Another one from high school.

And one more still. This I wrote for my English teacher. She thought I was some sort of genius and wanted me to enter some kind of young writer's poetry contest. I showed her this one and she loved it but I never got around to actually entering it. I think it was because the prize was really lame. I have since almost entirely rewritten this one over the last couple years and I'm definitely more satisfied with my new version but I still like to look at this one as reflective of my position when I was around 16. I've left it untitled. I also left some little gaffs that I wouldn't normally keep in my poetry just as a reflection of my immaturity at the time. This one was written with a little more conscious intention but, as with most of my poetry, it was written in a flash without stopping to think.


As it flows in the somber summer air,
The wings bateing in the breeze.
It stops and stoops to stare awhile
The starts a step and flows with ease.

As it comes to cross a meadow brook,
With stones along the Babel shore
It sits and thinks and laughs a bit,
Then swim it must and flow some more.

Then sail to a tree on the summer air
It waits anew for another breeze
Then up and up it flies again
But trapped it is within the leaves.

A warm wind comes to comfort it
But from this trap no flow may jeer
And with response it states in sigh:
“Ah fuck it all, I’ll just die here.”