For our hectic lives,
the mind is going.
The mind is creative.
The mind is knowing.
 
However our minds
need creativity sometimes.
For creativity to sprout,
or minds need to grow at all times.
 
That's when school steps in:
to help us out,
to give us the creativity
to make us sprout.
 
Art, P.E., Math 
Science, L.A., and Social Studies
are some of the classes that
what really matters: the studies. 

*For Michael Osman, beloved storkman*

I ask you to read aloud from
your book on revolutionaries,
and you oblige me, the gentle
susurrations of your voice

battling the noises of the coffee
shop, so that I don't hear all
the words, and to anchor the
ideas in my mind, I end up

focusing on the movement of
your lips: the chocolate curve
forming the words familiar to
you―communism, hegemony,

anarchism―and the glistening
pink folds of your inner mouth
fumbling over a French phrase
I long to pronounce for you,

feeling dizzy with the desire to

Stop this,

Please?

All you do is just sit there,

throwing F bombs out of nowhere,

and your anguish is being taken out on me.

It isn't fair.

I told you to shut up,

I told you that I had enough,

but you continue on.

This isn't right,

it's wrong.

But I just sit here,

and take it.

I listen to your shit.

I try to change the subject,

but it gets turned back around.

This poem was crafted on December 1st 2008 and six people contributed a total of 8 words which are highlighted in blue (one person submitted 3 words and I decided to use all 3).  Thanks to the following people for providing words today:  @izealove, @wizard1974uk, @jmedvm, @coyotesqrl, @lejonprime, @SurfCityJay

Dysfunctional Family Reunion

A family gathering held but once a year
At a table that serves both chicken and steer