Poems: a collection of works by twelve young Kansas poets
I had the wonderful opportunity to share a great semester with talented poets, and our collection, “Poems: a collection of works by twelve young Kansas poets” was privately published at the end of our semester. It was also dedicated to my roommate, Kristine Andersen, who passed away October 7, 2012. If you’re a loved one of Kristine Andersen, email me via my Contact Page, and I will send you the link for distributing.
Unfortunately, I cannot offer to sell this collection, but I thought I would share the poems inside, so read below!
If you want to read more about this accomplishment, click here.
You beg me to embrace your hold forever,
yet I dream, doubt,
understand and can’t,
walk away, habitually return, then depart again.
You desire all my tears and condolence.
You enjoy the challenges of my day.
Nighttime’s another story, which dares you.
You dance tenderly, sing at me sincerely,
cozy with love neither real nor true,
hold my hands in contemplation,
warm them with my dread.
In your beliefs, I’m always safer,
which is desired, but why never a different way?
Every dream interprets changing lives for us.
You only smile when I stare ahead blankly,
and encourage that by dreading all mistakes,
plenty, quickly forgiven.
Stare damn far away, and memorize my tears.
Next: push me; it would be better.
You crave me to die merely for you and by you,
preferably in a populous, watchful crowd,
yet my fate never curses tomorrow’s day,
sunshine closing in with one stop sign.
Every day I fell in love with you,
I argue a commitment. To then from never,
yet you gaze at me with love,
since you don’t want to begin all over again either.
Backwards understanding of hands compared,
hurting the distance parallel to mine.
Something tangible questions the unanswered:
Only one second before, defined egos became a long time.
Something tangible is the silent bee, happening among the never will of
I. Don’t. Think.
Back to him: the okay will of the bee, the sunset and me, these days that may be my last.
Come back to my waiting: take what you cannot take, and write a letter to the gray:
Dear Living Dead, forward moving time,
Together yourself holds, honestly caring, waiting for you to come back,
that we’ve done too, weak of the week.
Myself is kept when depressed
as long as it is True.
I Won’t Use THE Word
Harder tried is our home’s happiness.
Lessons collected: heard, felt, changed–alive.
My lasting days of
Darkened distance, constantly reminding of time, flooded back.
Go away. To both of them.
How could you not enjoy this?
The rules of life are nothing that cannot be fixed.
Two reasons: shape up and smack me in the face.
Bipolar yes, bipolar no.
Truth hurts without a lie.
Slightly Broken Hearted
Tear down everything / in 10 hours and 10 minutes.
How damaged are you \ when we wait and see?
I miss you, I miss this / heart and mind and soul.
My over-packed day of \ seeing you go, go, go, go.
This metaphorical cave / won’t allow a yellow canary in.
Unpredictable honesty \ changes everything maybe.
An anonymous loving / message frolics in chaos.
Love crosses the sky \ on a peculiar disturbing night.
Why can’t I Google every answer to life’s most important questions?
Why can’t I Google every answer to life’s most important quote?
Why can’t I Google every answer to life’s most i?
Why can’t I Google every answer to life’s motto?
Why can’t I Google every answer to lies?
Why can’t I Google every answer tomorrow?
Why can’t I Google every abbreviation?
Why can’t I Google everything?
Why can’t I get a job?
Why can’t we be friends?
Why is the sky blue?
Showing results for: life shortcuts.
Did you mean: how do I learn?
Bright plight coins of guilty pleasure,
the vagina vernacular of Lolita’s princess.
Her castle kingdom of jail where
electrocution is illegal and rape it too (but only one happens anymore.)
Despite a monster mask
…Guilty until proven innocent.
Blood on his hands,
…Still reasonable doubt.
Fuck you flannel of worship.
…Two wrongs makes indifference in the court.
Catalyst of Karma,
Drive me to sanity–please.
…You’re in luck. I’m heading that way.
Delectable flesh of childhood.
Breathe, she be. Scream banshee.
A monstrous nightmare–a childhood fear–that we assume was imagined behind closed doors.