a poem you can understand

i'm done with (*begin air quotes*) real poetry (*end air quotes*) because (*begin air quotes*) real poetry (*end air quotes*) sucks.

It's old and white and stuffy and holier than thou and my dad doesn't want to read it.

Metaphors, hyperbole, and other things you forgot from English class

I just want to tell the truth. I want these voices in my head to settle down, I want to this feeling in my stomach to go away. Let's talk about being alive.

Let's talk about the shows we watch and the food we eat too late and the things we do when nobody's looking. Let's come to terms with ourselves.

I'm not looking for favorites or comments or retweets. I'm trying to connect with you while at the same time avoid talking to you when I see you at the Wal-mart self checkout

stop looking at me

please see me for who I am

These poems need to stop lying and start dancing, they're putting me to sleep. Poems need to be bike rides and drunk texts, I want an equal opportunity employer.

I said this was going to be a poem you can understand and then I went and put all this poetry in it.

Let's watch Adventures in Babysitting and forget about the F-words until it's too late.

I'm deleting my Facebook, I'm deleting my Twitter, I never had an Instagram, and I have to publish my own books. Nobody will pay to hear what I have to say

so that's why I'll tattoo it across my arms and start wearing tank tops again.

stop looking at my arms

please see them for what they are:

equal opportunity employers

All poems are not equal in the sight of God

please forgive me

please buy my books because my mom can only buy so many

someone tell my son that i'm someone worth listening to
someone tell my daughter to stop wearing so much makeup

these poems are last words and eulogies that i get to write for myself because i won't be invited to my own funeral,

someone please bring the potato salad, but don't let it sit outside in your car for too long.

poetry fatally wounded outside las vegas club

look, baby, i don't know how to say this,
i'm sorry
i may not have killed you
but i was there when you died
and i was holding a pen
you look so beautiful on white
(here i go again)
when the whole world feels black and gray
(like when trey kept stabbing that girl after she died)
weddings and funerals on every block
remember when shawn's dad had both in a span of six months
his children never stopped crying
on more than one occasion i've been afraid of a fly
because i thought it was something else
you were everyone's fling, girl
middle school love notes and instagram posts
i never should've spent so much time on you
my daddy never taught me
to write a verse or turn a wrench
listen to me still try to get it righty tighty
lefty loosey
my mama told me to use my words
i googled what it feels like to stab someone

depression metaphors

you must not be from round here

round here we fix our own cars
we pop the hoods and scratch our heads
pass me that wrench over there, no the 5/16ths
let's see here, let's see here
okay go ahead and start it

round here we stay up too late and we sleep all morning
we leave the lights off and the blinds closed
the next episode automatically plays
another drama
another unresolved problem
for $9.99 a month

round here we listen to throwback playlists from the 70s
we long for those days
even though we weren't born yet
tell mama we're comin' home
but she moved out of that blue house 10 years ago

round here the clocks don't work
someone must've taken all the batteries

round here we speak swahili
and everyone else doesn't

they must not be from round here

my wife left to get milk and bread

because we don't have any
because we're hungry
because there's nothing left to do in the summer but eat breakfast
and watch netflix while the lawn burns in the front yard and the country
burns in the back yard
these foreigners don't feel welcome here no more
the statue of liberty dropped her torch and put up her middle finger
this is war and nobody's got a helmet
my best friend growing up was puerto rican and we lost touch
i asked him how his parents were and he said they went back to where they came from
i don't know where i come from
they told me it was up north but i was too young to remember
too young to hate someone cuz what they look like
i didn't learn that til junior high
and i don't remember anything else
blame the schools, blame the media, blame the parents
remember that summer afternoon you fell off your bike and broke your arm
then figure out who to blame
freud said there are no accidents
then he got cancer in 1923
the same year of the rosewood massacre
when a group of white men took matters into their own hands
before we had to hide how we feel
before we had to lock the doors at night
back when the night was safe and beautiful
the stars were beautiful
my wife is beautiful
she left to get milk and bread
she took the old milk and poured it down the sink
so we'd never have to see it again
old, white, and sour

so the faces of my people

forever to learn

oh, to be young
to have your whole life ahead of you
a photo album with space
and a bucket list in progress

12, 16, 24, it doesn't matter
you don't know how to change a tire
make an omelet
replace a sprinkler
read a book to your daughter
but you have forever to learn

you have forever to learn that nobody cares about that scar on your eyebrow
nobody even notices

and nobody cares about your poetry
the posters on your wall
why your last boyfriend broke up with you
or what you dreamed last night

for god's sake please don't tell us about your dream last night

tell us about your dreams
tell us how you're going to change the world with your fists closed
tell us what you see in the clouds
and keep telling us

you don't have a good voice
but keep singing

dear 1776,

dear 1776,

you probably don't remember me

sorry i don't always stand up during the pledge
i used to
sorry i don't always romanticize you during the national anthem
i take off my hat
but that's only because everyone's watching

i first met you in grade school
i tried to memorize you
but it was just infatuation
i thought you looked really good on that shirt
they waited to tell me about slavery
we didn't even know each other

the war didn't end with you, that's when it started
america has been burning ever since
the revolution will definitely be televised
forget the hashtags
i'm wondering if any lives matter

north v south, east v west
america is a rap battle
america is a youtube fist fight

i'm listening to beyonce's lemonade while i write this poem
maybe that's why i'm angry
maybe that's why i'm taking a baseball bat to your fire hydrants america
maybe that's why i got my homegirls with me throwing up our middle fingers
but hold up,
they don't love you like I love you,
slow down,
they don't love you like I love you,
let's end with love and forgiveness
someone hold my green card while i french kiss the statue of liberty

what a wicked way to treat the girl that loves you
your founding fathers were just kids
franklin was 70, but hamilton was only 21
playing with guns and other inventions
we're all just a hypothesis in this experiment
with no control

thanks for the pursuit
it's more than anyone else has ever done for me
you're like nowhere else

i'm listening to the liberty bell ring as i write this poem
i can still hear it

birthday cake

mark each day on your calendar
it's a celebration
every day is that day's birthday
don't forget to put your card and your dollar in the mail

going through life trying not to think about it
someone's                 gonna              die        today
a random tuesday
this random tuesday ain't random no more

elton john talks about candles in the wind
and marilyn monroe jumps out of cakes
while jfk dreams of 1962
when we were all younger

grandpa cal got old and josh got sad
death killed everyone i love
dad taught me how to shoot a gun before i was strong enough to hold one

here's to the jc penny memories
when we left our phones in our '57 chevys
catalogs of two dimensional people
forever smiling
back when death wore neck ties and fedoras

mr. play it safe

when you're in your 30s
nobody asks you what you want to be when you grow up

i took out the garbage this morning
internet bills and prescription pill bottles
close enough to grab with my hand
listening to songs from the late 90's
because top 40 hits don't mean anything to me yet

i'm a teacher in the middle of summer
a lifeguard on a rainy day
a VCR repairman in an Amish town
today is my day off

my wife, she rearranges the furniture in the front room
i stare out the window while Alanis Morissette screams
this is us turning into our parents, baby

isn't it ironic, in 1999 i wanted to be a writer
and Cher's Believe was #1 on the charts
the stars were aligned
but today there's a bees' nest in my front yard
and Santa Claus stopped writing me back

the bees' nest is alive, pissed off
and oblivious
and scared
and so am i

follow me up the ladder
don't look down and don't look directly at the sun
careful is my middle name, I was named after my father
he was never an olympian
nobody ever put a gold medal around his neck
no silver, no bronze
wheaties was just a sugarfree cereal in our house

60 snuck up on him
now it's on my heels
objects in the mirror are closer than they appear

watch me check the mail
watch me sort the recycling
and kill all the bees in all the trees
watch me chase these calendar pages both ways

write bloody challenge

Today is July 6th.

I'm going to try and write 10 new poems by the end of the month (July 31st).

I want to enter write bloody's august poetry contest.

Join me.

Good luck to us all.

dead lines

another salesman just came to the door
her name was august
she said she'd be back

until then
i have time on my hands
nostalgia on my mind
ambition in my heart
laziness on the couch

june won't last forever, but it feels like it might

when i was 23 i wanted to be a writer
i don't know what i want anymore
maybe i'm living the dream

maybe i've settled

my son puts the sprinkler under the tramp and jumps with his shirt off
he doesn't wonder what might have been
or what could be
he just does
he just is

i should be more like him

it's 98 degrees outside
and if you stay in one spot for too long
the sun will melt you
that's the way it is around here too

sharks keep moving
dory keeps swimming
and i'm here on the couch

deadlines, deadlines
i say that i need deadlines
my dad is 62 this year
how much more of a deadline do you need?

Wake Up Call

A football player once called another football player a try hard and I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same.

Dear try not so hards,

This isn’t directed at

the athlete with no heart or

the sweet girl who never talks to anybody or
the rock climber who can't read or

the annoying girl who never listens or

the square in the sweater who acts like he’s smart or

the kid who’s only acting crazy because of what’s going on at home or

the girl in the middle whose name nobody knows

this is for all of you.

Open your eyes.

You see that X in the distance that seems to be getting closer and closer? It’s called graduation and the caps are in the mail.

I can smell gasoline all over this room, 
y’all are coasting on fumes 
and it’s making everyone high.

It’s not your fault

I know those pills you’re taking for ADHD and Senioritis aren’t working.

Blame the doctors, the teachers, the astronauts you all wanted to be when you were kids, blame the system. Blame me for taking away your crayons and replacing them with worksheets, but blame yourself for not drinking any water because you filled up on baby carrots. I just looked up dehydration symptoms and saw all of your faces.

I told you this would happen, it’s been happening since the 6th grade, because tonight when I asked my 11-year-old how school was going he said, “just trying to survive social studies” and he didn’t say “just trying to survive social studies” he said “just….trying….to...survive….social….studies” and I knew exactly what he meant because I spent two hours with adults this afternoon and I was just….trying...to...survive….social...studies.

Once upon a time you used to do more than just survive. You used to love school. You loved learning new things. You drew pictures and brought them home to put on the refrigerator. You swung on swings and talked about how excited you were for tomorrow. You spelled excited i-x-s-i-d-i-d because that’s what it sounded like and everyone was always so proud of you, we’re so proud of you.

Now you wear sweats to school and you only shower on Thursdays and homework’s pointless and when am I ever gonna use this and Nelson plays dope music but his class is a joke and can I go to the bathroom and let’s go to Kneaders cuz attendance school is better than 2nd period and I can’t believe Trump might be our new president and I got an A in that class and I didn’t learn a thing and school doesn’t prepare me for life because I don’t know how to pay taxes and I’ll figure it out next year, I’ll figure it out next year, I’ll figure it out next year.

Or I’m going on a mission so God will get me through next year and the year after and then by then I’ll have it all figured out because that’s what happens in your 20’s.

You’re alive on the weekends, but you’re dead on Monday. You’re dead on Tuesday, Wednesday, you’re dead on Thursday.

I’ve been alive twice as long as you have and some Tuesdays I feel like I’m twice as alive. I’m closer to a colonoscopy than I am to my senior year, but I’m more alive than you are.

You’re 18, in the prime of your life, no bald spots or spare tires, your knees don’t hurt and your back still works and I’m twice as alive as you are. I have to repeat this three times because you weren’t listening the first two times because you’re half-dead.

Your brain’s still growing and mine’s shrinking, but it doesn’t matter if you never take it out of your backpack. You got out of bed this morning, but your heart kept hitting snooze. We’ve all known too many people who’ve killed themselves, but how many people do you know who forgot to stay alive?

So give your autopilot the week off. Open your eyes, wake up your heart, and take your brain out of your backpack. I’m done feeding you water, I’m going to try gasoline.

Somebody give me a match.

another day at the pond

We find ourselves here again.

This once-in-a-lifetime trip happens 6 times a year for me these days. Another trip to the pond to figure out what's important in life,
another trip,
another trip.

Like the middle-aged moms who walk around here every day. If you do something every day does it even count anymore? Does it become a routine - like putting on your socks or shaving?

I envy this duck swimming back and forth in front of me. Unaware that he's done this all before. That every inch of this pond has already been discovered. A hot air balloon passes overhead and the duck doesn't even look. Maybe it's too far away to see. Or maybe flying away doesn't matter to everyone.

There are too many trees to count and the sky goes on forever.

God didn't design this pond, man did. But God designed man and man designed work and money and jealousy and regret. I designed this writing prompt, so I should get credit for anything you create today, right? You painted the Sistine Chapel but I gave you the crayons.

If one day my son cures cancer, they better give me a t-shirt. I'm only in this for the t-shirts. I'm only blocking the sun so I can remind myself what being alive looks like.

Like I'm seeing it for the first time.

rn

it's 5:43 on a thursday

Bo's at soccer practice and Brooklyn has a game at 6:30 and Cy has a game at 8:30
my kids are creating their childhoods right now and i just want to be a part of it

the school year is almost over
4th term goes by so fast
you can hardly see it

I need to water my lawn, it's dying. Like everything else.

Yesterday I was depressed and I didn't know why. I'm usually happy, but something just didn't feel right. Nothing was wrong, everything was right, but something wasn't right. I know that doesn't make sense, but this is how I feel right now.

I've stopped reading blogs and it's my job and I'm sorry and I'll come around soon, I promise.

What a strange year this has been.
Suspended in January and where did all the poetry go and I feel older this April than any April before.

My classes are full next year and for some reason that's stressing me out.
I didn't want two CW2 classes, but I guess I'll make it work.
I'm not excited for next year and I want to delete this sentence as I'm writing it.

I actually felt good driving home from school today. My mind was racing, thinking about tomorrow's class, excited to write this post I'm writing right now, excited to see my kids and my wife when I got home, only to ignore them by watching Pardon the Interruption at 4:30, it was a good day.

And then I got the news that Prince died.

I'm listening to Justin Bieber sing where are you now that I need you and I wasn't friends with Prince but I'm still sad.

I've been listening to seniors in high school tell stories for four days. I've laughed and been entertained, but I thought more people would share serious stories. The prompt was about change and they told chase stories and injury stories and weekend stories. What happened to all the divorce stories and death stories and Tuesday stories? I wonder if I really wanted to hear them, though. Maybe that's why I only shared funny stories. Maybe it's all too much.

I had tears in my eyes this afternoon and I'm not sure why. Sometime around the Prince tributes and a nice letter my son's teacher wrote his class about SAGE testing and how it doesn't measure everything young people are worth and my daughter showing me how she's getting better at the hula hoop.

We're ripping old carpet out of my house this weekend. So here's to fresh starts.

dessert (live blog series)

dessert (live blog series) from kyle nelson on Vimeo.

10 thoughts on being fully alive

1. Okay, so everyone's technically alive. Except for all the people who have died already. But even some people who are alive aren't really alive.

2. Some people are cowards. They don't dance, they don't raise their hands, they don't tell people they love that they love them.

3. It's possible to be shy and still be alive.

4. Do scary things. (I'm not talking about drugs or jumping off cliffs. I'm talking about love and poetry and goosebumps and talent shows.)

5. Be aware that you're dying.

6. Make mistakes and take risks and make more mistakes. If you know how it's going to turn out then it's not really a risk, is it?

7. Be reckless. With your status, not your body. With your pride, not other people's hearts. With the rules, not the law.

8. Art.

9. Try not to be a phony. I mean, we're all fake sometimes. But if you're fake as often as you're asleep, that's a problem.

10. Sit at the kids' table.

dessert

Maybe my soul's all right, but my body's all wrong
We hit the club all night, every day the same song
Same song, same verse
New kids, same curse
What's worse, you say boo-yah
and we live in Utah
woompa doobadee dop doobadoompa
woompa doobadee dop doobadoompa
Murder that, Murder that dance floor, dance floor

My soul's right
My body's wrong
and I'm caught in the middle

A custody battle that began in the pre-existence
My body got visitation
and I only see my soul every other weekend
he lives in a one-bedroom apartment across town
all we ever seem to do is fight these days

Maybe it's this beard
Maybe God didn't like the look of my face when he saw it.
Sometimes a big dog looks right into it.
Sometimes animals can sense danger.
Sometimes they can't.

Sometimes I catch my oldest son staring at me
like he's looking into a mirror
like he's looking into the future
like some day we'll only see each other every other weekend.

 

sunday poems

i'm sick of sharing old stuff / 2016 stuff / I'm 36 and I still have things to say
games to play / I've been telling you how to write for 8 years, so what

Holler if ya hear me / I'm just stealing Tupac lines / I can't write to this music

I check e-mail and Twitter so I don't have to write / this is too hard

How to write if you're not inspired / just write / I played basketball tonight
I have nothing to say / nothing to say / nothing to say

a new song / let's start over

My daughter lies / My daughter cries / My daughter lies / My daughter sighs
omigosh what am i even saying, I give up.

I haven't eaten all day and it ain't even fast sunday

This is an anti-slam poem.

Look, I just want my English credit. So shut up and give it to me.
Talk with your hands
Do the Helen Keller
QUIT QUOTING SONGS don't you have anything to say?

Maybe I've already written about everything.
The moons and the stars
the birds and the bees
what else is there to say that hasn't already been said
by Shakespeare and Mojgani

I've written more midnight poems than anyone in this room
come at me bro

The longer you're here, the more this place feels like the M.T.C.
You'd rather I teach you Spanish instead of English
Scriptures instead of poetry
You want to listen to the spirit, not your heart
I'm done listening to Lamanite poetry.

I'm not asking you to break any commandments,
I just want you to fall in love.
Have one last fling before your plane leaves
I want you to hold hands with adjectives
and send late night texts to that nice metaphor you've been eyeing from across the room
that provocative title you wrote on page 29 of your notebook
it's not too late to be voted cutest couple.

It's not too late, it's not too late

I'm listening to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata right now and I'm telling you it's not too late

Call me blasphemous
Tell me we should be reviewing MLA format
How to write an essay
How to write an essay
Call me blasphemous,
but this is your last chance to fall in love with language.

She won't find you at 22 because you won't be looking.

She won't wait for 28 because you'll be married with two kids and there's no poetry in children.
There's no poetry in children.

Unless you count the stars in their eyes
or the thunder in their laugh
or all the possibility in their hands
My daughter laid her head on my chest last night and said she couldn't hear my heart.

And I don't know if I can blame her.
Maybe she needs hearing aids, or maybe the truth hurts.
I hope she wasn't listening.


And.I.don't.know.if.I'll.ever.be.the.same.

mortar

keep building your walls, but know that one day they will fall

far as your childhood
long as the future
quiet as a photograph
angry as a hail storm
brief as a compliment

and no one will notice

why the top 5 sucks

Just because my voice is the oldest, doesn’t mean it’s the clearest. I don’t know everything. You keep waiting to get noticed, but I don’t see everything. I’ve had these contacts in for too long.

Listen to your own heart, listen to your own heart

Quit eavesdropping on everyone else’s.

My heart has a lisp anyway

And most people’s hearts have nothing to say because they're too busy just trying to stay alive

Punch the clock, punch the clock

Don’t worry about where you sit during lunch, just eat

And punch the clock, because your shift started a month ago, and it’s never gonna end

Destroy the clock

Break all the mirrors

and it doesn’t matter if they call it likes or favorites - they’ll never bring peace to your stomach

I know the panic is real

but it’s tough to compare yourself to others if your eyes are closed

so close your eyes

know that nobody’s ever seen the inside of your eyelids quite like you

even when I tell my oldest son he’s smart and my youngest son he’s funny, my youngest son wants to know why he’s not smart and my oldest son wants to know why he’s not funny

you’ll never measure up with a 12-inch ruler

you’ll never make it to the end of the rainbow before it disappears

and nobody can keep their eyes open during a sneeze. nobody.

so be smart AND funny and ignore your father because even though he says he used to be in your shoes, you’re only half him

and his shoes haven’t come back in style just yet

into the woods

I'd rather be anywhere else.

I know that sounds harsh. I'm not a negative person, I'm not a negative person. (Yes I am.)

Like Kanye once said, nothing but positive energy.
That's where I want to be.

Call it Paris, call it yesterday, call it home. The blinds are open, the sun is shining, and my ringer is off. I have nowhere to be, I have everywhere to go. I want to go into the woods.

Where the trees don't know me, nothing but positive energy. I want to make things and live forever. I want to be alone, I want to be in front of the world. I want everyone to see me, I want to be invisible. Into the woods, into the woods.

Where Thoreau writes poetry and girls get murdered. Nothing but positive energy, positive energy.

Two roads diverged in the yellow wood and I turned around and walked home. I logged into Netflix and kicked the Lazyboy all the way back. I told my wife I loved her and asked the kids if they wanted popcorn.

yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

Nothing but positive energy.

old journals and goodbyes and holy crap

Let's call this a goodbye letter.

I'm not talking about break-ups or suicides or death or even graduation. It's January and we'll always have the rest of our lives. I'm just trying to say goodbye. 

Goodbye 2015. Holy crap. I still remember when I used to party like it was 1999 and I remember Y2K and it's like every year I just get older. I was born in the '70s and I wonder if you even know what that means.

Goodbye sophomores. All I teach is seniors now. And a couple of juniors who, if we were playing little league baseball, I'm sure someone would ask to see their birth certificate. #compliment

Goodbye my continually receding hairline.

Goodbye football. You broke my heart too many times this year. #LonePeak #sicTackticians #Utes #Vikings

(This next section is for me, not for you...don't bother reading it)
Some excerpts from my personal journal:

Saturday, 9/15/15: "It's movie night! We're watching Edge of Tomorrow. PG-13. None of our kids are 13 yet, btw. ... Things are going really well right now. Maybe I should knock on wood or something. ... THIS IS WHAT HAPPINESS FEELS LIKE."

Saturday, 10/17/15: "Holy crap. Varsity is undefeated (9-0). ... and the Utah game (they're undefeated too, and ranked #4 in the country). ... My fantasy football team is also undefeated, HOLY CRAP - is this the best year ever and I just don't know it yet?"

My fantasy football team lost in the playoffs on a Monday night when Ben Watson caught a last minute touchdown, and Blair Walsh just missed a 27-yard game-winning FG for the Vikings today, and I'm not even going to mention Lone Peak...

Who knows, maybe this was the best year ever. 

Football is just a game. And school is just a game. And creative writing is just a game. And love is just a game. And everything's just a game when you think about it. All that really matters is that my kids want to watch Once Upon a Time tonight, so I need to finish this letter soon.


I love my job. I love creative writing. When I see former students and they invariably ask me "How's creative writing" I say "Good" and I mean it. I'm not just saying good like when people ask me in the hall how are you and I say good and I'm not really good but I just say good so we can keep on walking our separate ways. I ACTUALLY MEAN IT.

This isn't a poem, this is a letter.

I'm sorry for not teaching you how to write. I just taught you to write. There's a difference. I don't know how to write. But I know how to write. You know what I'm saying? I know how to sit in front of a blank screen and type how I feel. I know how to write a screenplay. A play. A poem. I know how to write the first draft of a novel that I may never finish. I know how to write a blog post. A Master's Thesis. A business e-mail. I'm sorry if I didn't give you the cheat codes to whatever you wanted to write this semester. I promise they're everywhere if you look for them. You'll find them in college. You'll find them on the internet. You'll find them in the library.

I hope you discovered magic this semester. I hope you felt inspired. I hope you tried not to be a tourist. I hope you'll try to keep figuring it all out.

And so will I.

Sincerely,
Kyle Nelson