Don't Think

Your smile is intoxicating,

saturating my bed with nervous sweating.

I want to be more than the next on your list

of pretty necks kissed

Of heads buried in pillows without faces

Of flesh that’s consumed but not tasted

Experience, experiment

Don’t move too slow, just fast enough

Don’t think too much

I can change expressions on your face

but not obsessions on your mind

Your words dance on my chest

I do my best not to let them sink in

Experience, experiment

Don’t move too slow, just fast enough

Don’t think too much

I want to be more than the next on your list

of pretty necks kissed

Of heads buried in pillows without faces

Of flesh that’s consumed but not tasted

-Amber

Tick, Tick.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Is that a clock I hear?

Or a bomb waiting to detonate?

It really doesn't matter because often they're one in the same thing.

The clock is a mass murderer that has been killing people for all of time, literally.

As a society, we're constantly trying to run from it's blood stained

jagged blade that doesn't discriminate.

It hates all of us.

All ethnicities and breeds.

Whether you breathe oxygen through your lungs or ingest it with your H2O intake,

time hates oxygen lovers.

It's even so jealous that if you stop breathing, time will eventually

kill you for it.

We've been on the clock's "to kill" list since we were born, so

sometimes we get so used to the threat we forget to retaliate.

And no, killing time is not retaliation for time wanting to kill you.

Killing time is like leaving a map for a murderer with your house

highlighted and a note saying "I'll be here all night- alone, with the

doors unlocked."

The more time you kill, the easier it will be for time to kill you.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Time is coming.

Sometimes it brings a friend-

A train that doesn't have the time to stop when you've conveniently

fallen on its tracks

Or a cancer that won't stop spreading until it brings your heart to a

sudden halt in the middle of the night when no one is around to help.

But sometimes, it comes alone.

It might take longer than when it comes with help,

but even alone,

time will always find you and slice your skin beneath your chin from ear to ear.

But the question we’re all asking is,
How can we catch time and stop it from killing us?

How can we survive such an infamous murderer that has so many friends willing to help him?

Science has tried to be heroic with it’s vaccines and medications and technologies that help doctors perform “life saving” surgeries.
Surgeries that will create a barrier from time, but only for a little while.
As of now, time can still break through all of the barriers that science has built around us.

So I say, look to the scientists for answers to a lot of your questions,
but not for one as serious as how to save your own life.
For a question so immensely deep and important, look to the philosophers.
Look to the people who consciously connect themselves to reality.
The people who study existence and realize that there IS a way to cheat time.

The people who know that time will always take a part of you, but it doesn’t have to take everything.

These are the people who will tell you that all you have to do is create.
Be great at something.
Maybe you’re great at making music people want to cry, or laugh, or dance to,
or writing words that inspire,
or making artwork people want to contemplate for hours or even just hang on the wall in their bathroom.
Or maybe you’re just great at being nice to people.

It doesn’t matter what you do, just do something, and do it well.
One could even say that if enough people witness you doing nothing well, then hey, you were great at doing nothing, and that’s something.

This is the only time-repellent that we have right now.
And while it may not save your body from the death-grip of time,
surviving in the minds of the living is the closest thing we’ll have to existing once time gets hold of us.
Everyone has the ability to do this, to exist forever.
Maybe not the same existence that you’re used to now,
but that’s a choice you have to make.

Personally, I would rather live the same way that your favorite character in the book you’ve read 5 times is alive to you.
Yes, time can make me untouchable, but it can’t stop me from touching others.
It can make me invisible, but it doesn’t have the power to stop me from helping others to see.

And to me, that’s living in it’s purest form.

Tick tick tick tick tick.
Time’s coming.
I’m creating a weapon against time.
Are you?

-Amber Corcoran

Roaming

I want to fill my life with what's outside-
Outside my room, outside the window's glass
I want to roam the world where I reside
        and take in all the knowledge that I pass
I want to learn with bare feet on the grass.


-Amber

Untied

I want to fill my life with souls like yours-
Who prove me wrong and help me grow inside
Who help me find the keys to unlock doors
Whose minds fill up by being open wide
I want to fill my life with souls untied.

-Amber

The Anchor

In a rough sea 

on a stormy night,

the seemingly dinky ship finds a reprieve

given by the anchor.

The storm is violent,

unpredictable.

It forces the ship in all directions, 

but the anchor reminds her that the storm

is temporary

and that it will be there throughout her ride atop the unsure sea,

holding her down.

He'll be by her side,

a constant,

through the wind, wave, and worry.

-Amber

Truth

May it shine like golden sunlight
Be it dark as devil’s soul,
you must…

Shout out loud to all who listen
Whisper softly to yourself,
you must…

Speak all that is
and nothing but
pure truth.

-Amber

Snow

Sweet snow
Brighten the darkest deep blue night
Deliver us to morning
on your light, crystal wings

True snow
Bury yesterday beneath your mass
Pave the path to tomorrow
in glittering, honest simplicity

Bright snow
Open our eyes in awe of your beauty
Leave relief in our hearts
and assurance of breath

Even after you thaw

-Amber

Reminiscent

My breath is white and winter’s night is cold
The chill has locked my fingers in my sleeves
Though this freezing weather was foretold,
it seems to be a bit worse than perceived.

I scramble quickly down the frozen street
and fumble for my keys with aching hands
I get into my car and crank the heat
my body thaws and smiles- my heart expands.

It’s hard to move my feet in mid-July
My muscles tighten more each stride I take
Sweat’s pouring off my forehead, burns my eyes
Just half a mile ‘til I get a break.

I round the corner, sprint the final feet
and reach the gate, my vision slightly blurred
My sneakers first and then my body, meet
the water with a splash and I’m submerged.

These are the most reminiscent feelings
of when I’m in your arms, warm and healing.

-Amber

Some Spice

This world is so amazing.
This world is such a miracle to even be in existence.
This world would be so bland without the arts.

I find it mind-boggling that we need to 
"spice up"
such an awesome idea as existence
in order to make this life more awesome.

Yet I won't put down this book.

-Amber

Englyn Proest Gadwynog

The end is now upon us.
The smoothest paper has cut
the most calloused palms, and thus
we’ve learned we need more than luck.



-Amber

Englyn Lleddfbroest

We’ve been dancing toe to toe,
hanging round my neck’s a lei,
the weather at home’s snowy,
the worst here is sea algae.

-Amber

Englyn Proest Dalgron

Inside me now lives this poem.
Poetry has its own bone.
In my body, words find home,
‘til onto paper they’re strewn. 

-Amber

Englyn Cyrch

Paper pages bound and torn,
more beautiful when they’re worn.
A kindle just can’t compare.
Oh, beware! To books I’m sworn.

-Amber

Englyn Unodl Crwca

Joshua Minzner loves me.
We might not always agree
(he likes diet coke and tea is my choice,)
but he fills my heart with glee.

-Amber

Englyn Unodl Union

A robin’s egg, a baby boy, the sky,
balloons, a martini,
crayons, the sea, a berry,
the Facebook logo, Slurpee.

-Amber

Englyn Milwr

Steam rolls up into my nose.
Muscles limp, my breathing slows.
One more sip, I start to doze.

-Amber

Englyn Penfyr (Correct)

This week, this month, this moment will fly by.
When from the sky rain does spill,
just as fast, it rolls downhill.

-Amber

Englyn Penfyr

This week, this month, this moment will fly by.
Unexpected rain may spill;
just as fast, it rolls downhill.

-Amber

Poetry Haiku

Poetry is love.
It never gets mad at my
irrational fits.

-Amber

Untitled

It’s amazing how such a big part of your life
can fade into a quiet “hello” at the supermarket.

Years of laughter
into months of bitterness
into years of silence
into soft rapport
at the grocery store.

-Amber

Art

Photos.
Music.
Paintings.
Stories.
Videos.
Drawings.
Sculpture.
Poetry.
If you don’t capture a moment
in a form of art,
it will eventually
be lost

Forever.

-Amber

Without Thought

My journal’s feeling light these days,
without the weight of words in ink.
Ten months and not a half is filled,
the empty pages left un-thrilled;
it’s time to write and not to think.
My journal’s feeling light these days.

-Amber

Sunset Decuain

The purple, pinkish, orange, golden sky
presents itself most boldly in the west.
The colors wrap around a fiery eye
that stares at me- directly at my chest;
they burn a hole and settle ‘neath my breast.
The breeze is cool as sunbeams grow too weak
to tan the skin on shoulders left undressed.

The eye sinks slowly as the seagulls shriek.
The purple, pink, and orange kiss my cheek.
Oh, what a lovely, breathtaking technique.

-Amber

Pocket Full of Lint

No mind is completely reliable.
Memories stored only in the mind
may as well be used as cash in a casino-
it’s a gamble whether or not your memories
will remain in your mind
like the cash in your pocket
during a game of poker.

-Amber

What I Deserve

This is what I’ve longed for.
This is what I’ve silently begged for
after every tear-soaked pillowcase
felt me drift off into sleep.
I’ve cried out for this
on cool summer nights
and ever colder evenings
scattered throughout every other season.
I’ve demanded that
my body would never
quiver
that my stomach would never
constrict
that the breath in my lungs would never
stutter
they way it had so many times before.
This is what I deserve.


-Amber

Writing

Writing.
So necessary.
Ink on paper.
Release of toxic emotion.
Expression.

Writing.
So necessary
Ink on paper.
Eternalization of beautiful memories.

Expression.


-Amber

Inside the Mind of Rippy

Oh, Master.
Oh, supplier of the things necessary for my survival-
my sustenance, my hydration,
 my stuffed birds and hard balls on which to gnaw.
Why have you wronged me so?
After all that I’ve done in attempts to make you happy.
For nearly four years I’ve offered to help you clean,
admire the amazing way you feed yourself using your thumbed hands and utensils,
attempt to introduce myself and learn something about the guests you have over,
and comply (80% of the time) with the rude commands that you bark off at me all day.
I have tried so hard to show you my love and appreciation.
But apparently my “unsanitary” tongue does not do nearly as good a job of cleaning up crumbs as your “Swiffer”,
you order me to leave the room when I stare at you while you’re eating (you yell about how I am “begging”—pshh),
you keep me from recognizing any guests by swatting my fatty behind every time I try to sniff a guest’s aroma beneath their hips,
and I sit, stay, lay down, be quiet, and fetch a great majority of the time when you ask me to!

So here I am, confused and a wee bit sad.
After all of the ways I try to love you,
I’d think you’d reward me and at least allow me to sleep on something softer than that dreadful dog bed (I swear, that thing feels like it’s stuffed with old Milkbones instead of soft stuffing.)
But nope.
50 nights of sleep on your new white sofas and that was enough to ruin any love you had for me.
I can’t help it if drool seeps from my mouth while I sleep.
Nor can I help it if my dirty paws pass dirt onto the things I touch.
Why punish me like this?
Heck, this is torture!
I’m stuck sleeping in the same room as you at night now,
and I use the term “sleeping” loosely.
Maybe I could get some sleep if you humans stopped snoring for five minutes.
Gosh.. If only I could have woken up five minutes before you found me sleeping on the sofa for the past two months.
Hmm.. I got it!
I wonder what you’ll do if my 95 pounds of fat and fur start sleeping on your bed now… 


-Amber

Good morning, my love!

Goodmorning, my love!
The day is grey,
so rest away the day, you may.
But don’t forget that when you rise,
our love will brighten up the skies.
So rise and shine, and lend a kiss!
You’ve slept for hours and were missed.

-Amber

Constructed Poetry

I
enjoy
creating
poetry that
is constructed in
a “form” with lines that rhyme.
Refrains with perfect meter,
trochees, iambs, syllable counts,
assonance and alliteration:
Poetry with form is like a puzzle.
And as much as I enjoy puzzles,
there is something so refreshing
about writing words that say
nothing but what I feel.
No hidden meanings
or messages,
just feelings
on a
page.



-Amber

Annoying

It was almost as annoying
as trying to write
on the last four or five lines of a journal.

-Amber

The Key to Happiness

When one’s in a ticklish mood,

the slightest touch to their hand 

will send them into a roar of laughter.

When one’s scared,

the faintest noise in the distance

will make them freeze with fear.

When one’s having a bad day,

the most minor inconvenience 

will make them feel like everything just keeps getting worse.

And when one’s feeling loved,

 they’re thrown into a state of bliss

that makes everything feel like it’s going to be okay.

What’s the key to happiness?

Just love and be loved.

-Amber

World History

What a wonderful subject to study.
Old to new, it’s intriguing, to say the least.
Rail-thin, curly haired man 
Lulling me to sleep- not so intriguing.
Doodling and drawing trumps ancient Egypt and
   Mesopotamia every Wednesday night.                     


He yammers about the things I’d love to know,
I write poems and pretend to write notes.
Sitting to my right is my distracted boyfriend
Typing away and surfing the web,
Only once in a while does he take a real note.
Really? The professor is reviewing the chapter with a
   and a hand comparable to a third grader's.


Yawn…



-Amber

Work

I was fighting the clock.
Time was winning
for what seemed like an eternity...
But at the first second of the seventh hour,
I pulled ahead,
punched out,
got in my car,
and won.


-Amber

Po- ...

Poem.
Pome.
Po- uhm.
Po- ehm.
Po- im.

Who wants cookie-cutter poems?
Pomes?
Po- uhms?
Po- ehms?
Po- ims?

-Amber

Rain

It’s bathed in darkness, but its presence is certain.
Composing art on the windows,
performing lullabies on the roof.
It’s the epitome of beauty and mystery.

But in this world, the most beautiful and mysterious
are often the most threatening.

Embrace the beauty.
Dance in the mystery.

But when it suddenly gains strength,
the art on the windows will become shattered windows on the floor.
The soft lullabies on the roof will crescendo into something more powerful…
something not your taste.

Stay strong.

It’s intent was not to cause ill feelings,
and the force will always weaken.
Remember the nights surrounded in blankets
while it filled your world with just a little more comfort.
Sooner than you think,
the art on the windows and the music on your roof will reemerge..
or disappear.

Appreciate it while it’s here.




-Amber

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

Eyes

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


-Amber

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

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

The Bite

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

*Amber

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

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

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