The Ultimate in Boring Crap for Your Enjoyment

Chaos Theory

A flower blooms, breaking free,
wet with fresh rain that glistens in the sun;
a mother, sick and scared, breathes her last alone,
for her family is already dead from drought.

A blackbird caws, disturbing the air,
whipping it down with angry wings;
a son, pink and new, is born mute,
forced to love the world in silence.

A tree limb cracks, crashing down in a storm,
unable to withstand the wind's fury;
a father, red with anger, inhales sharply,
does not strike his daughter.

A tree limb.
A blackbird.
A flower.
Who knew the insignificant held such power?
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It's not original, it's not good. I'm depressed.

::EDIT::
Blackberries

I sometimes feel a craving for blackberries.
Not because I love the taste,
Not because they are my favorite,
But because they are keys to my memory.
I see the faded light and always sunny day of childhood,
I see the ever-smiling face and perfect long hair of my best friend
each time I stain my mouth with a simple berry.

In this memory everything was country,
And I believed with a child's faith that the trees and grasses went on forever.
My friends and I would long for summer, impatient for the dry heat,
And we knew with our first cup of hard-won berries that it was here.

Most kids just scoured the edge of the patch,
Afraid to venture into the bracken and get the best ones.
But we would go deeper, far into the thorns,
Sleeveless and often shoeless, just to get first choice.
The cuts and scratches would burn for days, but we didn't care;
They added the flavor of victory to the cupfuls,
and made the hose water that washed them all down seem like wine.

~W.D.W.

It's not what I want yet. Ah, well, at least it's not as bad as the last one I cranked out today.

Am I being too hard on myself? Maybe I just am not used to a non-rhyming style...I feel a craving for meter. And my language choice seems so bland.

For Edna
The water washes over me
My eyes shut to find the light
But the lack without reflects within
i'm afraid of the battle I must fight.

The water brings the dark
i lose all will to swim to shore
The surrounding gloom begs me to sleep
i just can't do this anymore.

The water soon chills my skin
My hair flows about me like a caress
Just as lost lover's comforting hands
Would soothe the last damsel in distress.

my skin grows cold and transparent
veins and bones stand in sharp relief
nothing is hidden- all is apparent.
i want to swim- i need belief.

~W.D.W.

Alright boys and girls, who knows their great female writers? Does this ring a bell? Anyone? Anyone?
aaaah, you all are losers.

What came to me during my friend's gig:

What is a tree?
I.
A shelter.
With kind leaves to counter elements;
Sharp shields, a green protecting army,
and branches that ungrudgingly hold
weary bird and beast alike.

II.
Life.
Without these rough-barked giants
who mass-produce the air we breathe
yet attach no value added,
where am I?

III.
A Playground.
I scramble clumsily up the trunk,
my rough child's feet gripping smooth bark,
and my hands pull me higher.
I can spy everything from here.
Others shout down below.

IV.
A mother.
A safe haven I turn to
when my day has been wrong.
I sit hidden; the breeze gives branchy hugs
and rocks me until the sadness flees.

V.
A best friend.
I will entrust no one but a tree
With the knowledge of whom I love.
Soft giggles and red flushed cheeks
as I cut his initials into the trunk,
trusting my secret will be safe.

VI.
A builder.
Without trees there would be no written word,
no fires to warm pale, cold-bumped skin.
They give selflessly, we give nothing:
they do not crave gratitude.

~W.D.W.

More Crappy Poetry, Baby. Run. Now.

Ghost Chant

The apex of the dawn draws near
(There's a chill inside of me)
Soul-less depths fill full of fear
(Lack of will inside of me)

Light reveals the fractured faults
(Something cries inside of me)
The all-devouring darkness halts
(Something dies inside of me)

Here it is, a blinding blaze
(Something tears inside of me)
Reluctantly the shadow strays
(Nothing cares inside of me)

Soon I'll flicker and fade away
(I know what dies inside of me)
No more shadows. It is day.
(No more lies inside of me)

~W.D.W.

I have wanted to to a call and answer poem for a long time, and this is what came out. I have no opinion.
__________________________________________________

For Fam
Faster and faster the angry words fly;
They cut and they bite their way down within.
I fight and I scream, but I will not cry.

Her voice begins to suffocate; I feel her love die.
Around me all civility is caving down in.
Faster and faster the angry words fly.

My moment of weakness; I no longer try.
Her eyes are dark with hatred- that's when
I fight and I scream, but I will not cry.

She pauses for breath; in that moment I spy
Another opening where I can dig my nails in.
Faster and faster the angry words fly.

Her eyes shine with hurt; why did I...
We're both so angry; where did this begin?
I fight and I scream, but I will not cry.

Tomorrow I'll wake and I'll feel low, like some sin.
How shallow and petty we must seem in God's eye!
But faster and faster the angry words fly,
So I fight and I scream, but I will not cry.

~W.D.W.

Yes, I wrote that in honor of me and Fam, but I'd never show it to her because she wouldn't get it. She wouldn't focus on the repentive ending; she'd be all over the feel-sorry-for-myself beginning.
Anyway, bitterness over. I chose this format because the format is very much like the repetitive cycle of our fights. We repeat and nitpick over the same things, and I wnated to show that. I wonder if anyone would pick up on that if I did not tell them?
Funny thing...I'm not an orthodoxly religious person...I was very surprised when He showed up in my poem.
_______________________________________________

Death to the King
Today is the day- as your life fades away
Your world will become empty and grey.
We will watch you die and have nothing to say.
Today is the day- your hair has grown grey,
Your eyes are dim, and why, we can't say,
But you simply refuse to go away.

-but we shall make you, anyway.

~W.D.W.

I found this in my psychology binder today. I don't remember quite when I wrote it, but I revised it and put it up here anyway. I showed it to Biker, she laughed really hard for a while and said it was great. She has a funky sense of humor- I thought it was as morbid as could be. Oh well.
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Little note that makes me smile: The Dragon's license plate is NME.
n.m.e........enemy, perhaps?

Crappy Mini-Poem Right Here, Right Now.

Good things don't come to those who try,
and fail anyway in the end
Instead they come to those who wait-
Effectively delivered by hand.

Crappy Poetry Part I

Procrastinatress
It is often difficult for me to comprehend
How I can so capably ruin a good thing.
For example:
They say patience is a virtue;
They have obviously never met me.

~W.D.W.

This one doesn't have much to it. I wasn't trying to impress anyone; I was just attempting to cleverly state a fact. The job of the title is to explain what I am talking about. If I showed this poem sans title, I am sure fewer people would fully appreciate what I am talking about.
I played with the word procrastinator and decided on procrastinatress because it makes it seem like I have it down to an art form distinct to me. (Which is true.)
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::EDIT::
Autumn Mocks Me
The breeze hurries the husks of leaves by my feet
As I stroll through the dusk and down the street
My coat mimics the leaves and licks at my shoes
I think it would like to be taken up too
But I am too heavy to flutter away.
The breeze that could bring me up would break me down
I'd be flying free amidst chunks of debris
That would split or splinter and sting into me.
My new shirt would be darkened and dirtied and damp
Not bright and white but a bloody dark brown
And I doubt I'd be able to bring myself down.
So right about here is where I will stay
Not up in the air but safe on the ground
My face still and cold as the leaves zip around

Up me, around me, and down me they fly
Tauntingly telling me tales of the sky.

The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

~Theodore Roethke

See? Isn't this an awesome villanelle? I love the format of this poem! Ah...must go write my own!

::EDIT::
Did no homework this weekend because I needed a break. However, that means that I will be more busy this week that formerly intended. Oh well. Next weekend is bowling and pointfest, so I'll really have to work hard to keep my weekend free...but I can do it. After this week, I'll almost be free. Almost.

::2ND EDIT::
I made this to rant. Why don't I feel like it??

::sigh:: I want to run, but I'm sure I need another rest day. My right shin still aches. Being on my feet all weekend at work probably hasn't helped matters much. It's frustrating...

I need to go do homework, but I'm in no mood.

I wonder when Fam and Unc get back. Do I have one more night of peace, or no? They left Friday; I doubt it.