Here's yesterday's, since I never got the chance to post it:

summer rain 

no one talks about the

summer rains, it's always

springtime showers and

autumn thunderstorms that

come to mind

when you think

rain but

what about the

bathwater downpours and the

blue-sky cloudbursts  

warming your face

as you turn to the sky 

And here's today's:

My captcha said pdoo! I don't know why that's funny to me, but it is. I think from now on it will be my captcha's catchphrase. (That's a toungue twister!)

differences 

we were sitting in the strawberry patch;

you, a girl wanting nothing more than to be

stuck between walls of corn and beans and

me, inside a daydream of streetlight

glow and neon reflected in laundromat windows

i've always been good at delayed gratification;

"things will turn out okay

if you wait"

i pick the fruit while you eat it, but right now, it seems

you're getting the better end of this deal 

someday i will leave you;

i will keep pieces of you in my work

and in my

heart

i will remember you, today;

a brown-eyed girl with strawberry juice

trickling down her chin, sitting in the dirt and

smiling at the sky 

I'm in awe of all the wonderful poetry you guys are putting out. Fantastic stuff!

Fire of dragons

Curls the edges of the leaves

Before dying red 

Under the Weather~

: three hundred sixty five days of sunshine is false advertising/even so they've managed to forget the leap year

: you called it perfect weather/we told you it was flawed/because variety makes everything better

: once upon a time people wished/for golden mountains golden days/perhaps they were only half disappointed/because sunshine surely counts as gold/after so many days of grey 

: sunshine all day every day/ we get sick of it/ eventually/ even if it's not true 

: when you're told something/ you become rather accustomed to expecting it 

: even in the grey-ness of pre-rain skies it's still hot/somehow/we always find ways to do the impossible/or rather we always find ways to distort our truth until it fits/the impossible  

Agh, this one isn't very good at all. It's, like, trash. I wrote it spur of the moment for Warlike Arts. Maybe someday I'll write a poem to compare with some of you guys'.  

Arrowshot~

A fawn stands

Majestic.

I

Pull back the arrow

I am ready. 

At any single moment I could

Let go

Send

Flying.

It's eyes reflect the moon

Pools of silver moonlight in a world of shadow.

And I let go of the string. 

A twang.

A heartbeat. 

An arrow sticks out of the ground. 

Poem for yesterday

When I close my eyes

and lie down in the soft warm grass

I think I am being born again

enclosed in the space of the sun and the smell and the fire of the world

I think I am experiencing death

but a peaceful death

utterly alone and utterly tranquil

I think I am experiencing life 

For warlike arts~

Untitled (any ideas?)

i. if you're in the moment, choose now

to stay in it

ii. second chances are given freely

but they will never be the same

iii. make a mistake on the battlefield

fight time to fix it

iv. split seconds mean so much

v. learn to concentrate when you 

can block out screams you can block

out bullets

vi. thinking is the enemy of decision making

don't dwell to long

don't let it cost you  

You all are so amazing, I don't even have the words. Wow.

So, update: I'm going to be in D.C. next week, so if I get the chance, I will post. I probably won't every day, though. Here is my poem for today, still using the summer theme. This poem is fiction.

one hundred and twenty seven- the summer of little rain

i. there were one hundred and

twenty seven pennies in the

bottom of the fountain

i can still see their light beads

burning in the back of my irises

rebellion feels something like a

skipped heartbeat and cold

ankles as we stepped into the

water

i still remember this when i look

at the no wading signs

ii. there are no lakes in this

town, just skywater pooling into

puddles and creek beds

and the fountain with one

hundred and twenty seven

pennies

i always wished for a flood 

the dirt is always too dry and

my father's face too sunburnt 

iii. the days with grow colder and

the nights will grow longer

summer will be over and by the

time the leaves change this

creek will run dry again

iv. despite the goosebumps

forming on my skin

you can always find me sitting

on the edge of the fountain,

waiting for day to

fade 

I climbed a tree so high

that I could touch the stars

And I swung in the moon and

took a ride through the planets 

Here's yesterday's

camp song~

summer days and summer nights

we always told our parents that we'd

be homesick but we never were, not

ever and sometimes you know we 

wondered if we were normal to be loving

this so much and to not miss our parents 

at all lying awake in our cabins listening

to someone else cry themselves to sleep 

summer days and summer nights 

we were always so caught up in such 

a whirlwind of activity time flies by when

you're having fun but time slows down when 

you don't want it to it's all in perception but

we never think so

summer days and summer nights 

leaving is harder than being alone it seems

we find ourselves missing minutes hours 

seconds we find ourselves wishing our way 

back home is where the heart is but camp must

be where our soul is we find ourselves singing

camp songs in the shower we want to go back

but do we really?  

War is not a game nor an art

To wage war is to suffer

Both parties shrieking in agony

There is nothing but dust to dust

And pain to pain

Life begets life as war begets war

It is a parasite,

a borrowed word,

a call for help.

War is not a game nor an art.