Welcome!

Here are some poems I am thinking about including in my portfolio for my poetry MFA. I'd like to know about any thoughts you have about any of them, pointers, criticisms, etc. Your help is extremely appreciated. I have to make portfolios of 10, 12, and 15 poems.

Gideon's Daredevils

The old man waded up the stream of students in a suit
looking resolved.

holding a
tiny
green book with gold lettering

When I reached for it,
I regret,
I was afraid of bursting into flames
or being struck by lightning

and I bet that would've made that old man pretty upset

that I possessed the nerve to ask for one of his
tiny
green books with gold lettering

but the leather was cold and stiff
it felt
good
in my hand

the way a normal book does.


Imagine the thought process that goes
into planning an excursion like that
A half-dozen old men sitting around at
a church decide to get into a truck

and dive.

and drive to a college town to hand out a
tiny
green book with gold lettering

As I walked away he tried to say goodbye
but all that came out was
"What are you afraid of?"

War

All these bleary eyed kids

could go fight a war
when they are prepared to die:

it happens all too soon.

So instead of candle-light vigils
in public parks
mothers sobbing into handkerchiefs at funerals
and counseling for classmates

there could be medals on caskets

and stories that fall
out of old men's mouthes
as if they are coughing up dust

Then while the other children
grow and bend
they'll swear it all meant something

they'll swear it all wasn't
just
being
selfish

Elements

Carbon, Sulfur, Nitrogen
a lot of water
a blue ocean
a green sewer leaking out of your eyes.

fair is fair is fair
my body is a giant unfair.
my body is a giant mass
a mess of half sculpted statues of
the person I wanted to be be be
because I thought that those things

would catch your eye.
silly I.

Crescendos

Behind her the noise swelled
like a river, pudgy with dams

acoustic lungs, electric hands
and in the backyard, a lonely windchime

crescendos: the ground rumbles
we lose our grip on it, it sweats black oil
and wriggles out of our hands like a swamp-thing

The apex sprouts legs and grows up too quickly
becomes a microcosm, it's own entity
it is a killer, takes two heartbeats and leaves one
pining flesh's brief breath of crisp, real air

And down again, the echos retreat
the sounds drain out of the room
like water out of a bathtub

The air dies, hangs
a haunted zeppelin

Until all is quiet again
and the lights are extinguished

A Boy Drowns In The Jungle and No One is Around to Hear it

step step step
quicksand.
his arms kick like crazy

deadbeat limbs shocked
into accountability
concealed, undeniable

he is surprised to find
he has choked and died
there was no righteous fire

no time to regret
no time to forget
this is how a boy dies

and a beautiful
baby ghost
is born

Paula Bunyan

Our figures burn like cigarettes
young and immaculate before
old and forgotten like
broken, discarded dolls

Our figures burn like cigarettes
every rescinded touch will
torch our flesh as we undo
our double knotted fingers


Inhale the tall tales you told
about your teenage lover