I never said I was good at poems

Not cats
Originally uploaded by RedTea

In the quiet alone.
Not really quiet
Not really alone.
Two cats
TV
Dishes moving
Doors closing.

Its funny
How many pill bottles
Empty, Well most of them.
How little space
to put things that used to be in one room.
Another room.
Another building.

Manga
invisible,
online.

A book like those in class
No, not the story kind.
it catches interest
in other ways.
By telling the way things are,
The kind to make you think
you are learning,

Already here
were
Old CD’s.
Computer programs,
too old to run
even if I didn’t have
a MAC.

Old keyboard
Old boxes
Old stuff-
ed animals

Little Origami Cranes
made with love
for my sister, from a boy
long ago.

All
Pointless
to keep,
but I do keep

Pointless:
except for the manga,
and the book of expensive thoughts,
and the cranes (made with love),
and the boxes (stuffs inside),
and the quiet room
with cats and noise.

focus focus and come up with a title

Peppermint tea. It always reminds me of the Sims.
A nice amount of goodness that rolls over me, mixed with uneasiness because the end of the semester. What am I to do? I am free in a way. I could go anywhere in the U.S. (that I could afford). …anywhere with a good job.

Another day has gone by.
It is my second to last day. Just writing that made my head more clear. It was feeling foggy… no, tried. I wanted to sleep through class so much. If I didn’t responsibilities I would have slept, but today is a final paper turn in day.

I just finished my first class of the day. I am more awake now. Do you think I should have turned in my slip to the Prof. saying I have a disability?

I have a desktop of Sasuke now. Hey, why not? He has a funny outfit…wait I cannot give things away!

My hands are just not making ideas flow down to the keyboard.

As follows is practice, or a game… it is by no means great (or logical) poetry

setting here on my apple
drinking Italian soda not, coffee
not even using the wireless
the sound of typing and people.
beside the brink
there is a mage.

I would like to be a mage
I guess I could look instructions up, apple
colored brink
and not far away is coffee
but people
really come here for the wireless

it is free wireless
it even attracted a mage
who could turn all these people
into frogs, a michigan apple
is better then coffee.
in my backyard there were brinks

reddish like these brinks
but no wireless
and no coffee
maybe I could tell the mage
if I ever get off my apple
and talk to these talking people.

always interesting people
what was here before they tore brink
to make room in another building. why do I keep on saying apple?
is it the effect of waves of wireless
entering my brain, or is it the mage
who really has a lot of coffee.

decaf coffee
what a waste. people
are afraid of the mage
and stay far away from the wall of brink
now I see he is the source of the wireless.
and all he is doing is eating an apple

the mage doesn’t notice the people.
perhaps the smell of coffee has entered the brick
and wireless has cooked it like an microwaved apple.

La la la

I’ve been looking
through my past…
I’ve been looking
for material.
Something
to add a little more
to a detailed picture.

And in the end
all I do
is sleep some more,
or
wish I was
something else
that my brain didn’t
feel this way,
all the time.

Yet it passes,
and moments

what am I thinking
I will never win
this contest
with my sister.

a contest on sleep hygiene.

if only it were well-power,
that if I just forced
myself to get up
everything would be fine.

If only
I just
gave myself
a little more time
to sleep.

If only
I factored in
a few more hours,
two, my sister says
no difference…
still tired.

I would very much like
to throw
in the towel today,
and
sleep,

I tired everyday.
I’ve said this many, many times.

I waited on the last
medication
combination,
hoping
not wanting to give up
now I’ve waited too long.

That’s it!
I’m getting chocolate!

Wind
Winter
Why?

I have spoken of a bear
that sleeps all winter,
but
while the bear sleeps
the wind wakes up
and blows in my face.

a bear lives by the pole
and I am the pole,
I am two poles
not everyone
has the honor
of being a pole.

I do not listen to the polls
they move, I guess
like I move
they move with me
they follow me,
because whether I listen or no
I am the poll.

exotic dancers are all over me
all the time I try to push them off
bug off, leave me alone
but they climb all over me
and herds of men follow me around.

why is it that I couldn’t be a mole, or a bowl?
why is it that you label me at all?
sure we might exhibit the same symptoms
sort of
I am not him/her she/he is not me

oh #$!&) this poem I’m too tired

A bear

Way up near the north poll
where the light either
comes all day
or there is only night.

Lost in a wasteland of cold
it finds its home
where the glaciers
still exist.

How do you live so alone?
Why don’t you seek others?
to share the stories
of the snow.

Perhaps you will realize
that the dark doesn’t make a wasteland
because while the light disappears
winter ends, light returns.

And I know you sleep like me,
tired, but this fades
and someday day
and night will be equal.