RSS Feed


This page is dedicated to all the poetry I share on my blog (commonly attributed to Clarissa), updated with the most recent poem at the top.



we were eating Chinese at my place.
paper packagers scattered across the table, tabs stuck open–
scents spilling over.
noodles flick my nose, dribble down my chin.
ha, u pig, says Joey.

bits of sugar-coated cardboard broken open with a crack,
horoscopes and fate, silly things.
what’s your lucky number? who will you marry? who
should you not?
tug, my fortune pulls free.

u ok? Amber says.
yeah, I say. ha, my fortune’s blank.
the 1 in ur cookie? Joey says.
lemme see, says Dean.
I open the slip, flip it
blank, empty, nothing.
wat, says Amber.
haha, says Dean.
you got no fortune, Joey says.

you got no fortune.

I send a smile,
so they know I know it’s a joke.
not real.
but I can’t help but stare at the stark, blank whiteness
of my empty fortune

as it falls
from my fingers
to the floor.
loud, in the silence.

lonely, in the emptiness.


Fevered Dreams

The howl of the moon
The depth of the sun
The universe spread above
With stars falling
Like a broken heart’s tears

The darkness writhes
The sunshine, blinding
And all that’s left of the world
Is stone crumbling
Into the desert waste


Agony (working title)

The doctor turns, smiles
Somehow I expected a leer
Twisting, stretching his face into something alien
Bulging eyes, the stench of sweat
Flaking rust brown staining his pristine coat
Betraying the repugnance of his crime

But his face is smooth, clear
His eyes bright and warm
Not a speck to mar the whiteness of his clothes
Here, he says, good as new
His voice tight with clinical friendliness

He gently places it in my hands
I stare at the small, fluttering thing
At the tight, tidy stitches binding it
Where once it was ragged, bleeding
Oh, I say, because there is nothing else
And the thing in my hands trembles and thrums

In the safe darkness of my bedroom
I listen to the beat, never a falter
Only an echo of what once was gaping pain
In flames and ashes, searing flashes
I remember — the rage, hurt, betrayal, fury
Locked, hidden away in those tidy stitches

How can it be all right, okay?
How can it all be gone?
I tear out the stitches, relish in the pain
Rejoice in the wracking sobs
I’d rather feel anguish than nothing at all
And, as they say,
Nobody ever died of a broken heart


Body Language

“I’m hungry!” Mouth shouts.
“You’re far too loud,” Ear pouts.
“Check out my abs,” Stomach growls.
“Oh, shut up,” Lip scowls.
“What abs? I see none,” mocks Eye.
“I can’t see at all,” Tongue sighs.
“Sucks to be you!” Knees score.
“Hey,” Bellybutton squeaks, “that’s uncalled for.”
“What’s going on up there?” yells Foot.
Hands snap, “You just stay put!”
“I feel neglected,” sniffs Nose.
“I hate you all!” Big Toe bellows.
Then an angry silence falls,
And a small, hidden voice calls,
“I need to pee.”


Thirteen Days, Thirteen Skies

As big as the ocean–
No, bigger–
Vast, endless,
Swallowing up the world without a second thought.

Teensy tiny, only a speck, a spot,
Limited by what it can see.
Trees standing upward, reaching, framing the sky,
Like an infant portrait.

I sit and watch the water,
The sun reflected in the lake.
Sun rises, sun sets, the lake catches fire–
A thousand suns, a thousand skies,

The sky is heavy.
A million pounds, at least.
The buildings crack from the pressure.
And impossible
To breathe.

Soft, gray clouds, seeping into the city,
Breathing into homes and lives and
Creeping into even the children’s smiles.
Blending sky into earth
Until you forget they were ever separate to begin with.

On my breath, the snowflakes dance–
Laughing, calling. Cold nips nose
And the sky watches on, almost with a smile.

Scattered with stars,
Splattered with mystery,
The edges of your sight
Taunting you
With the millions, billions, you cannot see.

Pit. Pat. A trickle on my nose.
Rainy skies, playful skies.
Pit. Pat. Looking upward.
Rainy skies, falling skies.

Blue, blue as sky, blue as her eyes, his eyes,
Like a piece of paradise slipped away and made itself into Sky.

White, endless.
White, nothing.
A sky full of nothing, a sky full of ends.

The sky is inside,
Inside my soul, my heart.
It beats–
Louder than the world.

The bottom of the wishing well–
Plink goes the coin.
It falls, falling upward, till it touches sky, then–
Plink, joins the stars.

Clouds drifting, floating.
Never a care, never a fear.
Drifting, floating, sleeping, drowsing.
Soaking up sun and waiting
To rain — to fade.


Don't leave a reply. (Kidding. Just testing out this whole reverse psychology thing. Did it work?)

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Highest Form of Whit

Bigger. Bolder. Bloggier.*

The Official How To Blog

The official site of how to-ing.

Post it Notes from my Idiot Boss

delivered directly to my computer monitor on an all too regular basis...


little pictures I like to draw

Dysfunctional Literacy

Just because you CAN read Moby Dick doesn't mean you should.

The Librarian Who Doesn't Say Shhh!

Opening books to open minds.

Write, or Else!

Navigating the perils of writing

Flash! Friday

Micro fiction contest


Read our Mission. Find out how you can help us adopt James.

Covered in Beer

by Thomas Cochran, Known Moron

Eli Glasman

Site of author Eli Glasman

%d bloggers like this: