Jealousy

On Turning Ten
by Billy Collins

"The whole idea of it makes me feel like I'm coming down with something"

From the opening line, he's got me. It's tough to articulate why I like this opening line so much. It's simple, but it just sounds poetic. Yet ordinary at the same time. I don't know. I don't know how he does it. Make ordinary lines sound poetic.

He's writing about a sad 9-year-old turning "the first big number" even though the poet is old. He captures that youthful feeling that I'm still trying to recognize myself.

The poem is both funny and serious. It seems like too many poems are either one or the other. This poem cracks me up with lines like "This is the beginning of sadness" and "You tell me it is too early to be looking back." He's not turning 40! He's turning 10 for crying out loud. The speaker in this poem reminds me of Manny from Modern Family.

There's a lot of seriousness in the poem, though. "But now I am mostly at the window watching the late afternoon light." Even though that line is funny as well, because he's only ten...it's still a sad picture. And the closing image breaks my heart. This young kid realizing for the first time that he's mortal. That if he falls, he bleeds.

Billy Collins makes me want to be a poet.

Heart Attack

[Note: I used to hate my job. Made good money, but it was soul crushing.
I was dangerously close to staying there for the rest of my life.
This poem is about back then.]

Heart Attack

“Every year, tens of thousands of Americans survive heart attacks and eventually go back to work and enjoy life.”

That night I got a letter.
Someone slipped it under my door and the handwriting looked angry. It looked like it was written in blood. But it looked like love, too. It looked like all the happy memories from my childhood.
The letter was from my heart.

“Hey. This is your heart.”
That’s how it started.

“I know you probably don’t remember me, but I got some things I need to get off my chest.”

He talked about exercise and how I need to start eating better. Said that Cheerios weren’t really doing everything the commercials were saying and even went off about flossing. Something about there being a link between gum disease and heart disease and I got bored too, but....
I started wondering if my heart was a girl cause it was nagging me like crazy and went on and on and on. And actually, if my heart was a girl that would really explain some things in my life. Like why I’m so emotional and how I cry at romantic movies and I never loved trucks and I don’t really know how to use tools and things.

But I know my heart’s a guy because he threatened to kill me. And not like how girls sometimes threaten to kill you, but like how guys threaten to kill you.

Before he threatened me though, he thanked me for not smoking. He said, “Thanks. It didn’t have to go down like that and I’m just glad it did. So thank you from the bottom of myself.”
And then the gloves came off.

“Listen. I don't understand why you let things go on as long as you do. I’m not even talking about your cholesterol or your high blood pressure, which only an idiot would ignore for as long as you have. I’m talking about your life. I’m talking about the windows that you look out of every day. The dreams that have fallen from the trees, everything that's scattered all over your backyard. You work some 9-5 job that bores you to death and every morning you listen to songs about sadness and heartbreak like you know anything at all. Like I’m broken. Cause, I know you’ve never actually seen me, but let me assure you something—I don’t break. I don’t know if you know this, but I beat 72 times per minute, which is like 4,000 times an hour, which is over 100,000 times a day. Believe me! I counted it once. I had nothing else to do!" (ARGH)


"I keep working long after you've fallen asleep and trust me, when I break, it ain’t cuz I’m tired. If anything, I’m tired of sitting around waiting for you. I’m tired of wondering when you’re going to wake up. I’m tired of wondering why I’ve spent my whole life following you and not the other way around.”

And this is where he threatened me. He said,

“I’m going to haunt you. I'm going to haunt you every day. Because even though everyone knows that money can’t buy happiness, they always seem to forget about peace. I see you every morning when you look in the mirror and the smoke doesn't go away. And the butterflies are dead, but you can still feel them moving around in your stomach. I told you I don’t break, but if you ignore me long enough, I will stop working. I’m not threatening to kill you, I’m just tying a little string around your finger. Because in case you forgot, I’m the most lethal weapon in your house, on this planet. I’ve killed more people than cancer and if you don’t know, you better ask somebody. I’m not saying I’m the most important part of your body or that I'm #1. Oh, I’m sorry, I lied. I’m number 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5.”

I thought it was weird that he was quoting rap songs, but to be honest I still hadn't got over the fact that I was reading a letter written by my heart. He ended with this:

“They say after a heart attack, the heart muscle that lost blood begins to die. But the truth is…I’ve been dying for years. And now the soil...the soil...it won't break no matter how much water you drink or how many shovels you have in the garage. You said this part of your life was only temporary. You kept talking about tomorrow. But no matter how many times the moon came out, tomorrow was only a shadow. We never set the world on fire and Paris was just a photograph in a department store. I waited my whole life for you. So goodnight for now...you probably won't see me in the morning, but when you do...just remember who killed who.”

a conversation with a windmill

I never had a good memory. But I remember what the windmill said.

"Don't waste energy," he said.

And now I'm afraid. I'm afraid that maybe I'm wasting things. Like my potential.

But at least I'm not just standing out in the middle of a field, alone. With nowhere to go but exactly where I am.

Or am I?

#omitneedlesswords

Barbara Billings Baker (1931-2012)

Barbara Billings Baker (1931-2012)
Barbara passed away
in education
her children loved to write
and those small towns
feel the flowers

University Awakening

English majors may be the most aware of
themselves---

and they see what life is really like,

fearless

Fearless
Time is tempting you

mostly because the bond you create with it is too daunting.

you're afraid

But I have no such instincts.

I still remember

I still remember the smell. She sprayed her letters with perfume and it made me miss her even more.

I remember my old house. I remember the hill in the backyard. How we used to set up the slip-n-slide so it'd go under the trampoline. I remember trying to mow the lawn but then watching my mom do it. I remember my dad coming over to pick me up on Saturday mornings.

I remember my sister's hair. It was so dark and so thick. I remember her music in the morning when she got ready. I remember dancing at her wedding. I remember us being close. I don't remember the last time I told her I love her.

I remember that trip to lagoon. The one where he got his last DUI. The one where he asked me if I had any gum and I didn't. I remember the cop asking him to get out of the car. I remember watching him get taken away in handcuffs. I have some gum now, but it's too late.

I remember peeing the bed. So warm.

I remember having to see a speech therapist. I remember eating spoonfuls of sugar. There was no medicine, just sugar. I remember pretending to be asleep so my dad would carry me inside. I remember sleepouts on the tramp. And bunkbeds. And sunsets before anyone ever worried about taking pictures of them.

I remember the sunset wallpaper in my kitchen. I remember the extra long phone cord and the record player. I remember listening to Michael Jackson's Thriller with the lights out and the panic. I remember getting the wind knocked out of me and wondering if I would ever breathe again.

I remember not wearing a shirt and not caring. I remember going outside to play. I remember throwing rocks at Josh. I remember the funeral. Waiting in line. How tan he looked. I remember how empty everyone's eyes were.

I remember yelling at my son last night. I remember the look on his face as I turned out the light. I remember drinking a Pepsi and falling asleep on the couch. I wonder how much we'll all forget.

tourists and moons

(on the freeway tonight, I was driving with the family in the minivan....and I had a breakthrough)

 "Hey kids. Look over there at the moon."

I don't know if they looked. And even if they did, I don't know if they thought it was beautiful. They didn't say anything.

This is how I feel about you.

I've been trying to get you all to look outside at the moon. Some of you were already looking at it. And some of you are seeing it for the first time. But I have this nagging feeling that some of you can't see it because you won't look out the window.

Here comes the breakthrough:

I can't make you look at the moon. (Well, I guess I could.) But I can't make you appreciate its beauty. So why am I letting this whole thing make my stomach hurt?

All I can do is tell you about the moon and hope that you see it. If you don't see it this semester, maybe one day you will.

Maybe one day.

I'm Thinking About You

I'm thinking about you #4real
like socks think about shoes even when they're in the dryer
like pencils think about paper unless we're talking about mechanical pencils which mostly just think about lead and when they're going to break and stop working
like vampires think about blood
like Noah thinks about the flood which is really all we ever think about when we think about Noah
like dirt thinks about mud and water really seems important to God's plan.

I'm thinking about you #andthekids
like fingers think about rings
and rappers think about bling
and guitars think about picks and strings and meaningful quotes that their owners write on them and other things
like drug dealers think about money
and bees seem to think about honey
like Cher used to think about Sonny
(until he crashed into a tree)

I'm thinking about you #warning
like stuntmen think about danger
like Christians think about mangers
like candy and vans and milk cartons and passwords and social anxiety and mace sprays and self-defense classes and kids walking home from school and their moms all think about strangers

I'm thinking about you
like sadness

I'm thinking about you #melancholy
like some girls think about ice cream
like ice cream thinks about spoons
like forks think about spoons
and cows think about moons
like ice cream thinks about cows

and how it used to be

like helium thinks about balloons
and balloons think about why they were let go.

These things are how you make me feel

-a neighborhood street corner equally lit by the setting sun and a streetlight. dinner's ready, but 5 more minutes, because there's always time for 5 more minutes. school's out and ain't nothing gonna stop us now. I'm not wearing my shirt and nobody cares, especially me.

these things are how you make me feel

-like Paris in the rain.

these things are how you make me feel

-like free time. an empty notebook and a new pen. all the clocks are broken and the only thing on today's agenda: everything.

these things are how you make me feel

-underwater and the orchestra is playing. the violins and cellos. the violas. my eyes are closed. i can't hear anything, i can only feel it. and it's beautiful. the trumpets are louder than any of my doubts.

these things are how you make me feel

-the moment before i fall asleep. i know i still exist, moreso than i've ever known before, but i'm not really awake. i'm not here.

these things are how you make me feel

-like everything is on the tip of my tongue. this feeling that i've been here before and deja vu isn't the word. a dream where it isn't you, but it is.

these things are how you make me feel

-like I'm young again.

(prompt taken from a poem by Anis Mojgani)

Obama and Mustaches

Obama and Mustaches  (and other things that aren't socially accepted)

by kyle nelson 

Sometimes when I'm bored I come up with lists of possible band names.

And I'm not even in a band.

And that's why I'm so mad at Zac Brown because seriously...that's the best you could come up with? It's not like all the good band names were taken. Let's see...there's:

Mullet to the Chest, Courtesy Flush, Morning Breath, The Sleepwatchers, The Matt Gowdy Project, The Gingivitis Girls, True Love and the Fallopian Tubes (just to name a few)...

But I still haven't come up with a name for how I feel about you.

The reason I love you has nothing to do with math formulas or make-up. We sit under shade trees and we could be a Ford 150 commercial if it weren't for all the muddy shoes and blue jeans.

Sometimes I wish I was the reason you had heartburn. I wish I was the future. I wish I had a reason to hold a guitar pick in my hand. I admire my skin and how it holds everything inside.

Look at us. We're all holding our cell phones in the air and we sway back and forth, even though we don't have service. Cuz baby, we're off the grid and ain't nobody gonna find us here. We're needles in haystacks, we're haystacks in Alaska. I look at you and you make me nervous. Like an ice cream sandwich. (wait...what?)

But seriously, yall. I look out beyond the spotlight and I can't help but notice that you're all a lot cuter in the dark. And I'm a lot funnier when you're drunk. And we'd all be a little bit different in an earthquake.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

I don't really know why I'm saying that, I just like the way it sounds.

I don't remember when I first said it, but I bet I was talking to my mom and I bet I meant it. I hope I get the chance to say it again before she dies.

I saw a solar eclipse last night and I wasn't impressed. Photographs still blow my mind- like we finally figured out how to stop time.

Look around you. There are fires burning everywhere! But you are unfazed. You're as calm as a dead guy's tongue. Your knees are strong and so is your heart. It's like your skin is flame-retardant. And that's cool...

I wrote this poem in my backyard but I was looking at all of you. I know that sounds creepy.

Birds and bees....they can fly too. And I don't think I'll ever stop being jealous.

letter to a young robot

i know you weren't programmed to feel things like this,


but don't forget the memories
i'm not just talking about the moments right before the sun went down and the air when the leaves had just fallen from the trees.
i'm also talking about that panic feeling in your stomach when you were certain something exciting was going on somewhere else.
i'm talking about the banana creme pies and the broken roller skates
i'm talking about the moon, the sun, and everything in between, even if i'm not really talking about the stars.

the clouds that gave you shade are the same clouds that ruined your parade. and one day we'll both be able to say that we miss them. but for now just try to remember.

if I could put it all on a disk, I would. but it will never be the same.

Raise Your Hand

Raise your hand if you've ever been laughed at...
ever been stared at (maybe not you?)
Just- nod your head if you like who you are...
and don't care what these other folks say about you
Raise your hand if you've ever been ridiculed...
called an "original" (nah, maybe not you)
Just- nod your head if you're an individual...
and don't care what these other folks say about you

-from Underdog, by Ben Butler

Introduction

Hey. My pen name is Harold Miner. He used to be my favorite basketball player when I was younger. He had loads of potential but never amounted to anything in the NBA. Many consider him a failure.

A waste of potential.

I wonder if I'm any different.

I love to write. To create. I've gone from being an unmotivated student who doesn't care about anything, to a hardworking academic always looking to get better as a writer and a reader. I crave inspiration. Creativity.

I love sports, but I love poetry too. (What...you can't like both!) I finished a screenplay two summers ago and my dream is to be working on my Oscar acceptance speech for Best Original Screenplay.

I don't think I'm working hard enough.

if you really knew me

you'd know that my house is freezing.

you'd know that I'm a picky eater. and now my kids are picky eaters and I don't understand why.

you'd know that I drink a Pepsi every night before I go to bed. and I used to do sit-ups. and I used to be able to say that I never had a cavity. and I used to be much, much shorter.

if you really knew me, you'd know that I want to be a writer and sometimes I think that I am. you'd know that I listen to music ALL the time. to wake me up. to put me to sleep. in the car, in the shower, when I'm sad, when I'm happy, when I'm not even thinking about anything.

you'd know that I listen to hip-hop, yeah, I know I'm old, but I listen to hip-hop-- and it was mine before it was yours. You'd know that I swear all the time, usually under my breath or in my mind, or when I'm alone in my car.

if you really knew me you'd know that I have a weird fingernail habit that I don't really want to talk about right now because you wouldn't understand anyway.

you'd know that I don't drink as much water as I should, or floss as often as I should, and deep down I don't think anyone does.

you'd know I have a hard time making eye contact with people, especially OTHER people. I hate small talk and polite conversations and fake moments with people I don't care about. You'd know I hate the idea of courtesy laughs but I still laugh when things aren't funny.

if you really knew me you'd know I'm afraid of taking off my shirt. I'm afraid of spiders and boring people, but I'm no longer afraid of my dad.

you'd know that I was extremely average in high school and sometimes I'm afraid that I still am. you'd know the fire still burns within me and sometimes I can feel it going out but it's here right now and I'm going to let it burn.