If you are an amateur poet and would like to see your work on this page, please send your work to me, and I will put it up.
More poetry will arrive soon.
Wherever I go, I carry index cards and a pencil. When I have to wait for anything, I write short poems. Below are a few.
I wrote this poem while I was waiting to take the SAT II. I don't have anything personal against linoleum, I just think that it is funny. I tried to use the syntax of a haiku, while ignoring the number of syllables and lines.
"Linoleum"
Facade.
Slippery, thin lie.
You are not tile.
Why do you pretend?
Your homogeneous squares do not fool anyone.
Your insolence displeases me.
I spill my milk.
I wrote this poem while waiting for Park to meet me at the Publix deli. At first, I thought that it was going to suck. The style was very trite, but the last line just came out of nowhere. I laughed for about five minutes after writing it. Not that it is all that funny, but I had to do something until Park showed up.
A glance, a smile, a wink,
She turns her head again
She can't resist another look
For I'm the elephant man.
-(6/17/00)
This poem need no explanation.
"Art"
"Look at me," the child cries,
running naked through his mother's party.
Mother scolds child.
"Look at me," the man cries,
naked save a splattering of blue body paint.
Lights dim. Fingers snap.
This poem was written by Rebekah, Lee, and myself as a complement to our performance art piece: two trees numbered eight. Some parts of this poem were taken from "Dream of Rebirth" by Roberta Hill.
Rebekah = suds. Lee = tree. Jason = jnkees.
Enter the realm of us. We. Together we sneeze backwards. Together we stand on the edge of wounds. Groping within us are cries yet unheard. Yet within this interior, a spirit kindles and
yields visions untrembling in our grip.
Rebekah = suds. Lee = tree. Jason = jnkees.
Our bodies are a thin skin stretched painfully over repressed madness. There is no logical impossibility in the hypothesis that the world sprang into being five minutes ago. These seeds take root in the hush of dusk.
Rebekah = suds. Lee = tree. Jason = jnkees.
Exit the realm of us. You are you again.
Park wrote this poem/play for the Troupe workshop.
"A Child Named Foot"
A SHOE IS THROWN CENTER STAGE
MAN'S VOICE: I am shoe, worn, tired, and loved
A SOCK IS THROWN CENTER STAGE
WOMAN'S VOICE: I am sock, limp, streched, and smelly
MAN AND WOMAN ENTER FROM OPPOSITE SIDES OF STAGE, AND PICK UP THEIR RESPECTIVE ITEMS. THEY SLOWLY WALK OFF STAGE HAND IN HAND.
Park wrote this poem a while ago. Some have called it crude; some have called it genius. Either way you look at it, it still is a nice reference if you are looking for a synonym of butt.
don't be glum you've got a bum
Park wrote this poem at a poetry recital. For the background story, read the July seventh entry in my journal.
He sits wearing his ghi
Death becomes her
~Annie Harrison
For more poetry, see Rebekah's old poem page..
Together, we are two trees numbered eight.
Together, we are two trees numbered eight.
Together, we are two trees numbered eight.
My tongue speaks of the ages
My laces are bound for eternity
Wear me on your foot and
Spend a lifetime upon my sole
My weavings fall apart from use
My seams burst from careless forgetfulness
Wear me on your foot and
Spend a lifetime protected by my fabric
don't be crass you've got an [BEEP]
don't be heinous you've got an anus
don't bump the grind you've got a behind
don't be a grump you've got a rump
don't go without a spine you've got a hind
don't be smut you've got at a butt
don't sneer you've got a rear
don't be smooshy you've got a toushy
don't be a shlump you've got some plump
don't be sleek you've got cheeks
don't be austere you've got a postere(ior)
don't insurrect him you've got a rectum.
don't show your soul you've got a hole
don't be schnarkis you've got a carcass
don't be all shinny you've got a hiney
don't be snooty you've got a booty
don't a pacifist you've got a gluteus maximus
a look on his face
tells me
he just killed something
a piece of lobster in his braces
tells me
it was lobster.
So they say--
But I will never die.
My spirit will not be killed
by harsh judgements, and
Secret lies.
Pound on me
heavy train
but never pass me by,
For I will catch you eventually
And then my spirit will fly.