (which you should really make a note to buy, if you are at all interested in poetry), and then I suddenly got in the mood to read some of my older, more random poetry. I have spent a good part of the night and early morning sifting through old binders crammed with small poem fragments, half of which really make me realize how far my poetry has come in almost three years! Then I found this one, which is frankly one of my long lost favorites. I never get tired of this poem, and I thought you might enjoy reading it. So without further adue, here is me, writing poetry, age 11.

Untitled

Trees with stemless
leaves
grow in summertime.

finding the rainbows in the sky
the love, the war
and the blood of mankind

I am the orphan
lost in time
taking in the sights

of eternity

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Monolouge-Bad Influence

I felt like writing a monologue today. Don’t ask me why.

BAD INFLUENCE

You wanna hear about it? Ok. So basically we had this big barn in the backyard when we were little and Emma would always pretend to be a chicken in there. And she would flap her arms out like an idiot and say things that chickens might say if they had brain cells. But she would scream. When we went into kindergarten it was the same torture all over again, only she wouldn’t let me speak. It was her game, she said. Eventually she just didn’t want us to be friends.  It was weird, you know, cause most of us would play in our little groups, and we didn’t, so it kind of made me feel special. But then she turned out to be some brat from the valley who had no clue on how to get by in school. She was like that all through Junior High even, I remember her getting three D’s and she didn’t even know it was a bad thing. She ended up going to Juvie or something. Wait, no, Sarah told me about that. Sorry,  that was a rumor. Anyway, I guess I’ve been used like that most of my life. And I never get any wiser after,  And then came the whole problem of relationships, which, on the whole, do make me want to gag. But Paul was different at first, you know? He loved me so much it was almost Ethereal. Well, that’s what Amy and Daisy and Leah all said about him. So that’s that one. And the rest of my girlfriends have all gone to become waitresses at some dump restaurant at I don’t even know where, and they’re just making minimum wage on the side so that they can even afford college. It’s sad, you know? My friends. I was the only one who ended up with a A in any of the classes they failed last year. No, actually, It’s pathetic. I can’t make friends with one  good person, and it’s really itching me to know why. Can you get the hell out of here?

Ruby Fly

She was only five at the time, so it seemed natural. Her feet were like turrets on old english castles.

But they had five toes each, that she knew

ruby touched the ball of her foot and squealed. It was ticklish.

the end of her toenail glistened int he sunlight

it was a bright reflection

but she couldn’t quite see her face in it.

Likewise, her toenail couldn’t see her.

The magpies on the street were all a hollder

the murder of crows darted through the unblemished sun scrapings

that were inevitably burnt into a sea gray sky.

the butterfly nest is now filled to the brim with wings

and ruby is a child again

feeling soft orange feathers flutter on her cheek.

She squints, and sees a shard of glass in the grass

she can’t see her face in it,

and the glass can’t see her.

She smiles, because life seems so funny.

She puts the shard of glass on her sill

and her mother doesn’t bother to spot

it’s invisible light shows.

her brother is a magpie

her mother is a crow

and she, a butterfly.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

My Dad’s Lawyer’s Friend’s Daughter’s Name is Muriel

My Dad’s Lawyer’s Friend’s Daughter’s Name is Muriel

She was real fancy, even down to the way she would spread Nutella onto her toast. You know, the way they do it in the commercials. I tried it ,but I think she does it better. Anyhow, she showed up last night at our house because dad’s lawyer friend was over, -I think He’s something of a millionaire-and this girl’s his daughter. I had to ask her if she went to boarding school or something fancy like that, but she just said she went to private school. And then, after dessert, my brother Frank had the nerve to say “aw, why are y’always askin’ her questions like that? Hey, look! Trudy’s got her eye on Muriel!” . And then dad had to shut him up. I don’t know what’s gotten into him teasing me like that, saying I fancy her. Doesn’t he see all the posters I got up in my room of Carry Grant?

Anyway, one time Muriel was in the living room, and the sun was going all over the couch, and she kind of looked like this delicate little angel sitting there just quiet, just thinking, and then I asked her-but I don’t know why, maybe because she was just so pretty- “Muriel, do you have a Boyfriend?”. Then she came back to life suddenly from her thinking pose, and gave me this twisted sort of grin and said “girl’s don’t get a real beux until they graduate from high school” -as If I was supposed to know. Last year I was real sweet on my Fifth grade History teacher, Mister Daniels, but then When I told my friend Beatrice about it, she went on and on about how I was going to get arrested for that, and she got me scared stiff. Well, except for I’m not scared of carry Grant, ’cause he’s just a movie star. Last week I saw him in North by northwest, but I snuck into the theater on account of the rating system or something. But I didn’t get the ending. So then I asked Muriel If she wanted a Boyfriend anyway, and her face got sad all of a sudden. She looked real wistful for a few seconds, just looking out of the window, and then she said “I guess, but my father won’t let me have one”.

I don’t know what I felt then. I guess I felt glad that my father isn’t a millionaire.

Linking Arms

My dreaming self is a better poet,

but I forget the words. Now,

I’m dreaming about

two people

eye

to

eye,

in love.

Hush,

stay there,

don’t breathe.

We have children’s things to do,

mischief to make,

houses to run in,

places to deface,

always running and running

and running

and finding the ghosts in our dreams

that just edge closer

the more that we tug at the strings.

In a dreamworld

really lovers by nine,

and we we had grown up

transfixed between kissing and playing on tomato vines.

If only we could have had another hour of this paradise

and know if it was really paradise.

now really lovers at twelve

stopping by the ice cream stand

to breathe in the salty air

of a make believe sea.

Finally twenty

you lock arms

with the sun

and the new sun

and the new sun

and the new sun

all over again:

will you be-

and always be-

mine?

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Innocente

The rich students in their infantries

crawling, wading in between trees.

Half of the crowd is digesting light bulbs

and the other half is downing helium,

coughing up lights and stray flashes

and hiccuping at a high G above G flat.

I’m currently at the edge of the forest

with my lover

touching the string of light bulbs

that hangs through the leaves

and unscrewing the sockets

feeling the sting and the burn that breathes.

I realize that

I’m not even a child!

I am the product of a small embryo

that was formerly a fistful of green wadded bills:

what else could i possibly be?

in this forest full of strings and lights and crowds

we found the unexpected windfall

of littered cash on the forest reserve street the next morning.

The rich students line up by the roadside, and

lights bleed from they’re tentatively strewn hands

to catch it.

x x x

in another place:

a lone girl on the hillside starts feeling her eyes

(I just want to soothe her like a mother with a quivering whisper

and shaking hands that reach out to hold

this beautiful pale fragility)

Do not squirm, I say,

the money was left by the roadside

(she knows, and she feels her eyes once more,

checking to see if she can still see)

She knows the greenbacks have been run over by horses

and that might mean a starting over…

well,

it’s just that-

the hill covering her house

is only a flat shape of an unreal childhood

she was soon to forget.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

A.A. Milne- a thought

How influential A.A.Milne has been-

I think what he’s done- it goes unseen!

But truth be told, in truth conveyed,

the only truth was what he said.

And I myself, have read them by,

and by so when, I was a child.

I listened to them on a tape

(which, sorrowfully, I had misplaced).

But memory, it serves me well,

of all the poems I could tell.

I’d memorized them- every one

(well not each page, but half as done).

And when I do, it makes me smile,

that when I’m sleeping all the while,

those places come to my minds eye,

lie twitching in their idle sky.

I feel the lapping waves and sand,

I feel the sixpence in my hand,

I smell the air, the salty seas,

and what a little child I’d be……

Copyright 2012 by Golden Star Poetry

Renting starvation-1932

Hello. I am a young poet and short story writer in middle school, and I am very  eager to share my vast collection of poems, stories, thoughts, and jokes. In short, I hope they will inspire you to write your own poetry, read, sip a cup of tea, or just relax. Okay, here we go!

Renting starvation-1932

the children

like the old people

they sit on rocking chairs

on the porches

Porgy stole pa’s pipe

she doesn’t light it

she pretends to light it

and it looks funny in her

mouth. She calls me Watkins

and we solve cases-

we are hungry I say how

can we play there should be

dreamers not solvers come! Porgy

what are you waiting for but she

just looks at me, her innocent eyes

asking me a question.

Copyright 2012 Golden Star Poetry