Monday, November 21, 2011

Ah-Choo!

Your stinging throat welcomes cool, deep breaths.
In through your mouth,
out through your mouth.
Your nose will stay blocked from this crisp autumn air…
This cold is a gift of November.



-Amber

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Eyes

Gaze upon my face
with a softness in your eyes,
then I'll read your heart.



-Amber

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Change

The air has changed from warm to biting.
The leaves have turned from green to red.
And though this season’s brought some fighting,
There’s no one I would want instead.


-Amber

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Late Romantics

Strings of all shapes, and all sizes, and sounds
Ring through the air into ears all around
Eyes remained closed and the sound waves invade,
Music like this is the Jack of all trades.

Heart rates incline and relax with such ease,
Six great musicians bring men to their knees
Playing the heartstrings of everyone near,
You might fall in love, or you might fall in tears.



*Amber

Sunday, October 02, 2011

The Bite

Cool winds have bitten.
Two nights into October,
and I feel the sting.


*Amber

Thursday, September 08, 2011

A Bachelor's in Obnoxious Behavior


Tilt your glass.
Swallow.
Feel the burn.
Scrunch your face.
Shake your head.
Stumble and slur.
Now repeat.

Converse obnoxiously.
Flirt with stranger.
Remove excess clothing.
Dance horizontally.
Forget partner’s name.
Replace clothing.

Take another swig.
Dance until dizzy.
Stumble and slur.
Wake up your roommate.
Laugh hyena-like.
Projectile vomit.

Pass out where you are.
Wake up confused.
Crack an egg in a beer.
Down the beer.
Type a sick letter to your professor.

What did YOU learn in college?

*Amber

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Still Ink

 
My pen has lain flat with still ink for near three weeks now.
Why? Because I’ve claimed to be void of inspiration.
I’ve been lacking motivation to form a compilation of my feelings, thoughts, or observations of the life I live or the world that surrounds me.
How can nothing astound me to the point of compounding my awe into art?
Writing too much based on a human muse might quickly be confused with obsession…
but nothing else lately has left an impression enough to force my heart to spill and my hand to form script.
So should I write about the man of which my heart belongs until something else exciting comes along?
As Bukowski said, “If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it.”

But I’m getting sick of waiting!


*Amber

Thursday, August 04, 2011

Apocalyptic Blast


I closed my eyes, but quickly rose
to find eight hours passed.
My stomach turned, my body numb;
today would be my last.

The morning brought a sunny day;
a day that smelled of flowers,
but fear replaced the floral scent
with every passing hour.

A rumor spread that doom would fall
upon man of each nation
And by the time the day’s sun set,
there’d be pure devastation.

Apocalyptic warnings
said that life was soon to cease;
that no one would survive the lack
of mercy and of peace.

But I was too afraid to die,
I couldn’t go just yet.
My will to live took over me;
I scoffed at such a threat.

I called upon my friends for help.
With them, I found a way
to make sure I lived through the night-
Alive is what I’d stay.

We built a box made of bamboo
to fit my five-foot length;
The box was more than sturdy-
the epitome of strength.

A lid was fastened on the box
that opened from inside.
The box wasn’t too roomy-
it was only two feet wide.

We dug a hole six feet below
the first layer of ground.
Deep in the hole, inside my box,
no one would hear a sound!

Inside this box I’d rest until
the horridness had ended,
then I’d dig out into a world
alive, but unattended.

I slid inside my bamboo home
a flashlight in my hand,
and on my back I laid as I
was lowered on demand.

From six feet down, I called out to
my friends that stood up high.
I asked what they would do to live,
they said that they would die.

A tear rolled down my cheek,
as I waved and closed the lid.
My friends pushed earth on top of me,
and I cried as I hid.

Alone inside a pitch-black tomb,
there’s ample time for thought.
And what I thought about had me
regretting what I’d sought.

Come morning sun, mankind will be
a memory of the past.
My loved ones will have perished in
apocalyptic blast.

 A life alone with nothing more
than sky, dead earth, and rocks,
is not much more appealing than
to die inside this box.

I closed my eyes one final time,
preparing for a rest.
As hours passed, the air grew dense-
my last breath left my chest.

A burning heat rushed over me,
it warmed me to the bone.
My soul was racing fast into
a bright and calm unknown.

I reached the light, and instantly
my mouth let out a scream.
My eyes flew open, I woke up-
the whole thing was a dream.


*Amber

Wednesday, August 03, 2011

Pedals

It’s beyond beautiful to know
that I can sit for hours
plucking petals from a rose
without thought
that he will love me not.

*Amber

Friday, July 29, 2011

I Just Want to Hold You

 
I just want to hold you, but you’re nowhere near my arms
A thousand miles away resides your sweetness and your charms
And though I see you nightly through a camera on the web
I’d still much rather see you under blankets in my bed

I just want to hold you, cuddle up into the nook
Allow myself to touch your face instead of just to look
I know that this will happen daily in a month or so
But time stops when you miss someone… a month will go so slow!

I just want to hold you, but my dear, you’re worth the wait
I’ll settle for your presence over thirty more Skype dates!
But be assured that when you’re finally wrapped in my embrace,
I’ll kiss you, hug you, squeeze so hard, you’ll turn blue in the face! :-P

*Amber

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

He Always Knows!


He always knows just what to say
or how to glance the proper way
to lift my spirits, make me grin
and make me happier within.
He does this every single day…
He always knows!

 *Amber

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Writer's Block

 
Where is my inspiration?
Racing through my mind is a whole lot of the usual.
Interesting?
The “usual” was interesting the first time I wrote about it.
Even the second time.
Ranting through a pen is supposed to satisfy a writer all the time though, right?
‘Spose not.

Broken-record scenarios are boring to write about after a while.
Love is too cliché.
Opinions only work if you have something to be opinionated about.
Complaining always works, though!
Keeping that in mind will help me out, I’m sure.

*Amber