Our Life in 5 Year Increments

In 1 year,
We will be living
In our apartment,
Loving each other,
Every night,
Covering our bodies
With kisses.

In 5 years time,
Your breasts hang heavy
With milk for our little boy.
Theodore has your eyes,
And my smile,
He rarely cries,
rather, he laughs for hours.

In 10 years time,
Theo is celebrating his 5th birthday,
We got him a cake,
Shaped like Brother Bear, from the Bernstein Bears,
His favorite books.
We read them to him every night,
Before singing him to sleep.

In 15 years time,
Theo, now 10, is a hellion.
But we love him the same,
Learning to laugh at his active imagination,
“He gets that from his father,” you tell friends.
We still love each other,
Finding creative ways to show it.

In 20 years time,
Theo is doing very well in school,
I stay up late helping him
With his math and writing assignments,
While you teach him about the fine art of doodling.
Last night, we laughed ourselves to sleep,
The same way we have for the past 20 years.

In 25 years time,
Theo has moved out,
Gone to an Ivy League School,
Which gives us plenty of time to rediscover,
Exactly why we love each other so much,
We watch game-shows all day,
And passionately kiss during commercial breaks.

To Be Continued…

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The Aquarium

Underneath the tunnel
In the aquarium,
We look upward,
And see all sorts,
Of aquatic creatures.

The rest of our tour,
Moves farther down the hall,
But we stay behind,
Still held captive

By the beauty
Before our eyes.
You reach over,
And grab my hand.

A nurse-shark looms overhead,
I hold you,
To keep your body
From becoming terrified.

But then the jellyfish
Swim past us,
Dazzling us with colors,
We had never seen before.

I watch the colors
Reflect off of your eyes,
And you pretend to not notice,
Me staring at you.

All shades of passion and variations on regret

Do you remember the day we went to the park, where we sat on the swings and talked for four hours about nothing in particular?

No.

What about the time I held you close to me, and we danced around in parking lots to indie folk music, staring deep into each others’ eyes?

Not really.

What about the time when we went to Cedar Point together and were stuck in lines for hours.  Don’t you remember the ugly couple in front of us, drunk beyond reason, practically having sex with each other?

No. I don’t remember any of that. I wasn’t there.

I remember when we played Apples to Apples with my friends, and you fit in well, making jokes about laughing at mine.  Don’t you remember the beautiful drawings I made for you?

No. What color were they?

All shades of passion and variations on regret.  Don’t you remember the time when we stopped talking to each other for a day or two, and then you cried all day, wishing I was back in your arms, and I could barely function at work, and nearly got fired?  Then we talked about it, and you said you finally realized how much you loved me.  Remember?

Not sure.

Remember when we made love all night, and fell asleep in each others’ arms; our bodies a sea of limbs?

God, no.

Remember by the moonlight when you said you would die if your father ever said those words again, and I said I would come to your funeral and out the jerk for hurting your mom?

What funerals? And what moon?

You don’t remember do you?

No.

Not even the time we cried from the joy we felt from saying our vows together, and finally joining together in law and spirit?  Remember when we had our first child, born at St. Joe Hospital, and his hair was a bright red?

No, I don’t remember.

What about our first house, the white one with a red door, and our picket fence?

Nope.

Do you remember when we died in each others’ arms, like we always said we would; our last thoughts on how much we loved each, and how happy we will be together in the next life?  Do you remember any of the things we said to each other on that last fateful day?

No, nothing at all.

Oh, I remember now.  I remember daydreaming in class about you.  I remember trying to talk to you, but you never heard my voice.  I remember buying you little cards and sticking them in your locker before school.  I remember never telling you all the wonderful things I felt about you.  Of course you don’t remember all my fantasies about us.  How could you remember me.  You never noticed me in the first place.

Sæglópur’s First Voyage

There was something about the way
He pounded nails into the planks
On the side of the ship.
This time was different than before;
For this time,
He wasn’t building
A ship for them,
But for himself.

Sæglópur finished his ship,
Christened it “Nýr Dagur”
And broke the bottle of wine.
He was finally ready
To depart this great land,
His homeland,
To find a new one
For himself.

Even if I fail,
He thought,
This is better than staying.
Because I can’t stay here forever,
And live the tragedy of George Gray,
I must push off.
For I already am a lost seafarer,
Looking for a home.

As he pushed off the shore,
Staring into the mist,
Praying down the list,
He had a phantasmagoria,
And felt utter euphoria,
He knew this was right,
He could see into the light,
And he felt better than before.

Need for Alone Time.

So the assignment was to take a phrase and google it and then copy sentences from the web to compose our poem.  I did not write a single line, but I did arrange them.  Enjoy.

Need for Alone Time

We always look at Alone Time as bad. Alone time scares many a confident person. Whether you’re an introvert or not, finding some alone time during college can be hard. In a world full of distractions, it can be hard to have alone time. Here’s why you should always have alone time and how to fit it in. The steps to successfully taking alone time in a relationship are as follows: Mommy needs some alone time. Accurate Alone Time. Alone time with pets can help seniors. 38.583336% like (or talk positively about) alone-time. Me: I can’t wait to have our alone time tomorrow night! I am currently sitting in a coffee house, writing and relishing my alone time she also treasures her solo workouts, as they provide much-needed (the crowd around me is supremely irrelevant!).alone time. As busy as she is, she still finds alone time, which is really necessary for the sanity of any parent. Ready to give the dog/cat some alone time. Getting “Alone Time” with God. I would say about 70% of those in the hallways, rest areas (sofas/chairs), outside, and in any public space are enjoying (or not) alone time. negative alone time IS possible. Any ideas what is acceptable alone time? What do you do in your alone time? If you have problems listening to Alone Time. What’s up with everyone wanting to spend all this alone time? Don’t Interrupt My Alone Time. Of course I ruined half of my alone time because I kept looking out the window, waiting for my glorious moment to come to a screeching halt. I think Wine Guy has been mistaking my need for “alone time” as a need for “time away from him time.” She said damit what don’t u understand about alone time. alone time not fun.

Good Mourning (Overcoming Psychosis)

Translation of Icelandic Words.
Ófreskja : Monster
Óveður : Bad Weather
Gróa : To Heal
þola : suffer(ing)
Kvöl : Pain

Good Mourning (Overcoming Psychosis)

Rope. Love couldn’t loose those mouths. John loved someone though John wouldn’t communicate. John dove off stools. Rope.

Boo. Ghosts hover over Chloe. Chloe looked below. Vision not obstructed. Below ghosts come together. Chloe soon joins. Boo.

Good mourning to you. You mourn not for John nor Chloe; you mourn for love. For love hopes for people who lost hope. Good mourning to you.

Mirrors. John, now gone, knows you. Look upon mirrors. Look upon yourself. Don’t lose hope. Love someone. Love yourself. Mirrors.

Mother. “No, no, not now, nobody should…” mother’s moan. Mother’s mourn. Visions overtake you. John, Chloe, recollect. Don’t. Mother.

Ófreskja. Monsters fought for months. Your thoughts destroy monsters. Monsters fought you. Your thoughts lose. Ófreskja.

Óveður. Powerful storms tonight. Gloomy. Overcast. Fjords overflowing. Monsoons. Floods, no anchors on house. Fog obscuring observations. Óveður.

Bomb. Explosions shook your reason. Ignore. Morph sensorium to ignore bombs. Bomb.

Gróa. You hope for love. Love won’t abandon you. God won’t abandon you. Forward progression. Look for inspiration. Gróa.

Tomorrow. Force yourself to go tomorrow. Go. John should of gone. Chloe should of gone. Now you go. Good rehabilitation. Tomorrow.

Joyous. Rehabilitation working. Progression mode. Symptoms translation: bipolar. Antipsychotics. Clozapine. Olanzapine. Joyous.

Won’t. Medication won’t work. You won’t go tomorrow. You won’t work. Who told you to not go? Voices voices. Won’t.

Comfort. Impulsion good. Hope more powerful. Loved so you could hope. John loved Chloe. Look for love. Comfort.

God. God loves most. God convalesces. Omnipotent power convalesces þola. Kvöl gone. Þola gone. Love. Hope. No more mourning, not for John nor Chloe. Not for you. God.

The Res/The woods creep towards me

First, surrounded by the industrial highway, you turn left into a small side street. Second, you enter into the woods, with dirt trails, sometimes muddy, and campfire rings, sometimes full of ash. Third, you walk over the creek on a bridge you repaired two years ago when a tree got struck by lighting and feel towards it, crushing the left handrail. Forth, you notice a small cabin, filled with bunks, and you remember playing cards on the light wooden tables. Fifth, you walk up the small steps and behold a large meadow, surround by trees, perfect for playing Frisbee and football and even fox and hound. Sixth, you walk to the small gazebo, where you imagine proposing to the one girl you will spend the rest of your life with. Seventh, across from the gazebo for see a circle of tables, which make for the perfect hiding spot. Eighth, you follow the creek in a large circle and make your way back to the bridge. Ninth, you walk towards the cars, this time, no backpacks or sleeping bags, just your nostalgia, which seems to weigh more.