Poemical

Window

I can see through it to all of my friends;

but I cannot reach through it.

I tell myself it is for my own good;

but I do not believe it.

There are some things no one must know,

things I cannot say in the darkest recesses of my mind.

But still, I wonder?

What would it be like to reach out, open the window, for just an hour?

A minute? A lifetime?

But then I see how others’ windows have been broken by the bricks of life,

and I wonder if the wounds from the broken security will ever heal?

Often enough, they do not.

So I put another bar in my window

and watch the reflections of other people and their cares and worries

flash past

my window.

1996

Inside Myself

When I shut and lock my door
against a hostile world

I find myself on the outside.

When I bar the door
to keep out those who would break in

My room is bare.

Bare of comfort,
bare of color,

Bare of life.

When I get lonely,
I open the door
To an empty world.

I have sent away all the people.
2/26/98

I leave my past behind
all the stupid things I have done, I have said,
but they return to haunt me

in English papers.
3/2/98

I dream of bringing down the school in ruins
bombing the bathrooms,
leveling the lunchroom,
gunning down the gym teachers,
but I know this can never be.

The Dean controls the AA.
3/2/98

Of all the things I have lost-

I miss my mind the least,
my soul the most,
and I have given my heart to another.
3/3/98

Rocks have many uses-

Paint it with brilliant colors
lob it at someone's head
a pillow to rest your head on
when all the world is your bed.
3/3/98

Pavlov’s Students
They ring the bell
we spring from our seats in a mad rush to escape from one prison to the next
What if one day they rang the bells
but kept us within the room
Would we still leap up, only to return?
3/3/98

T ritanium
A lloy
L eader
O f
N othing

G reat
R esponsible
I ntelligent
F riendly
F erocious
I racible
N oble

I am a gateway to other worlds
strange realities flow through me
but they don’t fit through my pen
3/3/98

Of Sleep

Sometimes, when I lie upon my bed, I find myself in other places, dream-worlds that live within me. I do not get to these places often, but when I do,

*Thump* I hit my head on the bedpost.
I forget where I was, and awake to the darkened room.
3/5/98

Little box in the corner,
What could be inside?
A toy plane, a plastic truck, perhaps a book,
but no, it is empty.
3/5/98

Tests, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways!
Uh… one?

Just as you must break a bone if it has set wrong, teachers must shatter us to undo the wrong of our tender age.
3/5/98

As I struggled my way up the cliffside, I found that one of my handholds was occupied! The still shape of a gryphon is enough to set a chill through any climber's heart, but this one didn't seem to notice my presence. As I pulled myself onto the ledge, I noticed that the only movement was beneath one of the gryphon's wings, and it moved as if there was something trapped beneath. After watching the scene for a minute, I hesitantly lifted the great beast's wing, to reveal a [clutch?] of hatchlings who still bore the shells of their hatching. The other thing I found was a hideous gash which had almost torn her (for I was certain from the devotion shown) open from end to end! I brought the hatchlings to a foster center, and pondered how the situation would have come about. I surmised that the mother had been deeply wounded in a battle with something, and had lasted just long enough to be sure her children would survive her. This was a lesson in the harsh reality of the wilds that all city-dwellers should experience once.
3/9/98

(Danger! Nearby!) The wild cat gave her utmost. (Enemy in the den!) It was not enough. (PAIN!) She struggled, but in the end it was all futile. (Mother?) Or was it? (Where's mom? What is this dead thing? I'M HUNGRY!) Her children live after her, Feeding on the body of the dead invader.
3/9/98

Books are like a magnet,
they stick to my hands
they fight to stay open
they crawl toward me when I'm not looking
3/11/98 11:00 PM in bed

Cramming
My mind floods with circles, chords, and arcs
in one eye and out the other
I lean close to catch the words

zzzzzzz… learning by osmosis.
3/16/98

The world beats at my shoreline
pulling bits of mind towards the sea
but their efforts are futile
I don’t have enough mind to go around
3/17/98

Out the Window
Cramped space
rehydrated potatoes
A sky blacker than the night should be

Jumping out the window
I rush towards the earth
But the earth runs away

Like a lifeline to a land I have lost,
the arm of the Shuttle reaches out for me
But the wide empty spaces
of space
pull me away
3/23/98

Scratch, scratch, scratch
My notebook has an itch.
3/24/98

Mauve skies
like a blanket on the night
it stifles, smothers
the moon turns its face away
stars struggle to burn
the unnatural color dampens all life
4/25/98

Flung journal
Pages flutter and rip
Poetry in motion
4/27/98

The demons of this world snap at my heels
Responsibility, depression, and business
Though they struggle against each other, I keep few steps ahead
Insanity and Mirth keep pace along side me
But they are fickle allies, and weak in this world
Insanity leaves for its own goals, and Mirth can only defend
"Back to your kennels, you demon dogs! The Clock has struck twelve, and the world cannot pursue me here!"
4/30/98

Creation
The swirling mass of chaos
Everything, yet nothing, all at once
Off in the darkness, a stillness erupts
freezing the chaos into light, and sound, and life.

Destruction
The crystalline tide of order
creeps upon the last world of life
Hearts freeze in mid-beat
Leaves stop in their descent
Darkness reigns once more
5/6/98

Walking on the moon
Grenades fly above my head
But Shamblers don’t miss
5/6/98

The bleakness of the soul
flat as a plain
shallow and low
while others grow gardens and forests,
I am painted in shades of brown and grey

A wind whips across the plain
scouring the rocks into dust
in the end, all is dust.
5/18/98

The baleful eye of the teacher is on me
making sure any imagination is crushed
her hand grabs the pen
driving it along her paths, not mine
Help me, good sir, for I am lost!
5/18/98

Some people paint with broad strokes of the brush,
splashing color across the paper.
I prefer splashing the black-and-white of words
cascading across the lines.
5/20/98

If I were to abandon this world,
Where would I go? What would I do? Who would I be?
Would I long after my home?
Or would I find it there?
5/28/98

Wandering Mind
A,A,C,A
          *My mind flies free*
B,C,D,A
          *Upon the wings of thought
C,B,C,A
          *Snowball fights on mountaintops*
D,B,A,A
          *Swimming in Arizona pools*
A,C,B,A
          *Waterfalls coursing down the cliffs*
B,D,B,A
          *Flights of Fact and Fancy*
F,L,Y!
(written just after the ’98 English Final)

Flying on Others’ Wings
I sit in a steel tube, cut off from the wind around me
the ground passes by far below
Is it flying when the air does not move?

I trust in another to keep me aloft
a man who has never grasped the wind with his bare hands
he does not know the air as I do

I sit in a mighty machine
but like all machines, it cannot feel
it fights the wind, instead of using it

Flying is wonderful
But where is the wonder in effortless flight?
Planes cannot compare to living wings.
6/22/98

these walls
These sterile white walls
meeting at sharp corners
always the same, never dusty or dirtied
I wander through the endless halls, in search of someone else
but there is only me, echoing back to myself
6/25/98

The children play atop the boarded-up well
dancing on rotten boards
Sometimes one falls through, falling screaming into the void
The children tighten their circle, and go on dancing
7/5/98

If you die, who will mourn?
Sitting on the outskirts, no one knows my name
I’m not lonely, I’m just alone
watching the people go by

If you die, who will mourn?
7/17/98, not long after Bry’s death *cries*

I walk the line
on one side lies lunacy
on the other, depression
on the line is tedious sanity
but at least it goes forward
7/19/98

The mighty hurricane sends waves crashing into shore—
"What do I care? I live deep inland!"
An earthquake shakes the foundations of Ohio—
"Who do I know in Ohio?"
I meet a girl from the shore, and a woman in Ohio—
"You’ll get out all right, I always do!"
But then Bry, the steady, makes his final flight—
"I can’t deal with it! So—I won’t."
Collapsing underneath a shattered mind, I catch at the falling pieces—
"I’ll pick up the rest later."
Picking up the pieces, I find they are dirty—
"Ick, I’ll just sick them in a closet."
When they sneak out at night, I am trapped and surrounded—
"HELP!"
From New York, Canada, Texas and others, they turn out to help me,
help me clean the shattered glass
help me fit it back together
help me back to wholeness
I most fragile whole I am, but a whole that will work once more.

My deepest thanks, my friends.
10/04/98

One day, the halls were strangely empty;
full of faces, not one of them I knew.
The teachers were all unfamiliar,
yet they taught me just as well.
Now tell me, is this life?

One day, my screen was strangely empty;
full of programs, not one of them my friend.
Word and Excel were cold comfort,
with nary a person around.
Now tell me, is this life?

I cannot say, for a social life is far beyond my ken,
and the latter, beyond my reach.
10/5/98, midnight after I found that I couldn’t get on the Net at all that day. I posted it like Martin Luther’s 100 theorems on the door of the comp room.

The last time I was here was the dawn of the age of Enlightenment
But this time people all seem to ask; "hey, who turned out the lights?"
I’m back in the same place again
But the place is all that’s the same
1/5/99

Tents springing up
falling down
returning from whence they came

Boys crawling in
rolling out
inspecting

      Rips and tears
      And broken poles
      And dirty tarps
      And mismatched flys

Boy Scouts at work.
1/26/99

Feathers scrape the sky
Tail brushes against the ground
Joy in flight and ground
3/25/99 12:51 PM

Faces
Faces
Faces

talking
talking
talking

to me
at me
around me

Where?
Where?
Where?

Who?
Who?
Who?

I
can't
tell

Say
good
bye

bye

5/28/99

My Knees Hurt

Wide open spaces
Gently rolling hills
Sharply jutting mountains

Traffic-free highways
Majestic floating bridges
Clean white tunnels

Wide open spaces?
My knees hurt.
7/29/99

Age before beauty,
the old saw goes.
But what do we do with you?
You must stand and hold the door
and then precede yourself!
7/29/99

When Random and I ponder together;
Nations tremble,
           that I might think of their mistakes.
People hide,
           for I may have grown bored.
Random argues,
           because he is quite patently wrong.