Under 30 Sec.

so heres the thing, about my life,
theres not much adrenaline, poise, nor strife,
I go to school, make shirts all day
and here I am to tell you...Hey!

Not much I know but its all I've got
my spirits strung on shirts and not
so much into this poetry now
but heres one more and I say Ciao.

Yes, I did write this under 30 seconds right off the top of my head. Hold your applause. But feel free to comment.

For This the Life

For this the life I must submit a way,
You cannot bring and cannot take your mind
But what existence of a soul you say
But adventure, intrigue, are sure to find.

A way to be is thus set forth, declared
As fifty old compile just the same
They tell you all to go and be not scared
But Hell be thine if right you do not gain

Time well spent is not ours to choose but well
What is true on one may not be thus on two
Whether it is man you fear, God or Hell
kaleidoscopes insist on changing hue.

As each man once here then gone must he be
Not mine to say yea nay whilst he was free.

Yeah, my first attempt at a shakespearean sonnet. It seems that ambiguity comes with the territory.

The Great Deliberation

so here's the thing I cannot decide
the bane of my existence.
For just when I think my title grand,
it fades into the distance.

I need some help, a call to arms
for all of my good friends,
decide upon the following five
and comment once again.

Really though, I need to decide on a header. Not to mention a name for my blog. If you would please vote, and have your families vote, heck, have your friends vote, just give me a comment with a real number of how many of your associates voted for which one.

Contestant #1

Contestant #2

Contestant #3

Contestant #4

Contestant #5

The Prayer

The windowsill is haunted, a ghost waits down the stairs,
a person who waits quietly for something just not there.
I see a drip of water, I sip a glass of wine.
and wait to see the helpless state, of all of this: Mankind.

I cannot sleep for hours, I cannot pray for days,
The state I'm in, the one I've been, is driving me insane.
So help me out, I cannot be This person anymore.
There's something here, There's something that,won't cut it anymore.

So this is who I turn to, to this there is no lie.
For when there's someone out there, to hear my desperate cry.
There are daemons in the mountains but there is peace in every way.
The time I take to listen, determines if I'll stay.

I cannot be the person, that you all want me to be.
So I'm casting off, I'm changing all the things that I chose to see.
But take me to the mountains for I cannot be afraid;
of all these things that cannot stay, for you are here with me.

Take me further up while holding me so tight.
Take a chance, make this real, and place me in the light.
So help me out, I cannot be this person any more.
There's something here, theres something that, won't cut it anymore.

So this is who I turn to, to this there is not lie.
For when there's someone out there, to hear my strangled cry.
So show me what I'm missing for I see it all around,
show me what has blinded me, and in what state I drown.

Theres something here I realize, something to defeat.
But I know that I cannot come home, walking on these feet.
So change me for forever. not to be undone.
Change the way I see this life, turned toward thy son.

Take this piece of matter, that's broken on the floor. Make me something better than I could ever be before.

So, this poem is called "The Prayer" I think you may be able to decipher it yourselves. Just remember that this is the poem that I used for the title on header 3. I did not do drafts, I did not backspace, and I did not do it on paper first. This is purely my mind spilling onto the page. (that accounts for the half-stanza at the end) So don't judge too harshly but I would like to hear feedback. If I get a unanimous call for an explanation I will probably provide it.

My World

My worlds as follows listen close
A circus ball with curled in toes
an hour glass with sand to spare
a tiny man is caught in there

a tiny bird with guava skin
a tennis pro who's bound to win
a tiny gecko camped on cheek
my finger hurts from stopping leak

a lie or two it cannot harm
a bat no two are in my farm
my butterflies that bring me dew
some herbal tea one lump, nay two

Then hours in the sun rains down
as little planes with painted frowns
they find a runway on my neck
the clock strikes one with tick then teck

the mice find refuge in the rain
as those with wings find their restraint
the ground alive with umbrellas bright
smaller than a widows mite

while humpty dumpty slips and falls
and the drops turn into bouncy balls
a crazy punk just screams and shouts
and two twin orphans sit and pout

The man across the street sits down
and practices his smiley frown
while frogs perform their symphony
and this my friends, my world to be.

Yeah, I imagine you guys are looking for an explanation. I am pretty sure I have restless leg syndrom, and one night I could not sleep for the life of me, there was just too much bunched up in my head. I wrote this and then fell asleep shortly after and in the morning I could barely remember I had written it. Strangely enough, most of the bizarre things have actual bearing in my life. For example:
An Hour Glass with sand to spare: Hour glasses are supposed to be perfect, the perfect number of grains of sand...something seems to be wrong with my hourglass...I'm still trying to measure the sand correctly.
A bat, no two are in my farm: There are things that I have that are wrong in my life, and as soon as I acknowledge that I find another...I can never be rid of the bats in my barn.
As those with wings find their restraint: Everyone knows you cannot fly in the rain. But who can think of something better than that? sometimes the challenge in this life is finding the restraint not to do something we desperately long to do because we know the consequences.

Anyways, those are just a few examples.

The Mansion

A mansion dank, and dark and broken,
Long since word inside been spoken,
Fallen and forgotten place with broken window, beam and door

Pathways hidden, grown o'er and lost,
Twixt fern and flower, weed and moss,
A fairy tale if 'er there were forgotten but not dead.

He stood inside, a long bone wanderer
who wondered what all this was for
as footfall after footfall he paced along the squeaking floor.

Taking one step, then another,
first his left foot then the other.
Broken down and weary, retired lonely, but not dead

Reaching wall he turned and thought,
of what with all this time he'd wrought.
Pacing through this lonely house, a shell of what it could have been

He stood much longer sat and pondered,
looking round the blue-gray walls.
Then he paced two more and faced,
the prospect of these barren halls.

He broke routine and went and looked.
The sheets removed, the drapes he shook.
Digging deep inside this house that must hold more than empty space.

deep inside the darkest hall,
He found an old familiar wall,
and sitting at its base forgotten brushes paints and ladder tall.

Week on end he spent redoing,
walls and ceilings, furniture moving,
till with time inside unique, he placed his final touch.

Today nobody stops and pauses,
as they pass the mansion gray;
But inside the world is moving, variable as a brand new day.

He brought to light a hidden wonder,
caught beneath in sleepless slumber,
A place he knew existed but pushed beneath inside his head.

And he moves on, himself fulfilling,
running notions through his head.
And though the outside unbecoming,
inside is much alive, not dead.

Well, another self-reflecting poem...It didn't start out that way. I wanted to write a poem with random stanzas and rhyming patterns. I wrote most of it with a 'raven' feel to it which was fun. Pretty self-explanatory I think. If you have questions or are confused feel free to post your concern. I like it when people give me feedback...the harsher the better. To quote Mr. Mellen: "you never improve when people tell you that you are perfect."

Jallop ll - The near reprieve

The building old, the ceiling damp
a rusty pipe, a makeshift clamp.
The mortar breaks and falls apart
A place not for the feint of heart.

32 rounds an easy feat,
4 rounds each day that must be beat.
Down each new hall he greets his task
a challenge done, with ease it's passed.

Jallop prays his suffering brief
but cannot speed his near reprieve
And soon it comes, alight in dark,
a rose glass window betwixt an arch.

Faced with freedom Jallop waits,
as one not worthy at pearly gates.
With others pushing on behind,
their blindfolds on and vision blind.

He heaves a stone midst perfect glass
and moves to light, his suffering past.
He steps into the fearsome rays
and greets the natural light of days.

He sees his friends, some not prepared,
His peers and colleagues ready. Scared.
unsure of where he fits just yet,
he starts anew, his course to set.

it's black and white, spotted, clear.
There is something better, far from here.
his faith restored, his birth anew,
Jallop sets forth his task to do.

As always I like to present some kind of explanation to my poetry to avoid misinterpretation. The task which jallop encounters at the beginning of the poem is of course High School. He bests it with little strain and feels confident that it is time to leave and move on to something better. Once he is faced with the stained glass window he sees that it is merely a rose-colored glass making everything on the other side look perfect. He hesitates wondering whether or not he is ready but realizes he has no choice. He looks around at his friends and hopes desperately that they have prepared themselves as well. In the end Jallop finds the strength to move forward with faith and conviction as he realizes Leer is with him (black and white spotted).

If you feel confused I recommend you read the first Jallop poem again. I didn't bother repeating the same symbols. And if you want to guess at some of my other symbols I would love to hear the guesses...
32, 4, and the arch.