Riverhed.com » Poetry http://riverhed.com no strings attached Wed, 23 Jun 2010 19:59:55 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.0.1 Another poem http://riverhed.com/2009/02/21/another-poem/ http://riverhed.com/2009/02/21/another-poem/#comments Sun, 22 Feb 2009 04:39:27 +0000 Andrew http://riverhed.com/?p=108 I wrote this sophomore year of college, I think. I used to get infatuated with random girls everywhere and that’s what this poem is about. All those fantasies ended as soon as the ring hit my finger, I swear. Anyway, not necessarily a great poem, but it’s sort of funny to me because at least I understand it.

When I go out to write or read,
The corner-of-the-coffee-shop girl
Becomes
Center-of-my-mind girl
And
Waiting-in-the-rain-for-a-bus girl
Becomes
Saturday-morning-reason-to-not-get-out-of-bed-because-she’s-in-it girl
(And some of you may have noticed by now and I’m sorry
but I won’t hold it against you when you walk out of my life
without a word so we’ll call it even)
The day when singing-to-herself-while-she-walks-ahead-of-me-and-doesn’t-think-anyone-can-hear-her girl
Stops singing to me
Will be very sad indeed.

]]> http://riverhed.com/2009/02/21/another-poem/feed/ 1 I used to write poetry http://riverhed.com/2009/02/21/i-used-to-write-poetry/ http://riverhed.com/2009/02/21/i-used-to-write-poetry/#comments Sat, 21 Feb 2009 16:47:10 +0000 Andrew http://riverhed.com/?p=97 And here’s a piece I wrote more than a few years ago that I just stumbled across in one of my old moleskines.

And so those days of subtle genius gone
Days spent fishing for leaves in the back yard
Full of hammocks and skinned knees, dew at dawn
And the dog has been missing since the sun went down

He bounds into view with the sun at noon
A strange creature with five legs instead of four
One dangles from his mouth, clearly not his own
And it will be used for walking no more

As blood stains the deck and drips from his mouth
It is a strangely beautiful nightmare
One that leaves a wanting for the waking
A curiosity for the mortal

Bent and broken at all the wrong angles
Flesh stripped away in no certain pattern
And no one will touch it save the dog and
Flies begin to materialize and feast

We three sit with our faces against glass
Groaning complaints of the sight and smell
And turning away is not an option

It stays for two days and quickly becomes
An average, common place sight
Like some everyday monstrosity

And when it leaves under cover of night
Reclaimed by some wandering creature
And no longer some scavenger’s bounty
We are forlorn and must look elsewhere for decay

And we are not disappointed, to say the least.

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