perspective

You always have had
better perspective than me.
To be able
to take a step back,
maybe two,
maybe three,
and see ourselves
sitting on the couch
in our assumed
positions,
and know
we will be OK.

Perhaps my past,
growing up in a
melodramatic household,
where everything was
"NOW!" and "HERE!"
and every actions,
mistake, or movement
was the end of the
world.

Perhaps your childhood,
growing up in a
ironical family
with a cynical twist,
where you,
born second, but
raised the first,
learned to appreciate
the bumps,
and lived to see
another day.

You always have had
better perspective.
Will you teach me?

chocolate

If every companion
comforted like
chocolate,
I think my favorite
friendship
would be
dark.

I beseech you,
give this lover
no discontent.
My love,
torment me not,
but herein
sanctify
this poor peasant.

grapefruit

The downtown woman
inspects
delicious grapefruit
and asks,
Are you
ample enough?

The moon,
like the sun
and planets,
seem awake.

Tonight,
heaven is beyond
personal hopes.
We look,
patiently,
for the Northern moon,
seeing time
go out
like desire.

stereotypes

1. Americans hate Negros.


2. Americans do not care for their parents.


3. Americans have no savings; they spend everything they earn.


4. Americans are violent.


5. Americans think they are the best country in the world.


6. Americans have "sex scandals."


7. Americans are more open; not modest.


8. All Americans are beautiful.


9. Americans are independent and/or selfish.


10. Americans always think they are correct (i.e.: see #5).


11. Americans all believe in God and Jesus.


12. All Americans own guns (i.e.: see #4).


13. Americans are fat.


14. Americans don't hide any problems from others.


15. Americans don't follow/have traditions.


16. Americans have freedom.


17. Americans are always humorous, never serious.


18. Americans are wasteful.

1. Chinese people always study.


2. China is a poor, third world country.


3. Chinese people are dirty.


4. Chinese people have no manners.


5. Chinese people are overly-dependent.


6. Chinese people are too traditional.


7. Chinese people are not funny.

the words caress

Tears wiped
cannot be silenced.
A mother's love
is instant and
understanding and
polished.

The words caress.

Thursday afternoon or before a nap

my mind:
blank
empty

my pen:
dry
brittle

my life:
indifferent
insignificant

my poem:
finished

awaiting war

His needs;
our end.
Beyond desire,
fire happens.
Wait patiently
and the sun may
interfere.

She'd found the baby
missed by all.
Her surprise smile,
knowing
my life
would always be
a memory.

the room

The room is quiet
now.
I can close my eyes
if I want to
disappear.
I am invisible now.
People around me cannot see me.
I am an island
in a sea of solitude.
The silence brushes against my fingertips,
as waves brush against my beach.
I am alone with my thoughts.

We are in a room
talking together.
I am in control now, but
that can change.
If I get too scared,
I open my eyes
to the world
that was always there.

China
changes
patiently
beyond Heaven.

The Han,
like the sun,
keep hopes
tingling
and awake.

sometimes

Sometimes a word is spoken.
Sometimes I hug her just right.
Sometimes we exchange a single glance,
and my world has meaning.
She plucks the strings of my heart,
and lets the music escape
my soul.
Sometimes a smile is noticed.
Sometimes it is not.
But,
I am always here,
loving her secretly, and
unconditionally.
Sometimes a word is spoken,
and I say,
I love you my darling.

Shall I rebuild my dreams?

having gone
to tiny graves,
I see
myself

looking.

The approaching horizon
adorns the textured beach.

With silky fingers
I stroke the water,
funnelling desire
and the soft,
velvet
sky.

Life is beginning.
People are pure,
sweating holy water from their pores.
One cell
becomes two,
and soon
warm, crimson blood is flowing.
A heart is beating
its first
pulse today.
Eyes are seeing
a world
without pain,
darkness,
cold.
The tiny fingers of a baby
clamp your thumb
and you cry.
We are all born pure,
void of temptation,
lust,
greed,
hatred.
Today is the first day
when I open my eyes
and make it so.

On a particular
cloud,
each tingling
desire
floats
to heaven.

You'll interfere!
Touch no other
moon.
Look elsewhere.

Crazy Aunt Liz

No one
wanted this flower
to grow,
to stretch out
her petals
and bask in the sunlight.

Reluctantly,
the soundless,
dew-wet
cold
gives
impatient night-stars
such
soft
love.

Theoritical Dream

it's gonna be
another late night:
sore feet,
sore back.

can't sleep:
a theoretical
$58 in my pocket.
6:28 PM:
no one here;
why am I?

10:55 PM:
five minutes before closing;
no one is leaving.

11:55 PM:
still here,
waiting.

12:58 PM:
can't sleep,
Keane stuck in my brain,
with a theoretical
dream in my pocket.

employment limbo

alone
between a life
boring and sufficient,
and a life
that seems
almost too good
to be true.

I'm an unemployed
Kindergarten teacher,
is what I tell
anyone who asks.

Stuck between
$7.25 an hour,
$2.13 an hour plus tips,
$10.00 an hour, and
my dreams.

Waiting,
looking
to be in
the right place
any time.

regret

Looking out,
the pink sky
covers the snow-dusted dirt;
hills scattered, uneven.

I'm different.
A sunrise and sunset have passed,
and all has changed.
I'm no longer the special
oddity
she fell in love with.

The ugly maleness
(that I must take responsibility for)
seeped out for a brief moment
last night,
She no longer sees me
in the same
pink light
I saw these hills
yesterday.

I've ruined that
spark,
connection.
Sickness fills my body
like cold water fills a warm glass.
I'm condensing
in front of her
and she sees it:
ugly and cold.

I cannot change what happened;
only continue
to love her
unconditionally,
naturally,
easily,
(as I did before).

Dear all,

I cannot believe that it has been five months since I first started this poetry blog! It is amazing how fast time goes, no matter if you are documenting it through poetry or not.

When I first began this blog project, my goal was to transfer all of my journal poetry from the last few years onto a Internet medium. My most recent post, "On Death", marks the last poem from my personal journal. This is in no ways a sad occasion resulting in no more posts. On the contrary.

I have been suffering from a serious case of writer's block for the past few months. I decided to translate my journal poetry onto this weblog in an attempt to stir up some more poetry. I am a firm believer that poetry (actually, writing in general) is something that exists regardless if we capture it or not, and only betters through practice. I am excited to announce that with the publishing of my last journal poem, I have a renewed sense of everything, which I am desperately trying to write down.

So, look forward to some new poems via stan laurel. I apologize in advance for some of my poems, as they will probably be very "rough." Your feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and helpful.

Sincerely,

adrian