Be Silent. Consume. Die

Be Silent. Consume. Die

I have a t-shirt that says
Be silent.
Consume.
Die.
We’re all supposed to bend,
Over and take it gracefully.
Well I have a different idea,
And it begins with the loud ones.
The ones who speak their mind.
Who find everyday creation,
And have the courage to spark their,
Lives with acts that dreams are made of.
Thank you for being you,
And not believing everything,
You see on a T-shirt.

Matt Crichton

8/28/06

9/11 Tribute; for Mark Fogel

9/11 Tribute; for Mark Fogel

Come to my party,
We’re exchanging gifts.
Many friends present.
Your physical box has been closed.
Open your spirit box,
What do you see?
Move with the peacefulness of the clouds.
The downward brook rushing,
With quick wit of the cheetah’s sprint.
The over and over cycle of the sun and moon,
And know that your family, your friends,
Will remember your face, your smile,
Your embrace,
Whenever the senses touch these things.
You are loved, you are missed, be free.
Close your eyes, feel the love.

Matt Crichton
8/28/06

Airplane jets are

this poem is NOT in the poem book...

Airplane jets are

Zooming through blue skies,
Headed for land of the Mouse,
I spy sun dropped water,
Reflecting off small lakes and ponds;
Scattered throughout the brown and gray landscape.

The occasional lengthy water snake
Glitters into reflective view.

Plane bumps as we hit puffy cloud lines
Ice cubes jiggle a dance in my coca cola cup
I wonder how tiny bubbles feel about
Being smashed against icy hunks.

Closing my eyes I wonder,
How many other people in,
This sardine can hurtling through space,
Are headed for the palace of two ears.

--Matt Crichton
05/06/07

World is on Fire

World is on Fire

The world is on fire.
Crackly yellow and orange breath,
Exhales to touch another.
Today I am not so lucky.
Rings through one ear,
Are not what they seem in the other.
Reworking the surface of the,
Street I walk down is much,
Easier than reworking inner depths,
Of my soul I wander through.
Shouting in all directions,
Not really reaching any tangible reality.
Reaching further into the truing blackness,
I burst open with red, orange,
Paper pieces scattering about.

Matt Crichton
01/14/07