A few months ago we were told about new updates for Odyssey and how we could make poems to post to the site. I was ecstatic about the idea of putting myself out there, but I had no idea what to write about. So I went on with what I normally wrote about, writing articles on whatever I could think of for that week, until one day I was hit with an idea out of nowhere. It came to me like a spark, and I finally wrote my first batch of poems.
America
12:03 on a Saturday night
alone in a Sunco Gas Station.
enveloping pitch black surrounds,
the single beam of white light
shone down on me at Gas Pump number 4.
$15 of Gas
in my Marble Honda Civic.
fresh opened Coke on my trunk
Next to a pack of Camels,
as I fill up my tank.
singing crickets compete
with the whizzing of Cars on the Freeway.
shift into Drive
Entrance Ramp on the Highway
Entrance Ramp on the Interstate
Red Hot Chilli Peppers on the Radio,
“Where you come from?”
“Where you going?”
Streetlights illuminate the roads
that I share with Late Night Traffic
and Semi-Trucks
that lead me back back
to rows of houses
in the average American Suburb
Clown Epidemic
This year we have had a clown epidemic.
I’ve seen a lot of stories
Of sightings on the news,
But the scariest one so far
Is the report on one
Who is running for President.
Family Parties
An empty bottle of Bud Light
Filled to the neck with cigaret buts
Left out on the back patio
To be discovered next morning
Wax Paper Ghosts
Every Halloween
My mom pulls out these Wax Paper Ghosts
That she made when I was a kid
And posts them on my bedroom windows,
So everyone passing by can see them.
When I go to bed
Lights from the neighbors yard
Illuminate them.
Every night they loom over me,
Casting their shadows on my bed.
Once a year
Every October,
They haunt my dreams.
I close my eyes.
Half asleep,
I watch them come alive
Awakening at my windows.
I look out my window to the trees
As they dance in the wind,
Bellowing up
Into black smoke
That covers the sky,
Suffocating the light
Burning my eyes.
The wooden frames of diamonds
That bar my windows
Draw shadows from the light
That weigh down on me,
Constricting me in my bed
Until I can’t move a muscle.
Then the ghosts come in
They seep in through the cracks,
They cast themselves upon me,
Wrapping me up
In Wax Paper,
Covering my nose,
My mouth,
Filling my mouth
With the taste of Wax Paper,
Until I can’t breath.
Then I wake up.
And I see my Wax Paper Ghosts
Folded on the floor.
Then I go back to sleep,
And dream of singing Show Tunes
Featuring Casper, the Friendliest Ghost you know.
She Doesn't Want a Love Poem
She does not want a love poem.
She’s told me this herself.
So instead,
I’m going to write about Bees.
Bees are buzzing little bugs
That are commonly found near uncovered coke cans in the summer.
(Not to be confused with the Wasp)
Whenever I see a bee,
I think of her,
And how she tells me everything there is to know
About Bees.
She tells me about how their calm when in swarms,
How they pollinate thirty percent of our crops,
Their social hierarchy,
The diseases that affect them,
How our sole existence depends
On Bees.
But what I remember most
Is watching your face light up
When asked about them.
You sit up straight,
A sparkle shines in your eyes,
You dawn your signature beaming smile.
And you talk for almost an hour straight
On Bees.
I remember watching you talk,
And seeing the passion you have in you.
Realizing how much you inspire me.
With all you know,
The work you have done,
How driven you’ve become.
All for Bees.
