Something Clever.

December 6th, 2072: Which Is To Say

The day was as cold as it was beautiful

Which is to say, it was not much of either.

It was as exciting as any Wednesday

And I was as happy as I ever was with you

Which is to say

It was raining.

This day was the first that your company felt

Like a bed kept freezing

No matter its occupants.

I shook at the thought of you,

Within my own skin I ran from you

To a river as clear as your intentions.

Which is to say

It was clear

But so cold it burned my feet.

We did not mean for this to end.

As defined as the mouth of a river

Which is to say

It was as much an end as a beginning.

Out of the ashes you left me

I grew a flowering spine

Slowly, I filled in around what you gave me

Which is to say

I am stronger now,

Which is to say

I didn’t need you,

Which is to say

I wanted you

Which is to say

Forgive me.

I love the rain.

I am scared of the comfort you built for me

In your open hands

And honest chest.

When we burned

and broke

You grew yourself (like I did) but as a tree

Which is to say

You inspired me.

You opened, splintered, 

Over and over

To show me all of you.

And of all the wood

You built me a boat of you

Which is to say

Carry me,

Which is to say

Take me with you,

Which is to say

I was afraid that you were as endless as a river

To someone who is standing

Thinking there may be an end

But someone cannot see it.

It may not be there at all.

Which is to say

I don’t know either

Which is to say

Take me with you.

For someone who was raised

To look for happy endings

A love

This expansive

Is as daunting

As death

And just as unconditional

Which is to say

Take me with you

Which is to say

I love you

Which is to say

That is 

All there is.

Autobiography of Orange

I was born before the first dawn
When space first began to swallow itself
An got too greedy.
In the first burst of light
And substance from the dark
There I was
Born without a name

I have always been a daughter of light
A small reminder of infinite power
A taste of brightness far away and long ago
On the first dawn of earth
I nearly swallowed it whole
Arching from horizon to horizon
I gave flowers the idea of blooming

On the 285th millionth dawn
I touched the tips of outstretched branches
Now they call out for me in color
Leaves and fruit that ache
For a closer sunrise
I am god of dying
I am what you see before the light

I am one generation
Below eternal
I am everywhere that
Dark has an opposite
In other words, worlds,
I still have no name

I have yet to touch them
They have yet to die
And so I am forever young
Forever generations above you
I am
Forever
How dare you try to name me

The Lost Woman’s Journals

This is a poem inspired by Brendan Constantine’s poem, “The Missing Girl’s Horse”

Love like

I know what it is to eat too much

To sleep too much

To be too much

To topple onto your own back

And be further than

Where you began

I know what it is to feel bloated

Unruly

Like your own body does not know its limits

So it’s pushing

I know how to wake up more tired

Than nearly sleeping

How to walk through dreams

On the way to the closet

The bathroom

Wake feet on cold tile

Most days

We feel fat

We kiss like baked potato chips

Lightly

Salted

We convince ourselves hunger

Is the most righteous form

Of discomfort

Most days

We watch people get full

Laughing babies

Locker room speeches

Lingering lips

We just watch

Not all men eat well

Not all women are starving

Somewhere in the middle

There are people

Laughing like warm pie in the evening

Making love

Like homemade grilled cheese

You and I

Fall asleep

Like marinara sauce

on Sundays.

NEW SHIT! “A Daughter of the Game”

I am no one’s son

But my father bought me my first beer over a green diamond

And we watched the best knuckle ball pitcher

To have ever lived

Pitch for the home team

And I’m no aficionado

I don’t chase the flash and fury of showmanship

I wait for the grace

For the perfect throw

The honor and glory in performance under pressure

I am not a son

Nor a heated red faced drunken screamer

With something to prove to my fellow inebriates

I won’t hit a kid to catch a fly ball

In a cap and foam finger

I am not a tourist

I won’t stand up and yell at the umpire in inning 3

Because I bring a radio and I pay for the view

I am not a son

But I used to get blisters from stitches

And wear cleats in the winter

I used to have bruises on my thighs

Because you don’t run

From a stray pitch

You take the base

Walk it off

Look them in the eyes

And steal second if you cry

And I’m no good with stats

But I know that you swing with 2 outs and 2 strikes

I know that the box is no time for window shopping

And that a curve ball has more to do with faith

Than physics

When you swing

But

My father has a son

He played D-1 for Lafayette

Throws 88 miles per hour

Became a producer

Brought the world series to your home

In 2009

He is Emmy award-winning successful

And he

He had heroes that he could share clothes with

He had legends that he could be for Halloween

Baseball cards that looked like him

If he re-wrote the name

I am not my father’s son

I am an English major with hips and a stray profession

Because girls like me don’t get millions for winning titles

So what was there to look up to

My baseball card was pink on the refrigerator

My deck was a binder of men

And the women of A League of Their Own

Taped onto construction paper

Had I existed

In another decade

When our young and arrogant country was too short on men

And too full of women

I would have been laminated

When it took a war to cherish a wooden bat

In between painted fingernails

And when they came home no one cheered for the home team

They asked for the good old boys

The sons

And I am no son

Forgive me for keeping my clothes on

For not treating this profession like cosplay

For refusing to play in a skirt

Because I can throw a knuckleball underhand

I know what a sinker looks like at the brim of your motion

I played 12 games and 4 doubleheaders with 2 broken fingers on each hand

I batted fourth on the travel team

Because there were girls better than me

And there are girls better than me

But they don’t have a salary for my job

They don’t have heroes for my job

They don’t have action figures

Or commercial deals

For my job

They don’t have my job

So here I am

Out of uniform

Because I have about as much of a shot

At spring training

As I do at the primaries

Because I am not a son

And I don’t yet have one

Because I haven’t inherited my merit from a Y chromosome

I am a quiet fan

A jersey-wearing defender

Of the home town

A Tuesday night home game statistic

With a glove and a radio

And ESPN

I am a daughter

Of America’s greatest pastime

I am a woman of the game.

Dear Oceanside,

Dear Oceanside-We’ve recently experienced the loss of a young soldier who grew up with us.  We are terrified, and devastated, and shaken. Romney and the Republican campaign has stated numerous times that they want to go “intervene” in Syria, and other middle-east countries that we don’t belong in. Romney says he’ll “identify and organize those members of the opposition who share our values and ensure they obtain the arms they need” in Syria.  How have we not learned from this?  We gave weapons to Al Quaeda in the 1980s and 90s, and weapons to private parties in Iran as well.  Why would giving weapons to a nation in turmoil be any different this time? This loss has shaken our town, and our faith in our government.  I hope that we don’t direct our anger in the wrong direction and let it cloud our judgement as voters-  the Republican campaign is going to put MORE troops on the ground in other hostile nations.  I don’t know what Obama is going to do, but it scares me that in the name of this young fallen soldier we are talking about voting for an administration who historically seeks out violence.  I want our troops home, and not more places to put troops on the ground. Greg didn’t deserve this, none of our soldiers do. Don’t vote for vengeance against this administration, when the next could be so much worse.  Read the policies.  Be educated.  Don’t vote, or believe, out of fear.  

Please repost if you think this type of thinking needs to be addressed.

Below are some links to articles so you can make your own opinions:

http://www.economist.com/blogs/lexington/2012/10/mitt-romneys-foreign-policy

http://www.mittromney.com/issues/middle-east

http://www.barackobama.com/national-security?source=primary-nav

The Presidential Debate

Presidents are figureheads.. I want a cabinet debate.