A poem for a poem

Um, this is too cool of an experience to keep to myself. The other day my friend and I were having a rather open and intense conversation in Facebook chat when the program went out and we left things hanging. But unbeknownst to each other, we both ended up writing poems about it (especially weird since neither of us write poems much these days and it was 2am). But he ended up sending me his poem but said he hadn't finished it yet, and when I sent him mine back, I realized it was a response to his that was written at the same time. It was pretty trippy. So, the first set is his and then when the voice changes it's mine. I'm still totally weirded out that they are a conversation in verse.

A Poem for A Poem

There's a world out there undiscovered yet
Causes which are many unknown
Lost in a confusion that many fret
A mixture of rampant emotions

Outward appearances have deceived
Being sensually appetizing
Is "love" actually being achieved
During this stage of disguising?

Exhilarating and always fun
Evoke such unexplained passion
Flooding of feelings in everyone
This seems to be the new fashion

Attraction moves to the inward spirit
Success starting to knock at the door
Wondering "Can I really inherit?"
A love that will last forever more

Dreams begin of an adventurous past
Notions incriminate us to find
Escapades that will never be surpassed
Doubts infix themselves into the mind



It's not about love
It's about choice
And learning that you have a voice
From hearts that like to hurt and feel
And fight against a conquered will
Alone, they will never learn control
It's only one half of the soul

Eyes, ears, and mouth are on the head
'Cuz conscious thought is to be read
And music is heard, and songs are sung
From deep within expansive lung
Which hides the heart in cavity
And it's constant pounding to break free
What would it do without the brain?
Slowly free itself from pain?
Wildly beat itself to death
Independent of calming breath
Finally succumbing to the stress
That lonely hearts experience?

Things are pondered, not pounded, within the brain
Instead of pumped, they are taught to refrain
A fact that allows me to sustain
An existence I've grown fond of
A stable, subtle chance at love
With brain and heart in harmony
A chance to feel completely free.

Half-lives and Half-loves

This is my victory
Life over self-denial
and coming to overcome
My favorite mistakes

A new life
Full of the newness
I've been missing for so long
No more settling for half-lives and half-loves

I'm insecure
I know
I've never been here before
And I don't know how I'll do

But it's got to be better
Than always wanting something more
Than waiting for someone to catch me
Instead of leading me on

No more small niceties and big disappointments
I'm choosing the right guy for good

This is my victory. Finally.

Worked in Progress

Pebbles of the past
Slingshotted back into being
The now of it all
that I wanted to leave behind
Progressively returning
Yearning to be relived and dissected
From it's cold and lonely grave

I'm glad it wasn't as bad as I remembered it
I'm glad it doesn't hurt as much
But I resent that it hurt so bad I had to stop feeling at all
The dull undertones to real emotion that I now live with
Make me feel less whole

Some Poems...

I used to write ALOT of poems, but they are all hidden away in a notebook in my room since I stopped writing in my third year of college. I'm reading through a couple of them and I thought I'd start to share some just so I can feel validated in writing them in the first place. This one didn't have a title as it was a response to an e-mail poetry battle I was having at the time with my friends Mike Steed and Marie Hutchison.

I've been hearing through the grapevine
and the modem at my home
that my words have just not satisfied
that you want a REAL poem

Well, you see a poem is more than talent
It's inspiration and sweat
It's evaluating all life has
and what it holds for you, yet.
Some treasure the sappy moments
Others are jokes in rhyme
But little do the readers know
these poems took lots of time
Revisions of their visions
A line that just won't fit
A true poem not only has style
But conveys meaning behind it

In our overworked and fast paced world
The time passes too quickly
But even then anyone can write a poem
If they will take the time to see
The joy the world holds for them
The sorrow that it gaves
And refuse to be blinded to anyone
who offers a unique perspective

So, my friends, keep your ears open
And let your ears hear it all
But only keep that which is good
Or, more than likely, you will Fall
Remember this advice you've received
From this little Ghetto Poe
The truth will only come to those
Who have the courage to WANT to know.