Dinner.

Potatoes sweat butter
stick to charred iron
and fish fries
in hissing oil.
This is a dinner
fit for kings.

Energy.

The coffee
sits heavily
in my stomach
makes me feel
unsteady
nerves tingling
with
the energy jitters
and fingers
collecting static.

We Find Synergy.

My heart does
double blackflip
kicks
when I think
of that day.
Arms around waists
shoulder to shoulder
flip flops clapping
on boiling ashphalt.
We walked on
our hearts
finding synergy
sweat beading at
our brows
and smiles
stretching our teeth.
My heart does
double backflip kicks
and
ollie off kickers
when I'm alone.

A California Sun.

A californian sun
beats down
scorches skin
but the palm trees
seem to like it.
They sway
back and forth
on gangly haunches
reaching
with palm frond fingers
for that
flaming sphere
of glorified
california sun.

I Am.

I am
a ravenous chip eater
a stray-dog feeder
a green tea drinker
a poetic thinker
I am
a music lover
a child ducking for cover
a winter hater
a clumsy ice skater
and I am
I am
I think I'm yours.

Hearts.

Shuffle the deck
cut it down the middle
and draw.
a one
in fifty two chance
that you will
get my heart.

River Neverending.

Our love is
a profluent force
a river
smooth and glassy--
water that never falters.
We have followed it,
paddled along
for a century
and still
we seek
the estuary.

A Transitory Swing.

Our lives
are transitory swings.
We are the
count down---
the one, two, three
before we fly
wind running
carresing fingers
through our hair.
And when we land
sneakers filled with sand
knees buckled
and laughing eyes
we must choose
to go again
or to stay
stay grounded.

An Unwanted Idea.

and ping,
the idea light
clicks on
flickers a moment
and then burns brightly
an incandescent sun
in my skull.
I close my eyes
push it away
don't want it tonight
all I want
is numbness
cold pummeling
numbness
I grab hold
pull the string
and click off
the burning bright light.

Thinking of You - Haiku.

What else is new--
listening to music
thinking of you.

- - -

I sent this to the bf in a text not that long ago. It was kind of an absent minded rhyme, but when I re-read the message I was like, "that could be a poem!" So in typical Deana fashion I started playing around with ideas. I tried building on the theme and adding to the rhyme scheme. But it just wasn't flowing very well. After about ten minutes of unsuccessful late night tampering, I said "screw it, it's a haiku." It was much easier to cut 2 words out so that it fit a simple 4-6-4 syllabic pattern than try to forcefully add more.

I guess not getting what you want when it comes to language is okay every now and then. University has been a struggle because of this: never before in my life have I had to duke it out with words. They've always just come, quietly and submissively. Since starting the school year, I find myself more concious of cliche, style, and the technical part of language. It has become a challenge to just sit down and simply write because I get caught up in this labyrinth of thoughts about how a particular sentence should be contructed, or if I need quite as many words to make my point, or if that last comma was even necessary.

But whatever. All in the day of Deana.