Vacation:)

Well, they are hardly poems but pictures are a form of art and expressing creativity as well so here are some from my trip to Sacramento.

I do not belong

I do not belong here;


Among my friends 
who will finish their race 
next year.


And I, 
who have run part of the race with them-
only to stop just short of the finish line;
I have yet to start at the beginning again
when I could have won already.


They fill their heads
with new ideas - 
the cure for cancer perhaps.


My head harbors only
musty bits of numbers-
integrals, matricies,
what is orthogonal again?


Yes. Numbers and words.
Bits of foreign language
that would hardly be understood.


They have collected so much dust
that you cannot even tell
what colors azul and rouge
originally were.


Not that it matters.
Most people speak English
and my friends are long gone
Away to new places
that I am sure would not even consider
taking me in.


No. I will stick to my 
baking, and my video games
and pretend this is all
I could ever want.

Epic

I found a perfect
Rose; White and pure with verdant
Leaves. But finding it


Is like finding a
Weed when compared to feeling
I've aced my math test

Phlox grows wild as moss on a tree
on the north-facing slopes.

A pink dogwood blooms adamantly
in the midst of the greens and browns
of apple trees attempting to crowd it,
searching for a light of their own.

The evening sun throws thick shadows
on the snow-laden mountain
to the south. It looms larger
than before, the sun-touched east face
a beacon in the growing dark.

Farther down the road,
the pale blossoms of the orchards
are alive with lights, as if instead of bees,
thousands of fireflies have arrived.

The trees glow against the hills
and the deep blue of the evening sky
is puddled in the rumble strips
with the day's rain.