Childhood

Fluttering past strands of jade
Butterfly s-a-i-l-s up floats
d
o
w
n
Lovingly kisses dew drops in the morning sun(shine)

Camaraderie is fresh within young hearts
Jumpthroughpuddles
splish!
splash!
Cashew colored hair whips wildly around smiling faces

Day closes, fun drifts – good-bye-
Mother makes lasagna
sleeeepinesss descends heavily as

Rain r-a-m-b-l-e-s on a tin roof
beating as I watch the crescent moon
wade among a plethora of vivacious stars

Wet drops f a l l below,
smacking the warm cement on
a sultry August night

Sandwich

This poem used to look like a sandwich...stupid blog...

Life is like a sandwich.
Sometimes you eat the sandwich,
And sometimes the sandwich eats you.
Multifaceted like the juicy red and crisp
Green is life, yet the layers seem less
Distinguishable than that of a sandwich.

Sometimes sandwiches become soggy,
Weighed down by tomato tears. Defenses
On supposed impermeable layers have failed.
The Brie is left to mold, the meat to go sour,
Donning the repugnant smell of
Something gone a rye.
But even the vilest creation could satisfy the mouth of a hungry pig waiting on a free meal.
The cycle of life is evident, in that
Pigs eat sandwiches, and we eat pigs on
Our sandwiches. Life can still be a cruel joke,
Even when refrigerated properly. Life can become
Complicated when we cross contaminate society’s raw
Pig juices with our own soft, bread like brains. We can forget
To wash our cutting boards each day, and start anew.

But just as in life, one true sandwich does not exist.
Mary on a grilled cheese just doesn’t seem
To satisfy one’s thirst for divine knowledge or
Everlasting life. Maybe a miracle of turning
Bread to stone can be preformed with the
Aid of a microwave, thus proving that
The invisible forces do exist.