write a poem everyday

Ask the question.
It’s all very simple,
but I don’t understand.
The teacher doesn’t suffer,
but my mind twitches with ongoing agony.
The homework is a foreign language;
the directions are illegible.
Do I dare ask?
I should! I should!
My hand is raised. My question is asked.
The teacher answers but leaves me more dazed than before.
Oh, the woes of clarification.

It was all so blurry.
I hear them speak, yet no movement to be seen.
The board,what does it say?
I can’t see a thing.
Colors bleed into one another.
The bus doesn’t seem to be that close.
The sign said CAUTION WET FLOOR.
I didn’t notice until I was staring blindly up at the ceiling.
The day I forgot my glasses
There was nothing to be seen.
No flowers seemed to be looking up at me.
The words on the board were just strings of doodles.
The card trick by a friend was a display of white squares.
My eyes were shut for a day, but the number of things to be seen inflated.

I wrote poem. I deleted the poem. I’m lacking all inspiration… At least I wrote one?!

Eh, this isn’t too challenging. But I won’t be able to type them or go online everyday. We’ll see.

What is it that you can do?
You try and try,
again and again,
but failure occurs just way too often.
Walk in circles,
drag your feet
all of the symptoms
you shall never defeat.
Cry, cry
but no one’s around
to hear your tears
rolling, rolling without a sound.

In Loving Memory of Lola Mae Milligan
September 4, 2008

As she laid there
Close to death
The loved ones watched over her
Waiting for her to take her final breath

He was waiting for her
Just across that line
He was a bit of a blur
Until it came time

He took her by the hand
He was still handsome, in his dress blues
She could hear the music of the big band
He said you need to come with me Moose.

He took her face in his hands
And kissed her ever so gently
We have big plans
He looked at her intently

Swung her around
Pressing her close to his chest
Her dress made the sound
Taffeta does when it’s pressed

He whispered in her ear
I have been waiting for you
She wiped away the tear
And said I have been waiting for you too

Written by
Angel Milligan/Ray
September 10, 2008

Or at least once a week the problem is if i do it everyday there are things that get in the way
school work, and lack of inspiration, i wish i could travel someplace far away with lots of new things to write about.
im still going to try for one everyday but that may not be realistic in my lifestyle

A SIMPLE PURPLE EARRINGNOT MUCH MEANING TO MOSTONLY IN MY MIND’S VIEWMUCH MORE THAN A POSTI CAN SEE THE MORNING DEWA NIGHT AGAINST THE COASTTHE TRACE OF A LOVER’S LIPSAND WHAT DIDN’T HAPPEN MOSTYOU DIDN’T ASK FOR COMPANYIN YOUR LIFE AS A WALKING GHOST

Our poem today takes us away
to a beautiful mania bubble
Oh my, how does it fly so high?
Brilliantly and elegantly racing by,
not to be caught, not to inspire thought
only to be-like a buzzing bee.
Spinning so fast around
and around, then the bubble pops.
Down to the ground
a modest rag doll does fall.
Exhausted from the flight
pulled by the winds every night
fueled by emotion and fright.
Tonight she will sleep
exhausted into the deep
And all in all
she will continue to fall.
Until next time.

A POEM A DAYTWIDDLING AWAY TIMECONCENTRATINGCONCENTRATINGNOTHING BUT RHYME

Our poem today takes us away
to a beautiful mania bubble
Oh my, how does it fly so high?
Brilliantly and elelgantly racing by
not to be caught not to inspire thought
only to be like a buzzing bee.
And then the bubble pops
and down to the ground
a modest rag doll is found.