Something Ventured

*This is about a universal "she"...I thought this was unfinished, but maybe not...

It's not said to be tainted
Mahogany when stained
Something like the saying,
"Nothing fractured, nothing gained"
But sawdust covers ground
And splinters impale skin
She sweats and toils and strives
For victories he'll win
And she keeps running dry
From deep drinkers at her well
And sings a secret lonely song
Inside a holy hell
She seeks for certain purpose
More than lonely's cure
She mixes homegrown bitterness
To bake a dish that's pure
Maybe someday he'll notice

Language is Obsolete

*I wrote this my freshman year of college to share at a poetry reading for my intro to lit class. I feel like a was much more naive then, but somehow in a good way. Although it's probably not a style I'd opt for now, I think it's still where my heart is.

Language is Obsolete

A path: forsaken, uncharted, and new
A color: an indistinct, unnamed hue
A question: rhetorical, hanging in the balance
On a shapleless frame, a translucent valence
An answer: perplexing, yet somehow clear
A voice: far away, yet strangely near
A song: the universe moves to the tune
The music, it flows though the sun and the moon
The wind and the rain begin the encore
For this familiar song I've never heard before
A dance: we all are moving along
To the unknown beat of this unlearned song
A presence: invisible, breaking the shell
Tangible enough to see and to smell
A light: a glow in the deepest places
It strangles the dark and shines on the faces
A mother: care without demand
A father: strength with an outstretched hand
A glass: foggy; a window: unclear
But still the face will not disappear
A face: features I cannot see
But I know it so well, it's a part of me
A clock: it ticks but tells no time
A poem: so lovely, but without rhyme
A treasure: once lost, but now it is found
A square: without corners; a circle: unround
A picture: brush strokes lacking their paint
With a pigment so bold that used to be faint
An ocean: storming, raging around
An island: a piece of solid ground
A breeze, a peace, a shadow, a flame
A very close friend without a name
A concept, a feeling, a reality
Surrounding and inside of me

You make words feel so empty and vain
A paradox verbiage cannot explain
Like a secret whispered I cannot repeat
As you have made language obsolete

tears are secrets and they hide in basements

i’m not a builder
my awkward tool-clenched hands
to build a house up to the sky
without any plans
blank white blueprint
i heard there was 'help wanted'
could have misheard
it’s hard to make out a whisper in a wind tunnel

that night I stood outside alone
looked up into the black
and whispered a blank check
and cashed it in for a foreign denomination

my home is in your heart
come and make my heart your home
if I take the 'for sale' sign down
from this piece of real estate
bought before it went on the market

unless all these metaphors
are futile analogies
i’ll put an apology
on my epitaph
and hope for a nice eulogy