Rx: Boys

a new thing
a new fling
is it true
probably not
but it's a diversion
a distraction
from the medical suck-life
and the fun
makes me a little bit happy
which is more
than 5 doctors
and a pile of pills
have done in weeks.

the young deer in our yard

its dark eyes mimic depth
but carry all the understanding
of the shrub it munches
not a brilliant animal
but still it's peaceful repose makes me want to take a page
from its book (vacuous though it may be) and stand,
near thoughtless,
in the cool air
thinking only thoughts of eat
breathe
munch
crunch
walk
nap
blink
a shaman in its own right
"clear your mind and think of nothing"
down to a science

no compass

the ins and outs
of her heart
are so confusing
to her
it is no wonder
that a boy
in unfamiliar territory
would stop trying
to navigate
for want of a better path.

dream girl

if only you knew me
when i am asleep
i think you'd like me more

i kiss you harder
and softer and longer
and can tell what i'm kissing you for

when i'm asleep
the colors are brighter
but the rules seem a hazier gray

and i'm flirtier and funnier
my personality's sunnier
and it's always a crazier day

the funny thing is
i'm not typically skinnier
i think i'm the same general me

but for whatever reason
(i didn't think i was inhibited?)
i'm the person i wish i could be

i think you'd like me better
if you knew me in my sleep
at least, i know i like me better that way

if you could come with me
into my lucid dream world
i'd be happy to sleep through the day

With great reverence for Elizabeth Bishop

He was so tall and sleek and black
like oil and velvet combined
and my cousin almost ran into him before I grabbed him
(Scotty, not the Moose)
and backed away, my eyes, swollen with equal parts awe, love, and terror
but he wasn't going to charge
used to the hustle and bustle of campers and family reunions
and his horns, soft, and full of blood,
growing
but still I pulled Scotty back slowly, giving the moose respect
and at least 30 feet before worshiping him
with at least 80 fuzzy shots
because I durst not use my flash
and make him walk away.
But he didn't , in fact, he regarded me a moment
before laying down placidly by a hobbit-like den
and munching on cool grasses
to get out of the heat of the summer
and the Family reunion.

ugly anxiety

crushing coldness
loudness, boldness

deep dark panic
near satanic

silent screaming
almost dreaming

you aren't crazy
it's not your heart.
it's just a panic attack
tearing you apart

against my better judgement

inside
the dark is pressing
against the sides
of my head
until I think
it either has to end
or my head
will come apart
at every seam,
and yet,
it seems I place more trust
in verse
than pills
because here I am
writing a poem about it
instead of an aspirin
and a cold pack on my eyes.

aftershocks

When we are talking
I forget how nervous it all makes me
until after you hang up
and a delayed reaction of tremors hit me
like pounding ocean waves
and my heart screams
"No! Wait! You had it right before!
Go back! Rewind! He makes me smile,
you ass of a brain!"
But my brain doesn't listen.
She just continues to tremble,
over-think, over-analyze, and generally drowned out
the sense my heart was making
when we were still talking on the phone.

The day the gerbil escaped

I only left the room for half a minute
to bring the parrot
a crisp slice of pepper
and check the temperature
of the clean water for the
fish bowl
so the betta didn't have to keep swimming
in his tiny circles in a coffee cup.

But I was only gone a minute
(or maybe it was 2 or 3
but it wasn't long and she escaped!)
when she cleared the wired playpen
like a farm boy hopping a fence
and ran across the room!
And I dropped the peppers
(but not the fishbowl) and crawled after her!
Streaking black around the living room,
weaving into shadowed alleyways, under couches and near the wall.

I finally caught her, safely,
cursing the playpen
(it said for gerbils and hamsters right on the box!)
and scolding her
but cuddling her, too, and bribing her with seeds
for stealing her day of freedom.

And I gave the parrot her peppers.
And I gave the betta his crystal clear bowl.
And I sat down on the floor and wondered
when Noah had time to read his Scriptures and Pray.

Something Sweet

[Another poem of mine at deviantArt. October 1st, 2004... Ugh. I know who I was writing this about. Yeah, TexasBoy. But I think it translates well to today (Fresno)]

Something Sweet

I sit here
Craving something sweet.
Something that would inevitably
Send my diet crashing to the ground.
A sip of velvety chocolate,
A bite of warm cookie
from the oven
only moments ago,
A spoonful of Strawberry ice cream,
So cold,
The spoon sticks
to my tongue,
A deep swallow
Of cool lemonade,
Pink…


Or a letter
From you.

I'm Flirting Impaired

[I found a couple more of my poems at deviantArt. This one I wrote June 9th 2004, about PoetryBoy, my Boyfriend-ish person who later became my first kiss, even though I kinda didn't kiss him back. Yeah. Awkward.]

I'm Flirting Impaired

I am so confused
By this boy who looks like a man
Especially as a woman
Staying girl-child like Peter Pan

I haven’t been pretty
But Beautiful is inconceivable
I guard my heart
Never letting boys make me deceivable

So I get lost
look at him like a foreign creature
Whether in seats at a play
Or watching his game from the bleachers.

I wait each day
For him to realize who I am, according to me
But he keeps insisting he likes
This person I’m not sure how to be

He puts an arm
Around my shoulders and I stop my breath
I might have fun
If I weren’t so scared to death.

Never been kissed
Long forgotten sweet 16, I’m almost 25
But I don’t know how
To seem more alive.

So I just keep going
Along with newness till it gets too near
And maybe, just maybe
I’ll eventually be comfortable with you here.

Sweets

[I have a rather awkward confession about this one. I am not 100% certain who it was for, but I THINK I wrote it very VERY secretly and a little inappropriately for Cousin Jas. Note, Cousin Jas is not MY Cousin. It's not THAT inappropriate. Eew. *shudder* But the timing of it, had to be kind of recent. So... yeah, my brain is weird.

And BY THE WAY, should I ever decide to share my poetry with a CURRENT Boy (ie: Fresno?)( a thing which I have never done even though I write FOR them they NEVER know it) it is all about HIM, the boy of PRESENT. Capisce?!]

Sweets

He is mine
My sweet
Does more than my lungs
To make my heart beat.

He cries
And I tease him
But wrack my brain thinking
Of things that would please him.

I am his
His Sweet
He loves everything about me
From my forehead to my feet.

I cry
And he holds me
Says things will work out
Just wait and see

He is my mine
I am his sweet
Forever in the temple
And under the sheets.

Mostly

[finally, a more recent one. Warning, it's sappy... and technically lyrics to a song, but you'll never hear the tune, since I don't actually write notes, so whatever.]

Mostly

I like to sip my milk from a sturdy Mason jar

I like watch folks at the store and wonder who they are

I like to name the lobsters in the tank, though they're for food

I like to read graffiti, even if I think it's rude.

But Mostly, I like you.

I like to buy a drink from local lemonade stands

I like to write to pen pals living in distant lands

I like to watch the tadpoles till they turn into frogs

I like to ignore joggers, but say Hello to their dogs

But Mostly, I like you.

You're almost all those good things that a girl like me needs

A crazy girl who reads much, star gazes and plants flower seeds

A boy who's almost silly as the girl writing this song

The girl she may just find she likes that boy her whole life long.

Genealogy Mothers

[I wrote this to "All those at MyFamily.com"]

Genealogy Mothers

searching through shadows
of mothers long dead
earth as a blanket
stone at their head

but alive in the paper
and wild megabytes
books, family trees,
genealogy sites

breathing life into their stories
like glowing embers to flames
elijah's great promise
i'm a keeper of their names.

Choices Of The Quick And The Dead

with rags for a mind i pass
through a flurry of fleshy fingers
communicating
and dead names encased in a cold computer
ruminating
and the choice seems obvious
but there is a fear of the unknown
a fear of failure
and of prodigal spending
and so I stumble
on the piles of rags
and know not
which way
to turn

Goblin with the Orange Eye

His name is Goblin with the Orange Eye
He's not too brave, but he ain't too shy.
Left eye glowing' orange like a pumpkin in a patch
The others white like a ghost, so the 2 don't match
Swimming round in circles in his bowl o' glass
Givin' creepy looks as he go on pas'
I wonder if on Halloween he'll fly
Shoot right out his bowl and up to the sky
Jump on out like a bat out o' Hell
Terr'fyin' childrens with a Goblin spell!
Momma says "NO, and we don't say hell,
Or else in the corner you'll sit a spell."
She said he ain't nothing' but a speckley goldfish
And he won't do nothing' but swim in his dish.
But sometimes mommas don't know a thing
She say "you can't catch a bird by salting his wing."
And "Little ol' Goblin can't scare you to death."
But I think I thought I heard him, whisper under his breath.

Consoling The Future Groom

[to the FRINGE, who else?]

Consoling The Future Groom

I hate being engaged!
he yells shaking the walls
and assumptions.
I try to comfort him
it will be all right you love her
and she loves you
he starts to cry.
yes he says
but the waiting and aching
and her
she yells crying with her plans
and 20 credit hours
not enough time!
too much time!
it will be alright, just hang on.
you will be there
you promise
he pleads
i do.

Virginia and Curtains

["I miss you, Megs." I wanted to kidnap her from that place. There were so many times I wished I could rescue Megan.]

Virginia and Curtains

Summer
but a coldness swirls inside of me
like water going down a drain.
Each figure in my life pulls a curtain
and exits
onto another platform
to far for me to reach.
My hands are bound in strings, cutting
and burning
as I fight to reach
my friends.
Alone
with hundreds of people pushing by me
anxious to get to there and make sales
but I want to hide in a broom closet
and pretend the curtains don't exist
and I will find myself with my friends
when I open my eyes again.

No Offense

You'll pardon
the look on my face
if my heart starts twisting into knots
at your words.
Forgive me
if I look less than pleased
by the stinging insults
and cruel laughter
about my best friend.
Please excuse my sensitivity
I do not mean to overreact
when you fling jokes like stones
at a friend whose hands are bound
so she can not block them.
Sorry
for hating you,
I am sure it is all my fault.
After all, you ended with
"No Offense,"
right?

fringe benefits

[it was hard to return to the real world after the mission, especially with the Fringe! TFWRA!]

fringe benefits

its not so bad being back here
where my skeletons and shadows are embraced
but frankly
i miss them
i ache for the intrigue
the hilarity of life with the fringe
everyone smiles and congratulates me
on coming back
but they just dont know
how short of a time
2 cell phones run out of power
when you are clammering
to re-live a time
with fringe benefits

Trevor's Pocket

[I wrote this back when I was teaching preschool for my kids who were are all "treasure" seekers.]

Trevor's Pocket

toy car broken
chucky cheese token
very long string
butterfly's wing
3 pennies shiny
pebble very tiny
pencil stub found
on playground
1 live lizard
blue plastic wizard
smooth button red
barbie doll head
taking inventory
pockets tell his story
treasures from a walk
just around the block
bulging at the seams
knickknacks trash and dreams

Love and Bonsai

Spring

Grey clouds push across the sky
like a slow parade
or funeral procession
scraping their bellies
on the sugar coated mountains peaks

Dandelions, with perfect saffron faces
pop out of grass
like individual sunshines
in a green wavy sky

Noisy little birds cheer the clouds
in their march across the sky
welcoming a shower
to coax out yummy worms

The clouds tear their cotton puffs
bright holes of sun
little peeks at what is soon to come
echoing the dandelions' joyous bursting
in the spring parade

Red Lion Lost at Brigham Young University (The World Is Our Campus)

[To anyone who is lost here in America. I hope you find yourself here.]

Red Lion Lost at Brigham Young University (The World Is Our Campus)

Walking between classes at BYU,
I found a yellow cloth flag,
the size of the sort of envelope a friend
sends to wish you Happy Birthday
or thank you for coming to her baby shower
and it lay on the ground, forgotten,
floundering in the wind,
a trout just caught.
The red dragon-like lion reached his
arms for me, trying to look fierce,
but I saw him as alone and afraid
in a place he did not know, among flags
with only stripes and stars to talk to.
So I picked up the flag and tried to
remember what country he was from,
but I couldn't.
So I named him my own, and thought that I
would not want to be rained and walked on
if I were lost on a foreign sidewalk.

Monitor your Monitor

[Yeah, I know what you are thinking...but they ARE on purpose! >;o) ]

Monitor your Monitor

The sun's gone down
and the only light
is the blueish-greenish glow
from the computer screen.

That would be fine
but as you can see
it mskes it hars to ser
the keyboarf to type

and wity everu inch the sun sets
more typod abound
but I gueaa the question ids
is it really the ligth's fauly?
Or id ir MINW?

Mission Call Coming for a Nervous Mormon Girl

[As you might guess, this was written back before I served a full-time mission for my church, when I was waiting, anxiously, to get my "call" (assignment)]

Mission Call Coming for a Nervous Mormon Girl

In the cave,
with a resolute
but ignored,
old soldier
in his faded red uniform
standing by,
there is a large white summon.
It asks me to go where I have never been
for God.
And if it is God who hands me this call,
how could I not clutch it to my chest and shout in jubilation?
And leap up my stairs,
throwing white paper like confetti?
And sing and tell the world that I will follow God?
But it is sealed with a very sticky glue,
and my hands tremble,
though they are scoffed and called cowards
by the old red sentry.

Little Boy, Please?

[I originally dedicated "to E. S. G., my 'Young Elder' It hurts to wonder so hard" but I am over that one... there are a lot of these. *blush*]

Little Boy, Please?

Little boy,
please leave me alone.
I know that you do not mean
to tiptoe into my thoughts
my dreams
my journal
and my sketchbook
but I have many things to do
that have nothing to do with you
and whether you love me
or ever will.
So, please leave me alone . . .
or do not
and tell me
that you love me?
Please?

kitchen floor in january

[Why was the kitchen always so cold winter mornings in our house in Provo?]

kitchen floor in january

the kitchen floor is cold this morning
white tile like stationary glaciers
the cold pours through my bones
from my bare feet, and i shiver
a winter fly, whose life is ebbing anyway
runs across, defying his name
i squish it stoically in a tissue
and look at the snow out the window
too biting and harsh
I look away and try to decide
which would be warmer
pancakes or eggs?

Grasshoppers on Speed

[Yes, a lot of these are old. Like, written in High school. I will get the new stuff here, too, eventually.]

Grasshoppers on Speed

writing poetry
is therapeutic
because as the emotions
jump around my brain
like grasshoppers on speed
the poetry
melts them
and they can seep through my arms
down to my fingers
and into the key board
and stored on a disk
like a game or term paper
emotions and thoughts
captured in an electronic cage
and I hold the key
and keep it in the bottom of my pocket
so they can't escape
and make me cry again

Exs and Ohs

How can I have Exs
when I haven't any Ohs
In life's big game
of Tic Tac Toe?

Not that I'd really
want an Ex, per say
but an Oh would be nice
at least someday.

Ya gotta meet some frogs
while your lookin' for a prince
Well, I have no frogs
so that should give you a hint.

So I don't have any Exs
and I don't have any Ohs
In my Love-struck version
of Tic Tac Toe.

Courage

Courage
for some
is an obsequious lackey,
trailing them, serving them,
with hardly any notice
or a nod from their master.

Why then,
must courage for me
be a Holy Grail
a quest most unattainable,
though I do not feel like a coward,
set up too high for me to reach,
like a child on tippy-toes
trying to grab the moon.

But I really need that moon,
that Holy Grail,
a big backpack full of Courage,
to go through these whirlwinds.

Conversation with a Deaf Child . . . ASL is Alive

Her hands flying,
birds of expression,
sunshine glowing in her face,
always changing.
Communication
exploding from her young mind
to her hands
in a vibrant fireworks display of emotion and intelligence.
And you say American Sign Language,
is no language at all?

an insomniac's mocking bed

["...the pleasures of insomnia are ones I can't avoid..." - BNL]

an insomniac's mocking bed

repugnantly restful
it lies on the floor
of the room named for
that one crucial furnishing
and mocks me in its horizontal way
it appears puffy and gentle like a panda
but i heard they are not always
so sweet either and my bed is the same
soft and comfy but it doesn't make me sleep
so i lay in my bed, trying one side
and then the other
and trying to find the cool side of my pillow
staring at the wall
and it's ridiculously girly wallpaper that i did not pick
and trying to sleep
but willing yourself to sleep is like telling a bed
to stop acting so smug





[I put this one in here first because truly phenomenal design diva CC once made it into freaking cool ART. Because she does that. And she was needing to see others so she indirectly inspired this here blog- slash- poetry- archive.]