You are the light in my maddening world of darkness;
A single ray of constant hope and beauty
descending upon my brooding brow.
Sleep by my side,
Wrap me in your comfort,
For I feel the emotions of a lost child:
scared, alone, pitiful.
I have always been the one easily angered,
easily irritated,
easily swayed in emotions.
But your joy reminds me of the ease of laughter,
the ease of love,
the ease of a thousand happinesses,
So on my knees I beg,
do not let me succumb to darkness,
do not withdraw your light in fear.
For while you hurt, at least you are strong.
It is I who relies on finding the passion of life in your gayety,
And cannot nuture myself to survive in this life alone.

Leaping Gazelles cause such ruthless damage

Bounding over the craters of the moon

I know not the secrets of their adage

But they seem to flee an impending doom

The cluck of a chicken lifted him from his daydream. Disappointed in himself for the momentary lapse in focus, he returned to his studies.

            He came out to the chicken coop often, finding it to be a quite suitable escape from the sprawling suburbia in which he lived. Sure—it smelled—but the relaxing farm-like atmosphere was soothing and as a result he found that it was the perfect spot to do his homework in.

            He sat on the roost amidst the droppings. The hens curiously approaching and then flapping away if they felt threatened.

            Dumb birds

            He came out to the same spot almost every day, yet the hens never seemed comfortable with his presence. But despite their stupidity, he could not help but mile watching the birds pick at the seed scattered on the ground by his feet.

            The boy looked at his watch and swore. He had lapsed into daydream once again, and was going to be late for class. He fumbled his papers back into his binder and dashed out of the coop, taking the time to securely latch the gate behind him.

            He was an average looking kid, and was wearing shorts and a pair of sunglasses to escape the summer heat. His attitude toward the place where he lived was very stereotypical of a love-hate relationship. As much as he hated the constant sun and the bother of the intense heat in the summer (as well as the complete lack of snow in the winter) he could not picture living anywhere else. He loved the fluidity of the southern Californian dialect, the laid-back atmosphere, and the ability to call himself Californian. But most of all he loved the “SoCal style”. Specifically: the article of clothing known as the sundress.

            She was wearing one of these sundresses when he finally arrived to class. It happened to be one of her many, and this particular dress was his personal favorite.

            He slipped into his customary seat behind her as the professor continued his lecture. When he tapped her on the shoulder and whispered a hello, she flashed a smile and whispered a greeting back.

            He wished he had gotten here sooner so they would have been able to have had their customary pre-class hang out; but it honestly did not matter much anyway. Whenever they talked, it was just that; talking. It was little more than shooting the breeze as friends. Yet, this was still the highlight of his Mondays and the lack of this time made him feel as if he had lost out on something valuable. The thrill for him was not in her looks or charm—both of which were outstanding—but simply in her companionship.

            After class he pulled aside as they walked out the door—this was unusual. Typically after class they both went their separate ways.

            “I’m thinking about switching my major back again.”

            “Oh?” She looked surprised, but not unhappy to be talking to him.

            “Yeah… It just didn’t feel right, you know?”

            She laughed.

 “Does this mean you will be transferring out of here? I can’t say I won’t be jealous if you do.”

            He noticed she was no longer looking as happy.

“Don’t worry, you’ll transfer out soon too. I mean—you’re definitely smarter than I am—my major is you so less impacted—-”

            “Oh, definitely. I’m not worried about that at all.”

He was now confused as to why she would be upset and trying to think of a reason.

Oh shit! I’m making her late for class.

“Well, I guess I just wanted to let you know, and since I got here late and all that.”

 “I’m happy for you. I’m glad you figured it out.”

Her reply was terse.

“Did I make you upset? I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”

Although he had no idea why, her eyes had started to mist, but she still smiled when he spoke.

She whispered, “Come here,” and squeezed him tightly in a hug.

“I just was really looking forward to taking classes with you again next year. I know it’s selfish, but changing your major back ruins my plans.”

Silent tears were running down her face. He had no idea what to say—or how to act. However he still attempted.

“We can still be friends and talk, it’s not like I’ll never come home. Plus we can hang out for that whole week at the start of summer before my internship starts.”

She whispered something into his chest.

“What was that?”

“A week’s not enough.”

And with that she lightly kissed him. Their lips brushing for a split second before she pulled out of the embrace and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“I really am happy for you Calvin.”

He started to vocalize a response, but she spoke first.

“I’m late for class.”

She turned and quickly walked away, leaving him to wonder what just happened.

            He wanted to run after her, grab her in his arms and make sure she knew everything was going to be okay, but he knew he would not be able to. He knew what would happen if he forced it. He knew what he would be putting her through if he tried to make it work. It was unfair to her, just as life was often unfair to him.

            He stood in the same spot until the clock tower sounded. He knew they would no longer be talking as much. Eventually he walked to his next class, sat in the back row, and admired all of the pretty sundresses.

The sparrow flutters past me,

Unaware of who I am,

Or what it is.

I am late for class.

Dropped my Fountain Pen

Blue ink blotches on the floor

Now they won’t come off

Scene I: A study

Enter Jack.

Jack: I am oh so lonely. I wish someone interesting would enter mylife.

Enter Veronica from behind Jack

Jack: Have my prayers been answered?

Turns around

Jack: What a bother. It is simply Veronica.

Veronica: Other women might take offense to that.

J: (aside) I wish you would take offense to it and just leave.

Oh my dearest Veronica, how are you feeling today? How is your mother?

V: Sadly, mother passed last Friday.

J: (Excited) Really? That’s grea—Rather unfortunate, if I do say so myself.

V: I’m actually pleased, now I no longer have to wait to inherit my mother’s fortune.

J: You wouldn’t mind spreading of said fortune around to one of your closest friends now would you?

V: (Insulted) Hah! I knew it! My mother is in perfect health you arse! You’re merely still friends with me for an attempt at wealth; but no matter, I love you anyway. I blame myself for not being able to save your sick twisted mind completely. Now I will dedicate the rest of my extra time to fixing you.

J: But I don’t want to be fixed—

V: Oh but you desperately need it. I’ll come by your flat tomorrow to start your training.

Veronica Leaves

Jack groans, sinking into a chair.

J: I should simply end it now. My life is too dreadful to even attempt to enjoy. I’ll leave town tomorrow. Escape the wench and her idealism. No—that won’t do—I have to give that lecture at James Madison tomorrow. Fine. I can make do. I will simply jump off the clock tower after I finish my lecture. When they see the mess I make from impact they’ll simply ignore it and walk on by. No one cares about a professor of Molusk Reproduction. Such a shame, I believe it’s quite an exciting field.

Scene ii: Lecture Hall

Jack: In conclusion, the breeding of mollusks increases expontentially in relation to the amount of CO2 present in the surrounding fecal matter in which they form their love nests. Thank you for your time, I’m about to go jump off the clock tower.

The few students there get up and leave

J: Not even a flash of care. Doubt they listened to a single word I said. A shame. They would have been so enlightened.

Veronica rushes in

Veronica: Don’t do it Jack! You have too much to live for!

J: (flabbergasted) What? How did you know? I mean, what are you talking about?

V: I watch all of your lectures on live stream. I can’t believe you would even contemplate something like that!

J: I wasn’t going to do it anyway. It was merely a test of your dedication. I love you, and I had hoped that you would come to the clock tower to stop me… where I planned on proposing.

V: Oh my goodness! Of course! When shall the wedding be?

J: But I haven’t even properly asked you yet. Please darling, come to the top of the clock tower with me so I can ask you correctly. I had everything planned as if it would happen in a better location.

V: Oh Jack! I had no idea you were such a romantic. Let’s go right now.

J: Whatever your heart desires my dear.

They leave

Scene iii: The top of the University clock tower

Jack is on one knee, Veronica is crying against the guard rail.

Jack: Will marry me?

Veronica: Yes! Of course!

Jack opens an empty box

V: (Slightly saddened) … no ring?

J: Oh, I must have left it on the railing behind you.

Veronica turns around

V: Where is it dear?

J: (grinning) Right here!

Jack pushes Veronica over the guard rail. She screams as she plummets to the ground.

-SPLAT- screams and chaos below

J: No one would have cared about my splat. Look at how they all panic. I guess a wealthy heiress is more exciting than a mollusk professor. Ah, they’re all pointing at me.

(Shouts) Don’t worry! I’m not going anywhere!

The campus police are here now as well. Will take them a while to get through that lock. Telling her I didn’t want to be disturbed during our special moment. Such a brilliant mind you have Jack. I knew you could pull it off. Hm, The real police have shown up along with an ambulance.

Policeman: (megaphone) We have you surrounded. Stay where you are.

J: Do they think I plan on jumping? Of course I don’t. I am not a mad man. She was mad. I was the normal one in the relationship. Unless they’re counting normality as insanity, in which case I would be the mad hatter.

Police bust through the door.

Officer: Hands in the air!

Jack is standing on the ledge by now

J: Thank god you came. I was getting lonely.

O: Put your hands up!

Jack starts to raise his hands

J: Anything you say Officer—

Jack loses his balance and falls from the ledge. Screams are heard, but not in Jack’s voice.

-SPLAT-

Free Thought, Free Love, Free Spirit, Man!

They fill the blooms from the trees such as the tears at a funeral.

Sometimes honest, sometimes just the feeling of a vibe.

A Vibe: (Noun) Something you can not deny. A sixth sense; a way to interpret a guy.

Guy, Fly, Me-Oh-My, Let’s get High as Kites in the Sky!

This is just strangeness.

Liquid ink on a page.

A bad rap, a lame poem, a cannon of confetti fired off in a crowd.

Instead of cheers; the cries of the one shot in the eye.

Sadness instead of happiness!

Frowns instead of smiles!

Turn that frown upside-down Buckaroo!

Jesus Loves You!

AND I DO TOO!

The following is pure utter nonsense honestly, but I felt like posting something on this page, and hey, I wrote it, so it counts. I think some of it was lulz, but I was just writing to test out my pen:

The French attacked South Carolina in the year 1412. This was a sore loss for the Russian-Americans since it prevented the further harvest of their lollypop gumdrop mines present on the Western coast. General George Arthur Wildebeast had this to say: “I hate the French people.” Thank you, Mr. Arthur. While the decisiveness of this battle would not be realized for years to come, the implication of the results was clear—no longer would Eastern Tasmania have to deal with the ruthlessness of former Ukranian dictators exiled after the fifth Johnson-Palantine war. The ink levels of the squid vats, however, continued to decline sharply from the necessity of oil for the bubble cannons. The indentations left by these cannons resulted in large tracks of land available for use by farmers and vineyards. The mafia;

Skip forward a page of me writing about writing with a fountain pen:

“Thar she blows!” Famous words of a less than famous man. First recited in the year of our lord, 1326, the phrase has come to symbolize the entire industry of whaling in a single exclamation. Fountain pens were first used in the Fountane Mountains in the year 3029 B.C. However; this is only due to the fact that Charlies Xavier Rumplestein used one then when he traveled back in time from his normal 4638 A.D. lifestyle. If we go by first use due to invention, then the date would be 3028 B.C., due to the invention by the cave people after seeing Mr. Rumplestein’s pen. This is obviously a paradox. But these pens exist, so the fabric of time must not be all that important anyway.

Looking back, I was just jet-lagged, tired, and excited about my pen. It’s really a bunch of garbage, but after typing it out, I’m sure as hell not about to delete all of it.

Tumblr completely destroys any shaping I tried to implement on “The Prophet”.

Which is a shame, because the set up of the paragraphs really adds to how the story is read.

I was (I’ll say inspired) inspired to start putting my stuff on the internet recently, and I think it’s largely because a part of me feels like I have completely given up on my creative dream.

In the mean time, I posted the few bits I had on my computer (The poems I view as a complete joke, I wrote them after reading Sonnets for days on end, but I included them anyway). I’m going to attempt to keep up my writing and transcribe my random scrawls into legible computer font.

Any comments are greatly appreciated.

Followers welcome.

PostScript: Also, anything on this page that is new I will label correspondingly. For the start, most will be older, and there are things that bug me with them, but I like to see how I’ve progressed.

I never wanted to be a poet.

Prose was my choice; short stories and novels.

My attempts at these failed completely,

And anything I wrote seemed a joke.

But, hark! an epiphany!

Poetry is not about rules and statures;

Sonnets perhaps, but I AM NO COURTIER!

I will write, when I want, (if I want) and how I want;

No one can stop me!

Sure—it may not bring me success—but what of it?

Success is only a measurement of happiness if happiness is money.

Luckily, I don’t believe in the happiness of money, and will continue my poems as I please!