There's nothing wrong

With an empty cup
or empty arms
or empty love
but lovers lie
I know they do
for each of mine
I once spoke to
swore and swore
and swore again
that there was nothing wrong
with me

Snowflake

Every day is a new one
in a million new days
just like it
every day is different
and in difference each is the same
regardless
of individuality
everything is the same
when the ball drops
And as the new day dawns
the snowflakes drift
lazy sorrowful sweeps from heaven
to earthly hell
in the cold that warms the hearts of some
and cools the earth over others
who never made it through the fog
the problem with being a snowflake
is the split personality
do we bring families together
with childlike joy
or rip them apart
with icy-road death
the problem with being a snowflake
is the lack of benifits
life is quick
but fleeting
and as a snowflake leaves the sky
to meet its brethren fading into the ground
no one is there with a bottle of champagne
or a pension
and already
the individuality is gone.

November

with the wild wind like a pack of wolves
ravaging the cracking earth
nipping at closed doors
rattling shutters
thieving the pink from once rosy cheeks
November
with still mornings accompanied by steam
rolling off the top of cups of tea
walking down the street
in the gloves of yawning people
November
with silent gray dawnings
the warm sun dancing across the frozen earth
with frostbitten heels
licking bare trees until they glisten
November
with pensive skies and waiting hearts
the world waltzes through waking slumber
windshield wipers and grandfather clocks
keep the steady beat of the turning earth
when the sun cannot be seen
in November
with fog that pours through city streets
in the stillness of twilight
when anything could but might not be
November
with freezing lakes and skating rinks
and family time in the evenings
microwave s'mores and late-night coffee
dreaming of what will come
in November
with scarves and good hiking
late nights by a fire
hot soup and cold noses
warm nights in cold rooms
couches and blankets and
ducks flying south
for November

*adapted from a concept poem on my other blog: etaunknown.tumblr.com

The poetry has gone out of me

I don't know why

or care particularly

mostly these days

I'm just frustrated

with myself

Dance for me now.

Dancing with the lights off
Dance like a girl
Who's never danced
before
dance like a clockwork
balerina
for me now.
Little bird
on the windowsill
looking so small
dance
will you?
for me now.
dripping sweat
like the tears you never shed
for the deaths
for the hurts
you've weathered
dance, for all you're worth
you won't live long
if you keep your soul
in a box
dance, baby dance
dance for me now.
it's never easy
to take the first step
the first leap
is always hard
but then you're twirling
and whirling
in spite of the world
and it's freedom
from clockworking bounds
dance, honey dance
dance for me now.