Hope Rides Alone

(September 11, 2008)

It’s Not the Math Problem

I fold my arms upon the desk

And lay my forehead down.

This problem isn’t like the rest

My forehead forms a frown.

My drooping eyes soon sting with tears

My plea for help sounds weak.

I haven’t done this in many years

I cough instead of speak.

I remember what I cried about

Last night, and then I sigh:

The problem’s not mathematical

My intellect is fine.  

I exeunt from my inner-cage

And bite back a guilty sigh.

I scribble fast upon the page:

My faith restored in I.

When you least expect it, poetry jumps back at you again. This came in a dream, I woke up spouting the words. It's odd, like my dreams usually are.

A Red Parsnip

With you it was always vegetables,
Chanerells cascaded in vain.
But for me it was always a red parsnip,
The tang and the beauty all the same.

But now vegetables ferment and wither,
A mess of sludge you don’t see.
You lied and you cheated and you didn’t add salt,
It’s over between you and me.

I cannot define my astonishment,
Betrayal it bongs in the air.
I plead and I weep and I even make soup,
You laugh and insist you don’t care. 

Now my world is turned over, a traitor is cook,
The old, sturdy knife cuts my hand.
All the music has changed, it makes my ears bleed,
The Red Baron is running the band. 

It has been three months since I left you,
The vegetables cry out in pain. 
But I still miss the love we once created,
The tang and the beauty all the same.

It has been six months since I left you,
The vegetables no longer cry.
Last night I found a red parsnip,
The old me has finally died. 


I typed it up in the morning and carried it around all day (the day I went to the beach and saved my freind from hypothermia), making corrections and changing things. I like it now, though my friend thinks 'once shared' was better than 'once created' but I wanted to keep with the cooking theme, so I dunno.
Critique, please!