Primary General Rules

If positive thinking could make us successful,
Why must we all be careful what we wish for?
If things are as we see, or we believe they are,
Why must we "trust everybody, but cut the cards?"

If the darkest hour comes just before dawn,
If the presence of doubt signals end to waits long,
Irony must be what drives the world on.

Those who believe in a straightforward world are fools.
Just examine its primary general rules.

Little Belle the Impaler

Little Belle the Impaler, agent of fate
Put a stake through my heart and then left me to wait.
Now the tables have turned, and I'm left to decide...
Turnabout's always been fair, but is it right?

The Second Time, Pt. 2

Life, bringer of tale-worthy travels near and far,
Brings also those who show us who we are;
Inspiration grows in what we say, and how we do.
Without it we aren't one, and with, we're almost two.

If you sympathize in this, you're well aware,
Why I must (1) see you again, or (2) despair:
I want to us both to grow, and to depend,
Which friends can't do with just one meeting, and one end.

The Second Time

I know the catchy song whose lyrics make me cringe.
I've seen the way green leftovers leave hosts upon the fringe
Of desperation. I believe I almost know the reason why
That film, which moved me once, may only make me want to cry.

The bragged-of site's disappointment's awkward hell
Is nothing to me. At least twice, I've seen life tell:
“Too pressed, too dull, too bland, too late,”
The age-old story of the sterile second date.
(Chemistry's no science, nor as organized as art;
New friends may burn our catalyst, and then depart.)

I fear that I embellish when I remember lines;
Those characters I loved bear weak embrace the second time.
The standards of the past bring to defeat
Those things that we liked once, upon repeat.

To My Influences Continued

The writer looks to heaven, and more earthly climes
For gifts in poetry, and other sort of lines,
Which means that he both flatters, and plays thief,
As he lifts and pays his homage in his leaf.

A Nerd's Christmas, and a merry one,
When one receives some sci-fi, or John Donne,
Inspires thanks for influence, inspiration's seed,
and for those friends who introduce and network me.

Microwave My Brain

A phone is a shackle.
A network is a chain.
Together, they just grind my teeth,
and Microwave my brain.

I'm too young to be like this,
Too stubborn to retrain.
I'd like to leave this thing behind,
My sanity to gain.

The Movies Are Wrong

Everything is simple in the movies:
Attraction tethers us to morality,
and for those depressed or lonely
Just get up the nerve or ask at a party.
Everything will improve before long.

Don't waste your time.  The movies are wrong.

Sonnot x+3: Tales of Poet's Drivel

Another girl with pools for eyes;
Another girl with pleasing lines:
The muse is a Sibyl,
Tells of poet's drivel.
(Oh read how he waxes and whines!)

This one is sweet, greets with smiles and laughter;
She's isn't the same as the last I was after.
(That's entirely why
None but my interest died
When fate told me I couldn't have her.)

The quickness with which my attractions mend
Shows they only resemble the real.
The world ain't gonna end
Just 'cause I don't tell
My next beautiful muse how I feel.

The Male Ego

(I should like to have outgrown motives,)

I know you can't know me the way I do,
Nor see yourself as I see you.
Can the tug of unknown become the ignored?
Is there really a need to work out a score?
Let's just see, and touch, and be and do,
Create individual meanings for two,
and avoid that whole soap-opera life that I hate.

(But the ego, it can't always hold the mind's weight.)

The Fun Part

Learning the language of learning
(and refining the language of yearning)
Scrambling over paper, green and white,
Before we figure out which is right
For us, and who we are and will be.
Anyone with a heart can see
That whatever molds us is hard

(of course, but that's the fun part).

Strange Things

I suppose it isn't fair
To call you a "strange thing,"
But nothing's more rare
Than a genuine-smiling,

Generous fool
Who won't rush my writing
and thinks nerdy's cool,
But I waste my time hiding

From my attraction.
I beg you to see
That stranger things have happened,
Just never to me.

My Rose

Looking back, I suppose
You were never my Rose.
You pulled, and I froze.
(In my state, nothing arose.)

You were lost in, I out like, a light,
Drawn by forces we wouldn't fight,
In a time when nothing was right.
I'm not sorry I regret that night.

Recipe for Chemistry?

To make interpersonal chemistry,
You need:

Two or more unoccupied persons
With some similarity about them.

Three Cups of conversation,
and another cup of sauce.
Half a cup of mock impatience,
When the thread of chat gets lost

Three jokes, lightly seasoned
With cussing or a wink.
Half a stick of double meaning.
Don't go light on this, I think.

I shouldn't need to mention,
But preheat with a little tension
Sprinkle candelight to make it gleam,
and a soupcon of not-what-it-seems.

Place in a setting
With no getting
Away, but ideally
You still seem free.

Mix liberally;
Wait and see.

Unclear

It's heart-provoking when you're near,
But though provoked, I grow unclear.

Have I seen in you with true sight
Or what I want to see?
Is what I want now worth a fight,
Or should I let it be?

Is greater youth to greater age
A true impediment?
Or will your smile quell my rage
In loving splenic lent?

But most: shall I be kept behind,
Kept immature by sex,
In the island-hopping of my mind
From one girl to the next?

Procrastinate

There once was a student named Matt
Who cut his school-work-time in half.
He'd procrastinate long,
Then do everything wrong,
and then look at his classmates and laugh.

Am I?

Which man am I?  Generous?
Salacious?  Mendacious?

Should I cleave to my comrades,
Or leave off to chase redheads?

Combinations of thoughts confound.
If revealed, it might astound,
How the kind and the sordid
Chase each other around

My preoccupied, unsettled head.
Took the last train of thought
Just to see where it lead:
From soul into body, to adultery bed.

How can I be friends with you,
But be thinking of the things I'd do...

Internal armistice peace treaties
To ignore my senses' entreaties
Leave unresolved identities.

Memory Season

Snow days bring new life
To flakes falling fast, and my mind
To thoughts of the past,
To what's good to see go, or too good to last.
So if you see me smile,
Or especially if I cloud over a while,
You'll know the reason.
When outside there's snow, it's my memory season.

Trouble

She's good, to me and looks-wise.
Is she as young as she looks,
Or an old soul in disguise,
Or casually plotting my demise?

When she comes near, eyes alight,
I have no choice but to put up a fight,
'cause she's certainly something,
(and I'm not) alright.

She must feel me sweat, quick breath-taking,
Knees and voice both near to quaking.
This whole thing's a heap of trouble,
The worst of my own making.

Know You Better

From you, I learned the real way around this city,
and that a man can be a man and still be pretty,
That there are three ways to live:  by words, by deeds,
and by poetry I assume nobody reads,

The difference in between "evening" and "night",
That difference of brightness makes blindness and light,
That life is half metaphor, the other half game,
That we need to be different to become the same.

From you I could learn everything, big as life and small as letter.
I suppose it's just a shame I couldn't know you better.

Winter Walk

Walking home at night
Through whitening wind and bright
Chains of pinprick lights,
(Parades of colors bright)
Joy-hounded sense of sight,
and Lung-prickling breaths remind
Me of our former life.

I love a winter walk.
There is no need to talk,
But when I do,
I often talk
(and think) of you.