The Way Back From Nestucca

There is a road that runs along
The mountains of the Oregon Coast.
It is serpentine, weaving in an out
Of small sheltered bays.

It is on this road one Saturday night,
That my friend and I ride together
In a stunted, yellow school bus,
With our coach at the wheel.

We were the returning losers,
Wrestlers coming home with no medals.
But we didn't care.
We were dead tired,
And we were happy to be heading home.

Something that must be realized
Is how dangerous this road is.
Not only does it require constant turning,
And not only is it a two lane highway,
But on either side of it is sheer cliffs.
One that spires upward, a gray rock face,
And the other a straight drop,
To the rocky sea below.

On the best of days this road is difficult.
That night, it was near lethal.
The problem was the coastal fog.
A simple, common nuisance,
Which held out lives in its hands that night.

The fog come on suddenly.
We were all talking in the back,
When the black of the night,
Was replaced by the white fog--
A mass of dark-whiteness.
It seemed to us to be acting
Like a boa constrictor,
Squeezing the life out of the bus,
Priming it for death.

It restricted our vision,
Making it hard to see the road,
Directly in front of us.
Then, out of nowhere,
A gigantic blue semi materialized,
Its horn shouting into the ether.

Everyone was quiet then,
Gripping onto whatever they could,
Hoping to make it out alive.

Helen and Her Lovers

There was a woman named Helen,
Who brought Priam's walls a fallin'.
Her looks launched ten thousand,
From her jealous husband.
The beautiful woman Helen.

One Day

One day you and I will look together,
Back on everything that has happened.
One day we will sit together and laugh,
Knocking back a few cold Indianas,
And we'll realize how silly this is,
And you'll forgive me for what I have done.
But that day is not today Baby Cakes.
Which is why you are sleeping on the bed,
And I am sleeping out here on the couch.
I hope that that one day comes really soon!

From Prussia to Russia

There once was a man from Prussia,
Who wanted to go to Russia.
He jumped in the Baltic,
The sight was erotic,
The young Pole swimming from Prussia.

Football

Football,
Black and white sphere.
Teams shuffle on the pitch.
For official whistle they wait.
Tweet-tweet.

Tweet-tweet.
Gasping, they stop.
A card, yellow raised.
The crowd erupts in cheers and jeers.
Anger.

Anger.
Ball crosses line.
Leaving keeper in mud,
Gloves smacking  ground in frustration.
Defeat.

Defeat.
Faces sullen,
Twelve men march off the grass,
Knowing they failed coach and fans.
Zero.

Zero.
Nothing scored.
The league was lost for them.
But the other, victorious.
Glory.

Seventeen

Seventeen years ago to this day I was evicted from my watery home. I was thrown into a world of chaos, one ravaged by religious, political, and economic conflicts. I was also put into a loving family. Sure, I argue with them and call them crazy, but I love them.

I turned seventeen today, but I don't feel any older.

In the past seventeen years, I have learned many things. I have learned to read and write, to sing and dance. I have learned to love science fiction and fantasy, computers and video games. I have learned who I am over the last seventeen years, what and who I like and dislike. One thing is certain though: I will never stop learning, never stop exploring who I am, and what I believe.

The Ditch

Dark, Dank
Despairing ditch.
Demons dwell in the deep.
Taking souls of those who come close.
Darkness.