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Janet Goode Poem
My thoughts don’t explode on the paper,
like a pen in a washing machine.
They don’t drip,
dripple,
but,
stain the page with non-sense.
My thoughts don’t flow with the current,
they sink
like rocks in the bottom of the ocean.
Giving me a reason to go look for them,
and explain.
But the ocean is too deep to swim,
too salty,
too dangerous.
So I go,
on the repeats,
because all my good thoughts,
are used thoughts
In the eyes of the beholder
because I’m said to be narotic
and to need a white helmet on my head.
My thoughts on the world are deemed useless,
because “I’m too young”,
because “I don’t see the bad in the world”
but isn’t nine years of terrible enough?
“I haven’t seen anything,”
but stress eating people alive
until nothing but anger remains,
leaving the sleepless without daylight,
and the depressed without candy.
And all my thoughts on the “good”,
have been killed my evil.
Copyright © Janet Goode | Year Posted 2014
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Janet Goode Poem
If Campfire Blue was a crayon,
i’d color the sky,
I’d color the water,
I’d color the blue things,
until the color was gone,
leaving scorch marks in my brain,
and on my heart.
Copyright © Janet Goode | Year Posted 2014
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Janet Goode Poem
Trying to capture the sky’s reflections in gasolene puddles,
Though
I know
there’s nothing but rubble,
at the bottom.
But,
If I looked so high
I’d puke before I saw the ground,
but around here,
it’s hard to stay safe sound.
Red hands burn out,
before the ashes fall down,
I hope I could hide these burns away,
but the box frames seem to stay,
seem to grow on blue.
Blue is the color I love so much,
but not like this.
Blue Is sundays.
There’s something about sundays,
that makes everything worse,
it’s living a bombshell,
waiting for time to burst,
No sunshine
just “I hate you’s” and “You need to go’s.”
Shut the door behind you!
I think should go,
where the child’s things grow.
Copyright © Janet Goode | Year Posted 2014
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Janet Goode Poem
Hello?
Is anyone there?
Or am I talking to myself again?
Either way it’s lonely down here,
and I can’t think of how it is for you up there.
Hello?
There’s no light down here,
so will you bring me a lantern to guide my way?
Hello?!
What’s the point of waiting,
when you aren’t even trying to care?
We are glued here for your entertainment,
aren’t we?
We can’t help ourselves to be terrible,
but can you help?
HELLO?!
IS ANYONE THERE?!
Or am I spitting empty phrases,
into invisible heads?
Am I weaving webs of willows,
that I will be caught in latter?
Hello?
Is this what life’s about?
Worrying until we are shut out?
Trying to to rhyme lies,
with our cries,
only to write words that don’t yet make sense?
Spitting out my poisons,
and hoping to be right?
Hello?
Is anyone listening tonight?
Copyright © Janet Goode | Year Posted 2014
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