given the cold a new name

they say, "if you've seen one mountain road,
then you've seen them all.",
but my capturing eye has seen many
which differ from the last.

and if my eye be a camera,
i'd lend you each photo taken
from the enclosed view
of an elongated car window.

you see, i'm a dreamer of many things,
but no muse or movie
could've placed in my storehouse-memory
the unexpected views seen this day.

and reader, whoever you may be,
it's been a cold few days in the carolinas,
but past and beyond nature's biting breath of ice,
the still-life pictorial documents
of mosaic leaves, mountain tops, disorganized trees,
ivory snow, and transparent ponds and creeks,
have been given a new name
by me...

...

and i've thought of you, my dear,
each night that transposed into day.
your figure has left me impatient to return home.
it collides, and it dances
yearningly in my chest.

i've drawn quick sketches of that precious face
which i wish to see,
even as i pen this descriptive piece.
and i've given october a new name;
a sweet sounding name, which desires your attendance
to be with me.

woman at the fountain

she lingered by the fountain,
with baskets woven by a careful finger,
committing their depths to 24 loaves of bread
(6 loaves in every 4 baskets),
all laid atop assorted rose petals and cotton.
she wore upon her, a thinly stitched sundress,
laced in a hue of sallow cream,
which careened as she made
gleeful ambles around the fountain.
being a dress of slight transparency,
her skin's tan coloration was nearly published
through her outer garment.
naked she'd be without it,
but it provided an elegant touch to her morning visit.
fashioning a tranquility for her tangible senses,
its breath-like fabric danced against her body,
as her chestnut-brown hair
swept across her shoulders in subtle strides.
a segment from a climbing vine
had been braided with long grass,
and she bore it around her slender left wrist boldly.
she claimed her name to be "felicity",
and she stated that she was here to
"spread joy, with some form of song and feast."
children and adults alike gathered around her,
as music gaily resounded from their mouths.
bread and handmade jewelry was handed out,
as smiles bloomed on familiar faces.
a ruddy complected boy remained by a maple,
distancing himself from the gathering just paces away.
being an owner of copper-red locks and a soft smile,
he remembered the woman at the fountain well.
but he gathered the derivative by supposing
one more sojourn would be alright.

and his name is "loneliness"

there is a creature,
perhaps which is of man
of perhaps which is not.
little prefer to look upon the appearance it bestows,
but many spend time in its presense-
like a curious boy amining around a haunted house.
its eyes are of ice, filmed with old age, and cataracts,
but seeing more than a youthful eye
will ever.

this simian-like inhabitant dresses in no clothing,
but its figure is blank and lacking indescancy.
a gray pigment endures in his skin,
secreting the sentiment which he is named after.
joints are absent, but a skeleton is not,
limitting the various movements it might endeavor.
transitions are fragile, and often involving friction,
but it promenades and promotes dialogue
in perfect manner when spent with,
while releasing the smile of a seraph.

oh how many have paid a visit,
but always denying the appointments made.
and how many have said, "i know not of this creature.",
but his name is jotted on nearly every loose note owned?
(even a few i tossed about my chamber as well...)

he taps at the glass when all others are idle,
humming their favorite songs in tunes so bitterly-sweet
that they feel compelled to rise from their beds
and hum along in some disenchanted friendship...

and his name is "loneliness",
and his attendance is often,
but we deny every one.
we
deny
them
all.

homework

homework is boring
homework is lame.
i'd rather be in bed snoring
than awake and in pain.

i arise in the 8 o'clock hour
with my hair messy and parted,
and stumble on my way to the shower,
then off to get homework started.

i sit at a table for what seems like days,
creating smoke from my pen like a purple haze.
my mind grows tired and begins to evade,
but my dad just reminds me of the progress i've made.

after undefined hours of work
i finally get around to a finish for the day.
i get on the computer with a silly smirk,
now knowing that on Friday, i'll be okay.

perforate the common supposition

white linen drapes wrought iron bars in the lush, palatial setting.
a golden linear ray steals a spot in the free, open air.
satin curtains hang over the cage of a bright eyed queen's bed,
which gently sways in the steady and constant zephyr
making frequent visits from a window and balcony.
a desk carved and furnished in mystery,
crafted with mastership by knowing hands,
declares its resting place in the left wing of the majestic room.
a wooden chair nonchalantly hides behind the desk
who's occupancy is this 'bright eyed queen' herself.
(her concentration is firmly held within the pen.)
a crow quill scratches beautiful cursive in direct, perfect lines
across each filled page, in exquisite mannerisms,
proposing her position in the heart of poesy.
flowing stanzas of descriptive, thought-out ideals
become inscribed on the parchments of muse.
spoken of truth i am, but the mind of a poet
is a land of enigmatic concept, rich with acute terminology.
each poetic mind contains a different impulse.
but listen here: this 'bright eyed' queen is only a metaphor
or perhaps maybe a facsimile of those exuberant thinkers
whose sentiments course through ink.
their audibles transferred to written word
and erect the foundation of prose.
the proficiencies of the penman
will perforate the common supposition.

in reticent suspension

in stood in reticent suspension,
with a timid smile in its proper place;
her confounding elegance relumed sentiments
that for days had been exiled in thought
(at least, this is what i like to tell myself;
that they had been nothing but exiled).
her aesthetic, meticulous perception
was set on anything but myself,
as she blissfully took the dark-olive hand of her lover.
their leisurely lingering rendered in my mind
to what seemed to be hours
(or perhaps, a bit more).

discretely, i noted, her contagious mannerisms,
comparing them to that of our retrospection;
she was no more diverse with him
than she ultimately was with me.
i saw the two kiss as my disregarded lips ran dry
and then briefly stole a glance at the iridic-emeralds,
then so easily recalled the glistening in her eye;
and yes, her forgiving smile
during our recumbent positions, as well.
i tipped my hat to the passing by of a nostalgic past,
but a responsive gesture failed to disclose,
as she and her whimsical life ambled on by...

only just ambling on by... and on and on and on, etc.

that shy, timid smile
which made its place in the mold of expression
had found itself to become something of a morose smirk.
i wished to derive the distanced ecstasy
to take place my lethargic (rather pathetic) condition.
handing myself the hope of another (or two)
as a pitiful means of eluding love;
but her angelic structure
only gave to the complication of my logic,
and attempts at some form of maturity.

she had... (and maybe still has; i'm not quite sure. see, my mindsets have been a bit blurred and confused lately)... me in reticent suspension.