2020, first presidential debate
The ghost of a handshake
Before a slap in the face
The ghost of decorum
In that ghost of a place
Dust from the rubble
Spittle from the screams
A burst of noises
As words cross streams
It’s static to the ears
Then static in the brain
The hatred. It’s not fair
to say we complain
We cry and we scream
We hope and we pray
That we’ll leave this to
Be in a coursebook one day
Can’t look away from the screen
Despite tired eyes
Like a fire we stare
And hope no one else dies
The shake of the head
The disbelieving cry
Of the guy representing the nation
And the nation representing the guy
The white marble felt cold as I passed it through my hands. It was cool and refreshing at some point long ago, like a fresh snowfall.
My future was strewn on my desk. No, that’s not right. My past was strewn on my desk.
There was the address of a music school I had torn hastily out of a magazine. I could still remember the joy I felt when I first saw it. I remembered the way my hands shook with excitement when I ripped it out. My application never got a response.
There was my notebook, filled with songs ranging from piano sonnets to violin concertos to native folk songs, all composed by me. Composed didn’t feel like the right word. They weren’t just composed. They were crafted. Toiled over. My masterpieces. The conductor didn’t agree.
There was a letter. I imagined it wrinkled and yellowed with age, but I knew it wasn’t. I had seen and touched it enough to memorize its off-white color and post-office scent. My name had been written in calligraphy with the utmost care in the front. The contents inside weren’t nearly as delicate. It was the first response I got. My first rejection.
The white marble felt cold as I passed it through my hands. It felt like ice, stinging through my skin and deep into my bones. My hands went numb. The marble clunked to the floor and rolled under the desk.
The sun grazes the tips of the trees
Setting the sky ablaze
A sphere of white hot flames
That lick at the horizon
Puffs of smoky clouds
Haloed by a golden glow
The sky flooded with inky blots
Of yellows and reds
Until the flames die down
Giving way to a soot black sky
Speckled with starry embers
A reminder of what will come again
In your hands lie a pastry
For all the world to see
But how I wish that pastry
Instead belonged to me
Custard is silky smooth
The perfect amount of sweet
Berries are big and juicy
And cover it like a sheet
Crust is crisp, not crumbly
Baked to perfect time
This pastry is oh so perfect
I wish that it were mine
Fresh, freezing air surrounds me
Laps at my covered face
Blows under my arms and between my legs
Makes my clothing flap in the wind
Yet warmth surrounds me thanks to my
My heavy coat
My thick boots and
this feeling of adventure
My skis tear through the snow
The powder parting before them
As if the snow knows
The power I feel
I shift my weight
and bend my knees
Creating waves of white as I zigzag
Down
Hearing nothing but the skid of my skis
Seeing nothing but the snow before me
Smelling nothing but the cool, clean breeze
Feeling alive
You look up at the sky
There’s a beaming sun There’s a glowing moon
Casting golden rays Casting silver rays
That warm your cheeks That reflect in your eyes
And make you laugh And make you smile
You look up at the sky
There’s a pillow of clouds There’s a smattering of stars
Soft enough to sleep on Bright enough to mesmerize
As they lazily drift As they excitedly twinkle
And split apart into tufts And join together into patterns
You look up at the sky
There’s a pool of blue There’s an inkwell of black
Flooding the world Spilling on the world
Bringing color and light Bringing color and night
Promising joyful days Promising peaceful nights
You place your hands upon the keys
You think of music and melodies
Notes dancing, flying in the air
Like petals in the wind
Floating without care
Like grass in the ground
Swaying to the sound
Like clouds in the sky
Gently moving by
Sweeping you away
Letting you drift
Letting you fly
Sonnet in iambic pentameter
The news is full of doom and gloom today.
Tomorrow it will all be the same tale.
"It was just a big mess", they tend to say.
"it looks like we will always be a fail."
"The bad guys took all that we've got to give
And all the heroes are away for good.
It's oh so sad we live the life we live.
We'll never be as happy as we should.
"The world we see is full of hate, no love
is spread around the people that we've known.
There's no one watching us from up above.
In life, at end, we all will be alone."
But look around and happy you will see
The news is just a lie to you and me.
Written in support of my mom
Deep breath
Legs steady
Mind sharp
Words ready
Fear banished
You have courage
Time to focus
Stay encouraged
You are prepared
Ready to go
You know what to say
Just go with the flow
Don’t have doubt
Or think you should flee
You’re as strong as they come
And smart as can be
If you get scared
And your thoughts won’t sort
Know that you have me
And my endless support
The water from the sky plops to the ground
Drizzling and sprinkling with hardly a
sound
The water from the sky crashes to the ground
Boots splash in puddles with most every bound
The water from the sky drifts to the ground
Delicate flakes float and
surround
The water from the sky sloughs to the ground
Blanketing the world in one big white mound
The water from the sky falls to the
ground
In whatever form, it’s always
around