Empty Jean Pockets

Reaching in jean pockets

Feeling the soft denim of lint.

A twinge of fear swells like dockets

Piling up forcing you to circumvent. 

Staring at trees with contempt.

Money doesn't grow on trees

But there is no harm to attempt. 

Despite wit my fears cannot ease.

Silently my thoughts turn suicidal. 

Watching moths fly away from leather.

The growing senselessness of being idle 

Finally hits me like winters weather.

What is left is a man in need of pay,

Yet, I am left to suffer as a stray. 

Dimly Lit Room

Dimly lit room she cries softly.
Running cool water on her wrist.
Watching blood and water mix.
Pain consuming her like a fist
Choking her of any thoughts.

Brightly lit room she cries loudly.
Other girls surround her and taunt.
Lesbo, whore, slut, and calling her cunt.
They laugh, and point and flaunt
The fact that she isn't straight.

In her bathroom she sobs.
Why am I different she pleads
To God as she cuts deeper.
Sharp metal gleams as she bleeds
All over the floor feeling alone.

Dimly lit room, her parents cry.
Their little girl lying there dead.
Another young teen lost as we
Watch the news of widespread
Lives that are taken by being different.


Bullying isn't a laughing matter. I know it seems fun at first but you are hurting someone and that hurt stays with them for the rest of their life if they don't cut it short because of the words, the physical  pain you might have inflicted. If you see it happen to someone even if you don't know them do not hesitate! Go and stop it, because in doing so you might be saving a life. There is enough hate, enough violence in this world and we can't afford to lose the bright minds of tomorrow. We can not lose sight that we all different but are equal.

Electric

Electronic vibrations pulsate
Every nerve fiber under skin.
Tickling you with sensations
That creates your head to spin.

Shock waves of electricity
Burn through your skull.
You scream and the rave
Simply becomes a blinding null.

Electrification of impulsion
Ripples down your heart.
A cold fire is set loose.
While the doctor looks at the flip chart.

Little Child Who Was But Never

Little child who was but never.
Pray that you hear my remorse.
These eyes gaze up towards clouds.
Everyday I wake to endeavor
The anguish of our course.
Though my son, my daughter,
You shall be in our souls forever.
Our love was the true source
Of our decision for you, for us.
Little child who was but never.
I dream of rising as a vital force.
Respectful, charming, and brave.
Sweet, caring, and romantic.
To grow and do whatever
Your soul wanted to take course.
In truth this was to never
Happen in all my remorse.
Pray that you understand one day.
With all of our love we couldn't keep you,
Little child who was but never.

No More

Feeling her tears fall to the floor.
My room floods with sorrow.
Every drip soaks deep in my skin.
Pray that all your troubles are no more.

Hearing her anguish through thin
Paper walls I collapse with convulsion.
Thoughts burning as I pray.
GOD, she has not committed any sin!

Barely breathing as my lungs weigh
Like stones that kids throw.
Opening the door letting the water rush
Away the hurt that held sway.

Running up to your crush
Soul to hold you away from pain.
To hear the gaps of your heart beat.
Bursting in I see you blush.

I see the water under your feet.
Closer I hug you tightly
Promising you will suffer no more.
Sleep and dream of sweet summer heat.

Coffee Chess Bums

Coffee Chess Bums

In a old coffee cafe' I silently watch

Two men play a old game of chess.

Both with white hair and rustic hats

Contemplating and predicting moves.

I wonder if this brings a sense of peace

Or trying enlighten grooves,

In their old aged souls. 

Pawns, knights, kings, and queens move and fall.

Yet, both determined to win than lose.

Few peices remain and all are up for call.

Checkmate! yet the defeated old man 

With deep wrinkled brow gets up

And shakes the hands of his age old friend.

Though I sit in amazement with my empty cup.

Amazing how thirty years ago I saw them.

Younger and still playing chess while I just watched. 

Coffee and chess best two combinations in life. 

"To Hell With This!" And those lesson plans!

                                                                         Magpie Tales


"To hell with this!" I scream and shout! As I throw the ink glass at the wall. The blacken blue ink smeared in a giant spot as glass shards share the floor in glistening sparkles of pure dark. As the over head light dimly gives them a shine. As for my typewriter not a single word is typed. Just white paper, white as a lone cloud in the Mojave desert, not filled with rain, not filled with electric spark. So too is this white paper. I reopen the crinkled piece of paper which contained the words,

'Oh another night of torment!
Here I am again struggling.
Furthering myself spent
Of fear of never being content.


Trying my best on smuggling
Words which I can' t find.'


I crush the paper in my hands again! "Worthless!" I whisper under my own breath. Again another night of not writing, not being able to express some sort of emotion or lingering feeling of this world and all its good and evil. I step and walk over to shut the lights. "Writers block" I mumble "The devil's cruel way of saying you won't be successful! To hell with this!" As a quick motion with my hand I shut the light.

That is my writing prompt for the Magpie tales. I figured I combine a poem and a little story. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I did writing it!

Its Halloween! So once again I am at the Brown Egg, its so nice in here though I wish we had more people with costumes. My fiancee is next to me writing away lesson plans for school. I haven't done my fair share yet but when I do...I think a few teachers may hate me. I'm a laid-back lets have fun, but if you abuse that atmosphere I can very strict. I know hes a fictional but John Keating from Dead Poets Society, but I aspire to be a teacher just like that. Students, including myself are more inspired to learn when the teacher himself, or herself are enjoying themselves when they teach. It makes the students interact more, which then prompts the class to learn more. What bores me is when a teacher lectures on and on in a almost monotonous way. But when a teacher who enjoys what they do is lively whether or not its just him or her lecturing or interacting with the class, the students are more willing and even active in learning. You are reading, (I'm sure you already knew) a future English Education Teacher, or for short EET. Which, if you cut the middle E. You're left with E.T. (Yeah I'm back with alien bro's and I want revenge!) Hahaha, no but English is my passion and I want my future students to appreciate it the art form of literature.  I hope you enjoyed the writing prompt from Magpie Tales!