Father of Poetry, of all Kind
Master of scansion, rhythm, and rhyme.
Creator of people, Master of things
You can justify even the craziest things.
But I have a bone to pick with you
And By george, “ to thine own self be true”;
I pray that you will run away
If you don’t want to hear what I have to say.

You have some of the coolest names in your play:
Hamlet, Macbeth, Macduff, Romeo, Benvolio.
But most of your characters meet a depressing and tragic end.
And I know what you are thinking: What do you care?
Hi. My name is Ophelia.
And no thanks to you,
Technically I am a suicide case
Waiting to happen.
So while you lay there,
Six feet under dead and gone,
I live
For Every
Single
English Major
To question
My sanity.

My sister Emmy
She is out of the real life circuit.

A farctate of a child, my mother always said.
Chatting animatedly with her friends:
Harry Potter, Morgan LeFay, King Arthur.
She will bladderskate
For hours to these Fribblers of literature
She even claims that Beouwulf
Destroyed her room!!
I fear that they will sned her away
But it’s so much fun with her around.
Although it may do her some good,
I hope she never returns to the real life circuit.


Two trees
Like two toddlers
Fighting over their favourite toy
The two trees
Wrestle for the same spot.
The young one seems to hold the lead.
Its mighty claw,
Destabilizing the older tree
However, having more experience,
He has wrapped himself around this rocky terrain,
Implanting itself to the spot.

This wrestling match took years to get here.
It may take years to end.
But if we don’t find out,
Someone should tell us the outcome.


Water pouring from the lake
The clean air rustles the trees
Marvelling at God’s “mistake”
And Basking in the breeze.

For some the sun may be too hot
Or else the rocks much too stony
But I would pay my worth in bahts
Just to stay here, warm and lonely

I may not be the most nature smart
Nor am I completely maladroit
But I can’t help but marvel at this art
And hope no one will exploit.

This is my personal heaven
Sadly, I’m only here til eleven.


The problem
I refuse to say that this Country has a problem
With the images we see today.
With the two thin supermodels
or girls shaped like coke bottles It’s a wonder how some stay at bay

And I refuse to report that media’s retort
Is as useless as it is a lie.
“Those girls’s should know better,
What do they want, an apology letter?”
No they won’t eat because they wish they could die.

Nor will I sit here and deny
Because most victims will lie
About the visions that haunt us so much.

So I say
That we should embrace these ideas.

Street Urchin Jacket
Mom says I should stop wearing you.
“It’s not cold outside.”
“You don’t need to wear it all the time.”
But to me you signify more than a safety blanket;
You are part of my identity!
With the buttons hanging loose
And the rips in the shoulder,
Stitched up by purple thread.
Faded black on the outside makes you
Weathered yet tough
But warm and colorful on the inside.
I can
-And Should-
Wear you every day.
But as summer and spring come,
And the weather burns on
(As it so often does)
I have to resort to the
Street Urchin vest.



School Days
Wake Up
It’s Friday
Time for schoolthenworkthenhome
Don’t Want To Wake Up
Don’t have to wake up
It’s 2:30
Checking to make sure
5:30
GetupShowerFindclothesFedcatIncarGo!
Where’smy purse?
Where’remy keys?
WhendidI start
The car?
Nomatter
W A I T
HowdidI get to school?
Who cares?!?!?!?!?!
Gottaget to class
Whew! Made it before the BELL
Enduring claaass after claaass after claaass after claaass after claaasslnch after clssclss
Now it’s time for
Workworkworkworkwork
Then I go home
Hoping I get to do it
When
Wake up
It’s Monday