The House We Built

My house is made of paint,
Much like any other
Eggshell-white walls, skimmed over;
At a glance, unimportant, undifferentiated
Nothing particular, not even a peel


My house is made of paint,
Ten-foot walls, smooth to the touch
Burdened in small places, a bump
Pressurized nails forced into ghost wood
Breaking through the primers and finishers


A house made of paint, it’s clean
You walk in, smell nothing but faint
Vacant traces of the wet, viscous fluid
And in that trace, memories of a beginning
And the anxieties of new memories to come


Cold winds help dry a wet house
A fortress of dreams, decay
Vanities unlike any other, in a house like this
So fresh, unmarred, for the most part
Because eggshell-white is so, simple




My house is made of paint,
Susceptible to peeling, from time to time
A chip here, a nick there
Writing on the wall, colors
A trip to the hardware store




My house is made of paint
Touch-ups are necessary, from time to time
Day to day, a fresh coating of eggshell-white
The nails spackled over
The nicks, chips, and peels, hidden once again


My house is made of paint,
Much like any other
At a glance: unimportant, undifferentiated
Nothing peculiar, except for the lack of peels
The memories lying under thousands of touch-ups

Ruminations

My shadow's split, just like my mind
I'm just as cruel as I am kind

My preference for some things could be taken out of context
But that doesn't necessarily make me any more complex

Don't Worry, Be Happy

My life story in four lines:

To rhyme in perfect verse

can truly be a curse.

Indeed, it could be worse.

I think I'll be a nurse.

Change in plans?

I feel bad because I chose limericks to be
The next form of poetry we attempt to free
From societal constraints
And personal restraints
But since The Char hates them we could move on to something that rhymes with "be"

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Like couplets. Or tercets.

Yeah, limericks are hard.

I Hate Limericks

because I fail at creating them.

They fill my soul up with nasty phlegm.

...

Move-In Day

When one arrives on campus, what else would one expect,
But rejoicing and excitement from old friends the past year met!
Alas not everything in life goes as planned...
And with mother nature's wrath at hand,
One receives naught more than a broken printer and your pillows all soaking wet.

Unhappy Endings

Ten little crickets jumping to the moon;

Down by the waterfront coral swallows croon.

Frog leaps from the bank to a lily pad...

Suddenly an earthquake! Now frog is dead.

So much for pleasantries spoken of too soon.