I wrote this because my dog amuses me. This is from her perspective.
PS. The use (abuse?) of punctuation and emoticons and extra letters AND CAPS is something I just thought i'd mention because it seems really strange. So... this is me mentioning it. I don't really know where I'm going with this. I'll just go back to the poem now.
WOOOF!!!!
Are you kidding?
It's cold!?
Are you kidding?
It's windy!?
Come ON!!!
Are you kidding!?!
The bowl is empty?!
But I'm hungryy !!!!! :(
Oh COMEONNNN!?!?!
Are you kidding mee!!!
Now it's snowing?!
SERIOUSLYYY!!!??!?
WOOF BARK WOOF GRRAAAW GRRRRR WOOF BARK!!!
Hyperness
OMG AHHHHH
SO MUCH ENERGY
DRANK TOO MUCH COFFEEEE
WHOOOOOO
YIKES
I'M SINGING WAYYY TOO LOUD
THE PEOPLE ARE YELLING AT ME FROM THEIR HOUSES
WHEEEEEE THIS IS FUUNNNN
THE CARS ARE SO BRIGHT
THE SUN IS SO COOOLLL
NO REALLY, IT WAS JUST COFFEE
NO, THE WHITE STUFF ON MY LIP IS CREAMER
I SWEAR
MY MUSIC IS SO LOUD
JUST LIKE MEEEE
YAYYYYY
OH LOOK A CARRRR
OH LOOK THE STREET
THE STREET IS COMING TO SAY HI
HIIIIIIIII STREET
HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
ow.....
Inspiration
We artists search for inspiration
for a subject worthy of our words
or of our canvas
or of ourvoice.
We scour the whole world
for something beautiful
as beautiful as summer's sunrise
or a prairie cake with pure white snow icing.
Sometimes we get lucky
and inspiration is everywhere.
Sometimes we stare at the wall
and words weave themselves
our paper bleeds ink and images.
Then there are the times we can't turn it off
when we can't get our creativity to just shut the hell up
no matter how hard we don't try,
no matter how poorly we focus
or how easily we let ourselves be distracted.
Sometimes our hands just work on their own
like Candarian hands
with minds of their own
and ideas of their own
independent of our minds.
And without our minds
our hands kind of suck
their images are bland
their rhyme schemes are mediocre
at best
their metre is closer to a foot
and they make poetic puns like that one
and obvious alliterations
or ones that are completely made mup.
What I'm trying to say is
I'm sorry
for this travesty of poetry
which I'm sure is making your ears bleed
damn these hands
which just won't stop
as hard as I try
they just keep typing.
Oh, wait, I think I've got a start
my typing has slowed
my brain is turning back on.
Finally, I'm free
to make better such and rhymes
than that monstrosity.
Piece of Cake
Sometimes poems are easy.
Some would say a piece of cake,
because they're fluffy and light.
But no, that can't be right.
Perhaps because they're covered in icing,
but that's wrong too, such sweets are more enticing.
Maybe it's their presence at birthdays.
No. No. That'd be as fun as a party survey.
So why is it " piece of cake?"
You'd think asnwering that would be at least as easy as pie.....
90
I wanted to make it to ninety
to keep my poetry lively
but now it's no good
I know I really should
have avoided writing idly.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Day 85 - For Karina
Karina, you mentioned that I'm failing at writing a poem a DAY, so this is for you.
I said a poem a day
But often I'm away
I will write again,
make use of my pen,
and get back on track, okay?
I said a poem a day
But often I'm away
I will write again,
make use of my pen,
and get back on track, okay?
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Days 84-85 Something Sad
Backwards
It used to be so
you would beg me not to leave.
It used to be, too
I would be heavy weighted
when I knew I had to go.
But now you shrug and nod
"see ya, I love ya"
and now I only remember
the things I used to just forget:
the homework, the cleaning, the daily plod.
Can't we just go back to see
the way it used to be?
Between
The words sat between us
like the sun between Heaven and Earth.
Our future illuminated,
our happiness risen with the morn.
We spoke them once,
we spoke them again.
We spoke them gently,
we spoke them with passion.
"I Love You" sat between us
like the nose between your shimmering eyes
The word sat between us
like the moon between Earth and Hell.
Our futures now obscured,
light enough only to see the loss.
"Goodbye" sat between us
like the sneer between your too taut cheeks
It used to be so
you would beg me not to leave.
It used to be, too
I would be heavy weighted
when I knew I had to go.
But now you shrug and nod
"see ya, I love ya"
and now I only remember
the things I used to just forget:
the homework, the cleaning, the daily plod.
Can't we just go back to see
the way it used to be?
Between
The words sat between us
like the sun between Heaven and Earth.
Our future illuminated,
our happiness risen with the morn.
We spoke them once,
we spoke them again.
We spoke them gently,
we spoke them with passion.
"I Love You" sat between us
like the nose between your shimmering eyes
The word sat between us
like the moon between Earth and Hell.
Our futures now obscured,
light enough only to see the loss.
"Goodbye" sat between us
like the sneer between your too taut cheeks
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Day 83 - Bedtime
Bedtime
For some
sleep is their best friend:
relaxing, rejuvenating, rewarding,
wonderful.
For me
sleep is like an ex:
we don't get along
and whenever we're in the same room
things get awkward.
I wish sleep would be like an old flame:
we'd find each other again,
we'd remember what we loved,
and we'd spend a lot of time in the bedroom.
For some
sleep is their best friend:
relaxing, rejuvenating, rewarding,
wonderful.
For me
sleep is like an ex:
we don't get along
and whenever we're in the same room
things get awkward.
I wish sleep would be like an old flame:
we'd find each other again,
we'd remember what we loved,
and we'd spend a lot of time in the bedroom.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Day 82 - For all incredible Women who have survived, and the incredible Women who have not
As many (some?) of you know, in addition to taking on insane writing projects, I also act. One of the roles I am currently in the process of building was written as an abusive boyfriend, but has been evolving into what can only be described as a sexual predator. We keep calling him 'creepy,' but Evil is really more appropriate, he's that horrible. It's part of an educational show that we're bringing to middle and elementary schools in New West, and I think it's an important role. The reason I mention this is because this poem is inspired by some of the terrible stories I have read in the process of researching this role and I just can't stop thinking about them. If I was the kind of person to have nightmares, I would have been having them probably every single night for the last two weeks. Don't worry, it's not violent or graphic, but if anyone may be upset, please don't read it. You have been warned.
Hell
Run.
Please run.
Run far, run fast, run now.
Hide.
Please hide.
Hide well, hide quietly, hide now.
I'm on my knees to beg you.
Don't be that girl
in the news tomorrow night,
in a coffin next weekend.
Don't be that woman
with long sleeves and too much makeup,
with a broken arm and heart,
or a bruised eye and soul.
Be the Hero
for your children,
for the others,
for the world.
Don't be the liar,
who smiles with her teeth
but screams with her eyes.
Brave is not pretending you're alright,
but making yourself better.
Strong is not enduring Hell,
but coming back to Earth.
You may be scared of change,
but aren't you scared of him?
Run
Please run.
Run far, run fast, run now.
Forget your love,
he'll never give it back.
Remember your life,
or he'll take it away.
Run.
Please run.
Run far, run fast, run now.
Hell
Run.
Please run.
Run far, run fast, run now.
Hide.
Please hide.
Hide well, hide quietly, hide now.
I'm on my knees to beg you.
Don't be that girl
in the news tomorrow night,
in a coffin next weekend.
Don't be that woman
with long sleeves and too much makeup,
with a broken arm and heart,
or a bruised eye and soul.
Be the Hero
for your children,
for the others,
for the world.
Don't be the liar,
who smiles with her teeth
but screams with her eyes.
Brave is not pretending you're alright,
but making yourself better.
Strong is not enduring Hell,
but coming back to Earth.
You may be scared of change,
but aren't you scared of him?
Run
Please run.
Run far, run fast, run now.
Forget your love,
he'll never give it back.
Remember your life,
or he'll take it away.
Run.
Please run.
Run far, run fast, run now.
Day 79-81 - My pathetic attempt at catching up
One Night
For just one whole night
I could say that I would give my sight
but then I would never see your pretty smile
I could say that I would give my hand
but without it I couldn't stroke your cheek
For just one whole night
I could offer up the world
but you would be gone with it
I could offer up every cent I ever earn
but then I'd have none left to buy a bigger bed
(so we both have room to sleep)
I could give up my life
For just one whole night
but if I did I'd lose a thousand more
-----
Full
My chest will fill
with comforting warmth.
My soul will swell
to a burning sun.
My arms will grip
for fear of a loss.
My life will end
when we both are old.
-----
SUGARLAANDDD!!!!!
Hello
A fairly simple word
A word to greet your friends
Your friends whom you love
You love to the end of your life
And life has satisfaction
the satisfaction of Hello
For just one whole night
I could say that I would give my sight
but then I would never see your pretty smile
I could say that I would give my hand
but without it I couldn't stroke your cheek
For just one whole night
I could offer up the world
but you would be gone with it
I could offer up every cent I ever earn
but then I'd have none left to buy a bigger bed
(so we both have room to sleep)
I could give up my life
For just one whole night
but if I did I'd lose a thousand more
-----
Full
My chest will fill
with comforting warmth.
My soul will swell
to a burning sun.
My arms will grip
for fear of a loss.
My life will end
when we both are old.
-----
SUGARLAANDDD!!!!!
Hello
A fairly simple word
A word to greet your friends
Your friends whom you love
You love to the end of your life
And life has satisfaction
the satisfaction of Hello
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Days 78-79 - VOGONS RULE!!!!!
Ladies and gentlement, I have been crowned (literally crowned: they gave me a balloon crown) the third best Vogon poet in all of Vancouver. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. All you really need to know is that Vogon poetry is the third worst in the Universe.
These are the two poems that won me my title.
These are the two poems that won me my title.
1. Ode to a Chunk of my Vomit
(loud, horrible, insurance-premium-raising throat clearing noise)
Bleeyarglegargleflartch
Chunky, funky, hunks.
Gritty, grimy gorks
Binky slimy krungs
The crapicaustic smell brings a bitter joy which burns my sneedle snose
I shove it in the hall to acconstulate and engrogeify and devour passing underling
(whom then I will scoldamnify for ingolerent disgavroooving failure.
This chunk of vomit will live a hundred thousand million of planet Kragnagriminastischemion’s years
(one of which is eguivilakerunt to a hundred thousand million here on insignafiranigant “Earth”)
My chunk will feast repulgnalikiously on grunkly gorks of zunzagreemic klorg.
Oh that I will die, my chunk of vomit will live and be my lanatagniziklious legacy.
2. Don’t Talk to me About Laughter!
Die, laughter.
You granokuluke my ears
Die, laughter!
You unugondumulch my eyes.
Die, desporgrined laughter!
You tuntukilague my filginch
Oh DIE! Most imnikigilous laughter.
You flanjeligate my brain.
DIE DIE DIE DIE… DIE!!!!
Oh horendeligalichinjurugalukish laughter!!!!
You kill my life.
Oh grarga…. (gargling)
(Die. Twitch/gargle.)
Day 77- Heaven
A while ago I wrote a poem called "Heaven"
Heaven
in Heaven, there are Books
shelves and shelves of Books and Books
with covers of smooth, hard board
of soft, glossy paperback
and the whole place is shrouded with that musky, dusty New Book Smell
your favourite author pens endless sequels
good ones, mind you
also, in Heaven, there are Chairs
big comfy ones of buttery smooth nogahyde
with a nice big Fireplace, for to read by when it's raining outside
those days when you start to shiver and feel damp just looking at it
and it does rain, in Heaven
because if it didnt' then how could you read by the Fireplace on a rainy day?
in the next door of Heaven, there is a Coffee Bar
with coffee and mochas and sweet hazelnut hot cocoa made with rich dark chocolate
and tea. white tea, black tea, lemon green tea
they even haved iced tea
because it doesn't rain all the time
sometimes it's wonderfully warm
with a lovely spring breeze and white puffy clouds that you wish you could lay on like a pillow
and on those days, there is a wonderful lake and you can read on the grassy bank
and the shoes
walls of shoes and they're all gorgeous and they're all your size
and they're all there for the taking,
in Heaven
-----
This next poem is the sequel to that one.
Heaven: Part Two
In Heaven, your favourite band plays a concert every night
and you can hear your favourite song that's never over
And when you feel the mood, you can take a field trip to Ivanland
(that's Ivan Coyote, by the way)
and you have your favourite notebook, and your favourite pen, and a really nice computer
and endless inpiration, of course
your closet in Heaven is enormous
there are so many colours and fabrics and textures and options
some of which are so amazing they don't "actually" exist
your neighbours in Heaven are all your best friends
and the characters from the best books and movies and TV shows
not to mention the famous people
the writers and actors and musicians and, for those who are so inclined, athletes, that you drool over
one of the best things about Heaven in that there is no curfew
and the beds are big and comfy and there's plenty of room for two
(or three, if that's what your into, and don't worry, no one in Heaven will judge)
and the nights last just as long as you could ever want
Heaven's kitchens are beautiful
with huge granite countertops and fully stocked fridges and pantries with all your yummy ingredients
and the best utensils and appliances and pots and pans
and little fairies come and clean everything
In Heaven
Heaven
in Heaven, there are Books
shelves and shelves of Books and Books
with covers of smooth, hard board
of soft, glossy paperback
and the whole place is shrouded with that musky, dusty New Book Smell
your favourite author pens endless sequels
good ones, mind you
also, in Heaven, there are Chairs
big comfy ones of buttery smooth nogahyde
with a nice big Fireplace, for to read by when it's raining outside
those days when you start to shiver and feel damp just looking at it
and it does rain, in Heaven
because if it didnt' then how could you read by the Fireplace on a rainy day?
in the next door of Heaven, there is a Coffee Bar
with coffee and mochas and sweet hazelnut hot cocoa made with rich dark chocolate
and tea. white tea, black tea, lemon green tea
they even haved iced tea
because it doesn't rain all the time
sometimes it's wonderfully warm
with a lovely spring breeze and white puffy clouds that you wish you could lay on like a pillow
and on those days, there is a wonderful lake and you can read on the grassy bank
and the shoes
walls of shoes and they're all gorgeous and they're all your size
and they're all there for the taking,
in Heaven
-----
This next poem is the sequel to that one.
Heaven: Part Two
In Heaven, your favourite band plays a concert every night
and you can hear your favourite song that's never over
And when you feel the mood, you can take a field trip to Ivanland
(that's Ivan Coyote, by the way)
and you have your favourite notebook, and your favourite pen, and a really nice computer
and endless inpiration, of course
your closet in Heaven is enormous
there are so many colours and fabrics and textures and options
some of which are so amazing they don't "actually" exist
your neighbours in Heaven are all your best friends
and the characters from the best books and movies and TV shows
not to mention the famous people
the writers and actors and musicians and, for those who are so inclined, athletes, that you drool over
one of the best things about Heaven in that there is no curfew
and the beds are big and comfy and there's plenty of room for two
(or three, if that's what your into, and don't worry, no one in Heaven will judge)
and the nights last just as long as you could ever want
Heaven's kitchens are beautiful
with huge granite countertops and fully stocked fridges and pantries with all your yummy ingredients
and the best utensils and appliances and pots and pans
and little fairies come and clean everything
In Heaven
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Day 76 - Self Reference
Love Poems
Sometimes words can reach too far
and stretch beyond what lives
Sometimes words describe perfection
which reality doesn't give.
Sometimes words seek to present
deepest devotions and easiest embraces,
keenest kisses and courtliest caresses.
But sometimes words fall short.
When devotions are degraded
and embraces are embittered.
when kisses are kindless;
and caresses are crass:
the poet's ink is never out
his pen is never dry.
For in the world on the page
lives loves perfectious dream,
where all of us can aspire and escape.
Sometimes words can reach too far
and stretch beyond what lives
Sometimes words describe perfection
which reality doesn't give.
Sometimes words seek to present
deepest devotions and easiest embraces,
keenest kisses and courtliest caresses.
But sometimes words fall short.
When devotions are degraded
and embraces are embittered.
when kisses are kindless;
and caresses are crass:
the poet's ink is never out
his pen is never dry.
For in the world on the page
lives loves perfectious dream,
where all of us can aspire and escape.
Day 75 - These Hands
The title is stolen from an INCREDIBLE poem written by the uncle of a friend of mine. I was going to write something similar (and probably still will at some point), but this isn't it, because it was a war poem, and this is anything but.
These Hands
These hands can hold a pen
These hands can lift a beatiful little girl
These hands can hug a friend
These hands can caress a soft lover's cheek
These feet can run away
These feet can stand as still as someone's rock
These feet can slip and introduce my ass to the ground
This face can smile wide
This face can drain my tears
This face shriek and scream
This face can kiss a head
This heart can beat and pump
This heart can block and stop
or this heart can open wide
and this heart can burst from love
These Hands
These hands can hold a pen
These hands can lift a beatiful little girl
These hands can hug a friend
These hands can caress a soft lover's cheek
These feet can run away
These feet can stand as still as someone's rock
These feet can slip and introduce my ass to the ground
This face can smile wide
This face can drain my tears
This face shriek and scream
This face can kiss a head
This heart can beat and pump
This heart can block and stop
or this heart can open wide
and this heart can burst from love
Day 74 - Why
Why
Why can't I stay here?
Why are nights so short?
Why are we so far apart?
Why won't time just stop?
Why isn't Love enough?
Why can't I stay here?
Why are nights so short?
Why are we so far apart?
Why won't time just stop?
Why isn't Love enough?
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Day 73 - Thieves
Thieves
There are thieves about tonight
one has stolen your happiness
another has taken my aid
one has robbed us of our time
another of our life together
Now one thief has all that was ours
and the other has all that could have been
There are thieves about tonight
one has stolen your happiness
another has taken my aid
one has robbed us of our time
another of our life together
Now one thief has all that was ours
and the other has all that could have been
Day 71-72 - Distance
Distance
10 000 leagues to the bottom of the sea
80 days around the world
if words could carry me to you
i'd fly to your side in an instant
if i could swim a tear to reach you
i'd sail away right now
if a wish was enough...
i'd leave in a moment and be there right now
10 000 leagues to the bottom of the sea
but still i can't descend even to your arms
80 days around the world
but still i can't encircle you with comfort
Distance
I reach across the sky toward the brightest star
I hold the moon in my tender arms
I dive and swim down to the ocean's bed to sleep in silent serenity
I pray for the other side of this life so I can find peace
I caress the face of God
but it's not the same
it's not a comfort, or an accomplishment
not when you are so much farther away
10 000 leagues to the bottom of the sea
80 days around the world
if words could carry me to you
i'd fly to your side in an instant
if i could swim a tear to reach you
i'd sail away right now
if a wish was enough...
i'd leave in a moment and be there right now
10 000 leagues to the bottom of the sea
but still i can't descend even to your arms
80 days around the world
but still i can't encircle you with comfort
Distance
I reach across the sky toward the brightest star
I hold the moon in my tender arms
I dive and swim down to the ocean's bed to sleep in silent serenity
I pray for the other side of this life so I can find peace
I caress the face of God
but it's not the same
it's not a comfort, or an accomplishment
not when you are so much farther away
Day 65-70 - I'm back (hopefully to stay this time)
1. This first one is entirely fictional. I wrote it a while ago based on something that I don't remember.
The Shift
The touch of fingers on my skin like sharpened sparks of fire
A single kiss can speak a life's whole worth of simple words
Best smiles, those that glitter eyes of Med'terra'nan blue
I hear the voice of God when laughter chimes in your sweet voice
But how to stop the burn when sparks ignite engulfing flames
And what to do when words run out and kisses with them too
When happiness is drowned in oceans spilled from those blue eyes
And how to block demonic shrieks denouncing all of love.
2. And here's another French poem. Because French is awesome.
Delynn
Ce n'est pas le sang,
ce n'est pas les liens.
C'est l’âme et l'amour,
c'est l'effet à mon coeur.
C'est la beauté d'une petite fille,
c'est la joie quand elle rit.
c'est vrai qu'elle est ma propre famille.
3. I picked an object and wrote a poem. Deal with it.
Chalkboard
A powd'ry cough of tough white smoke
Smooth green slate with whitened streaks
White powder makes the words that form my poem
4. Another Sugarland poem
Stand Up
Voice crashes out
like drums of thunder
Words flow from a tongue;
the lyrics to a dream.
The crowd cheers
as a million cymbols roar.
Rumbling applause,
rapid piano chords.
5. I was going to add more to this (and may do so in the future) but I'm on a roll so I'm posting a bunch of half finished poems and calling them done.
Every Girl Like Me (BTW this is a Sugarland poem)
we fight till the end of the night then we hug and make up and we kiss and make love
this is real Love.
6. I think I have one more in me
It's time to go to bed
Before my eyes go red
I need to sleep
So sane I'll keep
'Tis probably all but dead
The Shift
The touch of fingers on my skin like sharpened sparks of fire
A single kiss can speak a life's whole worth of simple words
Best smiles, those that glitter eyes of Med'terra'nan blue
I hear the voice of God when laughter chimes in your sweet voice
But how to stop the burn when sparks ignite engulfing flames
And what to do when words run out and kisses with them too
When happiness is drowned in oceans spilled from those blue eyes
And how to block demonic shrieks denouncing all of love.
2. And here's another French poem. Because French is awesome.
Delynn
Ce n'est pas le sang,
ce n'est pas les liens.
C'est l’âme et l'amour,
c'est l'effet à mon coeur.
C'est la beauté d'une petite fille,
c'est la joie quand elle rit.
c'est vrai qu'elle est ma propre famille.
3. I picked an object and wrote a poem. Deal with it.
Chalkboard
A powd'ry cough of tough white smoke
Smooth green slate with whitened streaks
White powder makes the words that form my poem
4. Another Sugarland poem
Stand Up
Voice crashes out
like drums of thunder
Words flow from a tongue;
the lyrics to a dream.
The crowd cheers
as a million cymbols roar.
Rumbling applause,
rapid piano chords.
5. I was going to add more to this (and may do so in the future) but I'm on a roll so I'm posting a bunch of half finished poems and calling them done.
Every Girl Like Me (BTW this is a Sugarland poem)
we fight till the end of the night then we hug and make up and we kiss and make love
this is real Love.
6. I think I have one more in me
It's time to go to bed
Before my eyes go red
I need to sleep
So sane I'll keep
'Tis probably all but dead
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Day 64 - Dear God I'm Tired
At times like this, I can't help but think of the lyrics of the late great Panic! at the Disco:
♫ Oh how it's been so long/We're so sorry we've been gone/we were busy writing songs for you ♫
Replace the word songs with poems and that pretty much sums it up.
I'm really starting to regret taking on this project in Grade 12. As if this year wasn't going to be hard enough. BUT I DID take it on this year, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to see it through. For those of you out there in cyberland who are ACTUALLY still checking up on this, I desperately hope you won't give up on me. I really do need you in order to keep doing this. But enough about me, how about a poem.
More
I can offer you this hand
Bare, empty
but firm and open for a steady grip.
I can offer you this tear.
A single drop of salt;
an ocean of regret
I can offer you this smile
Though sometimes with my mouth and not my soul,
sometimes on a cliff over sorrow
I can offer you these words.
I hope they pour warm down your throat,
as yours do me
♫ Oh how it's been so long/We're so sorry we've been gone/we were busy writing songs for you ♫
Replace the word songs with poems and that pretty much sums it up.
I'm really starting to regret taking on this project in Grade 12. As if this year wasn't going to be hard enough. BUT I DID take it on this year, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to see it through. For those of you out there in cyberland who are ACTUALLY still checking up on this, I desperately hope you won't give up on me. I really do need you in order to keep doing this. But enough about me, how about a poem.
More
I can offer you this hand
Bare, empty
but firm and open for a steady grip.
I can offer you this tear.
A single drop of salt;
an ocean of regret
I can offer you this smile
Though sometimes with my mouth and not my soul,
sometimes on a cliff over sorrow
I can offer you these words.
I hope they pour warm down your throat,
as yours do me
Monday, November 15, 2010
Day 63- NOT My Finest Hour
This poem is similar to "thus, with a kiss, I live"... except that this one sucks. Oh well. I said at the beginning of this that not all of the poems would be good. Some of them have been and will be (and, in this case, ARE) utterly, excruciatingly dreadful. But that, I suppose, is the rub.
A Poem
A poem, a poem, my kingdom for a poem.
PS. Expect to see more of these in the next few days. But don't worry, I promise to put a bit of actual creative thought and energy into at least SOME of them.
A Poem
A poem, a poem, my kingdom for a poem.
PS. Expect to see more of these in the next few days. But don't worry, I promise to put a bit of actual creative thought and energy into at least SOME of them.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Days 53-62 - Ten Poems
I have some spare time, so I'm gonna sit here at my computer and work my way through ten Sugarland songs. Enjoy!!
County Line
The best things in life are free:
A kiss in cold dark pouring rain
Singing out loud on a crowded train
Dancing badly to a crappy band
Finding freedom when I hold your hand
Laughing at each other with no reserve
Digging deep for courage and nerve
Always knowing who's a friend
Praying this life will never end
Everyday America
Supper warm on the table at six.
Bugging the kids to eat their veggies
and drink their milk to grow big and strong.
This is the story of Everday America.
Rush hour traffic, early morning.
Whittling away at the endless day
to drive straight home and hold your baby.
This is the story of Everyday America
Tears falling down as she drives away.
Hoping she'll keep her word and visit
sometime before Christmas rolls around.
This is the story of Everyday America
Packing boxes to put in storage.
One last goodbye to the mortgaged house,
where the kids first walked and talked and cried.
This is the story of Everyday America.
Happy Ending
If Cinderella hadn't lost her shoe,
if Snow White hadn't bit the apple,
if the Beast had never been cursed;
the prince would never have put it back on,
she would never have been waked by her love,
he would never have searched for true love's kiss.
If no one had ever broken our hearts,
if we'd never been afraid to love again,
if we had never known despair;
no one would ever have been able to fix them,
we would have jumped too soon and missed the real thing,
we wouldn't hold so tight when we finally found relief.
These Are The Days
Cradled in a crib sound asleep for the first time in days
Screaming and crying and feeding and sleeping and pooping
Making so much noise and so much mess, but a beautiful boy worth it all
Walking together to school with big red boots
Holding Mommy and Daddy's hands to jump and splash
Best friends are found and not forgotten
Moody and lonesome and breaking their hearts with his concealed suffering
Desperately tring to break through the exterior to find the boy beneath
The first new smile to show him still there, not drowned in teenaged torture
Scared and excited because he thinks she loves him back
Wanting to return him to days long gone when such pain was not conceived
Watching as his first scars begin to form and stenghten his green heart
Praying he won't miss the chance so close before his eyes
Scared when he can't look up for paralysing terror
Tears appear at the known look reflected in his eyes
A long white dress dragging on the garden floor
Everyone watches her, but she lacking mirror sets her eyes on him instead
The first true kiss, the first true dance, the first true day of the rest of his life
Fighting with such cumbersome passion as to create heat of a winter night
Screaming and yelling and threatening to leave and walking out the door
Missing and pining and praying that she'll come back soon
The first sweet baby on the way to bless his life with love never known
Talking to her belly and singing to her every night to calm her fears
Remembering the terror of his childhood behind the pure joy of holding his little girl
Raising his girl to become a well grown woman far too fast
His wife's eyes reflect their thirty years as bright as when they rose
And then their thirty has become some seventy and the time draws near
He lies within her arms on that last night
Their eyes gaze upon each other and their lips smile fully
Love radiates from their every inch, and two full lives are breathed although in death.
April Showers
The rain is always first
It comes before the bloom
Precedes the flow'ry swell
Perhaps it seems we're cursed
All hope obscured by gloom
No buds can yet we smell
But the time is coming soon
When sugared relief returns
And mingles with sweet spring scents
Also will the blue jay croon
Fresh, cool dew revive the ferns
and love't last to us present
Mean Girls
tight blue jeans
long black boots
hot pink top
she's a mean girl
bares those fangs
paints those claws
thick blood red
she's a mean girl
pulls your hair
trips your legs
stabs your back
she's a mean girl
just like us
so she says
we know not
she's a mean girl
kills your joy
takes the guy
plays innocent
she's a mean girl
can't touch her
not a chance
she'll get you
she's a mean girl
you grin clean
but play dirty
gave what's comin'
she's a mean girl
dish it out
just like her
saved yourself
she's a mean girl
deserved exactly what she got
she's a mean girl
Stay
I'll beg
and I'll plead
for you not to go
Please stay here
You'll kiss
and you'll hug
saying you're so sorry
Please stay here
He'll grin
he'll play dumb
and maybe you'll win
but Please stay here
I'll cry
I'll sob and weep
but still I'll hope
for you to Please stay here
Hurts will heal
Scars will form
and some say I'll be stronger
but Please stay here
Eyes will dry
Dignity will return
I'm telling you I'm done
Please stay there
Sugarland
I hear the world calling
with a million different voices
from a million differnet places
and then there's you
The brightest Broadway lights
The loudest L.A nights
and dreams that won't go away
and then there's you
Perhaps I could be rich
Perhaps I could be famous
Perhaps I could live forever
and then there's you
I thought it would be hard
to turn my back on all of that
to stay and revel in simplicity
but then there's you
Tonight
The sun sinks low and burns the sky a perfect gold
The silver pricks of stars begin to glow inside the black
The fullest moon's white light illuminates the sky
The blind darkness seems to stretch on into eternity
The pale yellow light comes out of nowhere
The tip of a morning sun brings with it pink fire
The white of day fills all the sky and shows the world again
Red Dirt Road
This is a poem
about a Red Dirt Road
I was born and raised
on a Red Dirt Road
Met my wife
on a Red Dirt Road
Married her too
on a Red Dirt Road
My babies were born
on a Red Dirt Road
They grew up
on a Red Dirt Road
We grew old
on a Red Dirt Road
Then we died
on a Red Dirt Road
County Line
The best things in life are free:
A kiss in cold dark pouring rain
Singing out loud on a crowded train
Dancing badly to a crappy band
Finding freedom when I hold your hand
Laughing at each other with no reserve
Digging deep for courage and nerve
Always knowing who's a friend
Praying this life will never end
Everyday America
Supper warm on the table at six.
Bugging the kids to eat their veggies
and drink their milk to grow big and strong.
This is the story of Everday America.
Rush hour traffic, early morning.
Whittling away at the endless day
to drive straight home and hold your baby.
This is the story of Everyday America
Tears falling down as she drives away.
Hoping she'll keep her word and visit
sometime before Christmas rolls around.
This is the story of Everyday America
Packing boxes to put in storage.
One last goodbye to the mortgaged house,
where the kids first walked and talked and cried.
This is the story of Everyday America.
Happy Ending
If Cinderella hadn't lost her shoe,
if Snow White hadn't bit the apple,
if the Beast had never been cursed;
the prince would never have put it back on,
she would never have been waked by her love,
he would never have searched for true love's kiss.
If no one had ever broken our hearts,
if we'd never been afraid to love again,
if we had never known despair;
no one would ever have been able to fix them,
we would have jumped too soon and missed the real thing,
we wouldn't hold so tight when we finally found relief.
These Are The Days
Cradled in a crib sound asleep for the first time in days
Screaming and crying and feeding and sleeping and pooping
Making so much noise and so much mess, but a beautiful boy worth it all
Walking together to school with big red boots
Holding Mommy and Daddy's hands to jump and splash
Best friends are found and not forgotten
Moody and lonesome and breaking their hearts with his concealed suffering
Desperately tring to break through the exterior to find the boy beneath
The first new smile to show him still there, not drowned in teenaged torture
Scared and excited because he thinks she loves him back
Wanting to return him to days long gone when such pain was not conceived
Watching as his first scars begin to form and stenghten his green heart
Praying he won't miss the chance so close before his eyes
Scared when he can't look up for paralysing terror
Tears appear at the known look reflected in his eyes
A long white dress dragging on the garden floor
Everyone watches her, but she lacking mirror sets her eyes on him instead
The first true kiss, the first true dance, the first true day of the rest of his life
Fighting with such cumbersome passion as to create heat of a winter night
Screaming and yelling and threatening to leave and walking out the door
Missing and pining and praying that she'll come back soon
The first sweet baby on the way to bless his life with love never known
Talking to her belly and singing to her every night to calm her fears
Remembering the terror of his childhood behind the pure joy of holding his little girl
Raising his girl to become a well grown woman far too fast
His wife's eyes reflect their thirty years as bright as when they rose
And then their thirty has become some seventy and the time draws near
He lies within her arms on that last night
Their eyes gaze upon each other and their lips smile fully
Love radiates from their every inch, and two full lives are breathed although in death.
April Showers
The rain is always first
It comes before the bloom
Precedes the flow'ry swell
Perhaps it seems we're cursed
All hope obscured by gloom
No buds can yet we smell
But the time is coming soon
When sugared relief returns
And mingles with sweet spring scents
Also will the blue jay croon
Fresh, cool dew revive the ferns
and love't last to us present
Mean Girls
tight blue jeans
long black boots
hot pink top
she's a mean girl
bares those fangs
paints those claws
thick blood red
she's a mean girl
pulls your hair
trips your legs
stabs your back
she's a mean girl
just like us
so she says
we know not
she's a mean girl
kills your joy
takes the guy
plays innocent
she's a mean girl
can't touch her
not a chance
she'll get you
she's a mean girl
you grin clean
but play dirty
gave what's comin'
she's a mean girl
dish it out
just like her
saved yourself
she's a mean girl
deserved exactly what she got
she's a mean girl
Stay
I'll beg
and I'll plead
for you not to go
Please stay here
You'll kiss
and you'll hug
saying you're so sorry
Please stay here
He'll grin
he'll play dumb
and maybe you'll win
but Please stay here
I'll cry
I'll sob and weep
but still I'll hope
for you to Please stay here
Hurts will heal
Scars will form
and some say I'll be stronger
but Please stay here
Eyes will dry
Dignity will return
I'm telling you I'm done
Please stay there
Sugarland
I hear the world calling
with a million different voices
from a million differnet places
and then there's you
The brightest Broadway lights
The loudest L.A nights
and dreams that won't go away
and then there's you
Perhaps I could be rich
Perhaps I could be famous
Perhaps I could live forever
and then there's you
I thought it would be hard
to turn my back on all of that
to stay and revel in simplicity
but then there's you
Tonight
The sun sinks low and burns the sky a perfect gold
The silver pricks of stars begin to glow inside the black
The fullest moon's white light illuminates the sky
The blind darkness seems to stretch on into eternity
The pale yellow light comes out of nowhere
The tip of a morning sun brings with it pink fire
The white of day fills all the sky and shows the world again
Red Dirt Road
This is a poem
about a Red Dirt Road
I was born and raised
on a Red Dirt Road
Met my wife
on a Red Dirt Road
Married her too
on a Red Dirt Road
My babies were born
on a Red Dirt Road
They grew up
on a Red Dirt Road
We grew old
on a Red Dirt Road
Then we died
on a Red Dirt Road
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The Conference
This weekend I volunteered for the fourth year in a row at the Surrey International Writers Conference. I saw, yet again, internationally famous writers (whom I drool at) Diana Gabaldon and Jack Whyte. The incredible group of volunteers managed to get both of those two, as well as many other FAMOUS authors, including my *ahem... good friends (and yes I'm serious) Chris Humphreys and Ivan Coyote, both of whom I have a great deal of respect and admiration for, as artists and as human beings, and whom I am constantly inspired by and am truly honoured to know.
This Conference (notice the capital) is the highlight of my year, and I always come away from the three day program feeling infinitely energised, boundlessly inspired, and acutely aware of the true limitless power held by those of us who take the time to harness our creative energy.
This is not a "new" poem (well.. to most of you it is, but I mean I'm not counting it as a day) but I just had to post it because I am so enamoured by the atmosphere and the people at this conference.
The Conference
This Conference (notice the capital) is the highlight of my year, and I always come away from the three day program feeling infinitely energised, boundlessly inspired, and acutely aware of the true limitless power held by those of us who take the time to harness our creative energy.
This is not a "new" poem (well.. to most of you it is, but I mean I'm not counting it as a day) but I just had to post it because I am so enamoured by the atmosphere and the people at this conference.
The Conference
the hardcovers, the softcovers, the velvet covers
the writers, the readers
the writers, the readers
the swirling mass of electric creative energy
the clacking of shoes on the tile floors
the shuffling of elevator doors as the people come in, and out, and in, and out
the bustle of motion, to pitches, to meetings
to the bathroom, just one more time, just in case
laughing, greeting, even the smiles can be heard in the voices of a thousand artists
artists in the purest form
creating something from nothing
weaving words and spinning sentences into whole worlds which never were before
the tapping of laptops
and scratching of pencils
the hushed, whispering madness of writers’ minds, and hands, at work
the spotlight
the blinding, neverending bright white spotlight searing a beautiful hole in your life’s work
a hole to be filled with harder work
with better words and properly punctuated perfection
this is the conference
the moment to shine
the second to split the good from garbage, the talent from the trash
the last moment to cling to, to clutch, to hold
the hardcovers, the softcovers, the velvet covers
your cover
Day 52 - Back to Sugarland
I really should leave for school now. But too bad.
Also, I have added the NEWSUPERAWESOMEALBUM to my Sugarland poems playlist, so I will be doing those too.
Settlin`
No is not acceptable.
No makes me forgettable.
Yes is the better word.
Yes is what passion has heard.
I could settle and be happy but bored
Or I could walk on my dreams, a highwire cord.
I will not back down from potential mistakes
I will swallow my failures with utter grace
That any life will not be drained is a lie
But I refuse to be until I die.
Also, I have added the NEWSUPERAWESOMEALBUM to my Sugarland poems playlist, so I will be doing those too.
Settlin`
No is not acceptable.
No makes me forgettable.
Yes is the better word.
Yes is what passion has heard.
I could settle and be happy but bored
Or I could walk on my dreams, a highwire cord.
I will not back down from potential mistakes
I will swallow my failures with utter grace
That any life will not be drained is a lie
But I refuse to be until I die.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Day 51 - Ahhh crap
Ah the limerick. One of my favourite forms. Because I can write one on my way from brushing my teeth to going to bed and not feel like I'm actually losing precious sleep time.
Call Me
Oh crap I've lost my phone
It's face to me's not shown
I hope it's found,
but safe and sound
Still I've a worried tone
Call Me
Oh crap I've lost my phone
It's face to me's not shown
I hope it's found,
but safe and sound
Still I've a worried tone
Monday, October 25, 2010
Day 50 - Hey, cool... I made it to day 50!!
I'm returning to Sugarland tonight. TECHNICALLY I wrote this poem before starting The Project, but it fits so perfectly, because it's a Sugarland song basis, so too bad.
I realise it's very long, but please read it. It's actually a story, and it's a story that has been in my head for a LONG time and I badly want to share it. I wrote this for my Writing class and I like what my teacher says about short fiction and poetry: "They're like orange juice concentrate, and the reader has to add water." That is so beautiful and true, and this I think is a good example.
Also, go listen to this song. Seriously. It is an artful and devastatingly beautiful tragedy, a true masterpiece from two of the most gifted poets ever to have put pen to paper and fingers to a guitar. (Yes, that would be Jennifer Nettles and Kristian Bush - AKA Sugarland.)
PS. The refrain is stolen directly from the song. Read it and see how incredible these two artists really are.
"If life were perfect and there were no conflicts to resolve, where would any artform be?" -Written by the duo, written in the lyrics booklet above this song.
Very Last Country Song
I realise it's very long, but please read it. It's actually a story, and it's a story that has been in my head for a LONG time and I badly want to share it. I wrote this for my Writing class and I like what my teacher says about short fiction and poetry: "They're like orange juice concentrate, and the reader has to add water." That is so beautiful and true, and this I think is a good example.
Also, go listen to this song. Seriously. It is an artful and devastatingly beautiful tragedy, a true masterpiece from two of the most gifted poets ever to have put pen to paper and fingers to a guitar. (Yes, that would be Jennifer Nettles and Kristian Bush - AKA Sugarland.)
PS. The refrain is stolen directly from the song. Read it and see how incredible these two artists really are.
"If life were perfect and there were no conflicts to resolve, where would any artform be?" -Written by the duo, written in the lyrics booklet above this song.
Very Last Country Song
David sits at home alone
He’s become so tired of
Giving all his life to her
He wishes that he had known
What she was going to be
He doesn’t know that he’s free
Alicia sits and cries
Married faith should never roam
Her husband doesn’t know
Tears crash to the floor, for fear
Of losing her best friend
For his sake, she wipes her eyes
Miranda stares at photos
His half of her was strong
The man who was her life
The husband to her wife
He was her ultimate prize
Even death can’t do them part
But if life stayed the way it was
and lovers never fell out of love
If memories didn't last so long
If nobody did nobody wrong
If we knew what we had before it was gone
If every road led back home
This would be the very last country song
and lovers never fell out of love
If memories didn't last so long
If nobody did nobody wrong
If we knew what we had before it was gone
If every road led back home
This would be the very last country song
Alicia smells demise
Her hand stumbles with a comb
She tries to tell him no
‘Cause she hates her husband’s tears
This will not be the end
She’s in love, and fear will rise
David’s fear has now been shown
He wants to rise above
All the pain and anger
Fate has tossed the first hard stone
His family down from three
His father’s soul gone free
Miranda dons stilettos
She feels as though it’s wrong
Her and her son in strife
They both need back a life
As she reaches for the skies
Hoping new love heals hearts
But if life stayed the way it was
and lovers never fell out of love
If memories didn't last so long
If nobody did nobody wrong
If we knew what we had before it was gone
If every road led back home
This would be the very last country song
and lovers never fell out of love
If memories didn't last so long
If nobody did nobody wrong
If we knew what we had before it was gone
If every road led back home
This would be the very last country song
Alicia hates her lies
Unspoken words fill a tome
She’s sure that they can grow
Once she says what he need hear
Their marriage needs to mend
Their marriage needs to mend
The bedroom door hinge sighs
Miranda finds new mottos
Takes the time to sing along
Happiness at last is rife
Perhaps again a wife
Her long due smile flies
‘Till the door gives her a start
David shrivels to the bone
His mother weeps loud above
He’s not shocked her man’s a cur
He needs a life he can hone
And shape until good to see
So from this loveless town he’ll flee
But if life stayed the way it was
And lovers never fell out of love
If memories didn't last so long
If nobody did nobody wrong
If we knew what we had before it was gone
If every road led back home
This would be the very last country song
If we knew what we had before it was gone
And lovers never fell out of love
If memories didn't last so long
If nobody did nobody wrong
If we knew what we had before it was gone
If every road led back home
This would be the very last country song
If we knew what we had before it was gone
If every road led back home
This would be the very last country song
This would be the very last country song
Friday, October 22, 2010
Day 49 - Schooool
I wrote this for school and lo and behold it's actually pretty decent.
Blue Eyes
Her eyes in mine are blue as salted sea.
With depth and shine that shame an angel’s own.
Two oceans making her endeared to me,
tho’t seems to me this wings of falsèd tone.
As well her face is fair as pale morn,
a smile bright as early risen sun.
Between my sight and reason I am torn:
I wish to list to reason’s tight-formed bun,
but cannot do, for beauty o’erwhelms
my self and shows perfection in my love.
By sleep-drunk dream mayhaps by sight is helmed,
that makes me see such beauty, pure as dove.
So ‘haps it’s so that I have this contrived
and that her beauty’s just to me divine.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Day 48 - Something New
This is not a new Sugarland poem. It is a one-line poem that I somehow managed to think up (although I actually stole it and just changed a word.)
The Lovers
Thus, with a kiss, I live.
The Lovers
Thus, with a kiss, I live.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Day 47 - Baby Girl
Baby Girl
Long blond hair
Big red bow
Tooth filled grin
Chic denim skirt
Baby blue blouse
Gold sparkly shoes
I love her so much
Always bringing joy
My sweet baby gal
Long blond hair
Big red bow
Tooth filled grin
Chic denim skirt
Baby blue blouse
Gold sparkly shoes
I love her so much
Always bringing joy
My sweet baby gal
A Small Revision to "The Plan"
Okay. So I'm not actually going to get all the Sugarland poems done by tomorrow. (What a shock, right!)
So I'm moving the deadline. And when I say moving, I mean getting rid of. I don't actually think I need it. Having the songs as inspiration actually makes it REALLY easy to write like crazy. So they will be there, just not by tomorrow.
So I'm moving the deadline. And when I say moving, I mean getting rid of. I don't actually think I need it. Having the songs as inspiration actually makes it REALLY easy to write like crazy. So they will be there, just not by tomorrow.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Days 39-46 - MORE Sugarland!!!!!
Here are the Sugarland poems I have written this weekend. Basically I gave myself the length of the related song to pump them out. As a result, they are largely quite bad. Oh well.
All I Want To Do
Laughing when we're lying on the floor
and sipping wine
and living high and fine with time for love and lust
and holding hands
and kissing lips
that's what I want to do with you
This next one sucks. But I reaaally don't have time to make it better.
It Happens
Some mornings when the clock strikes one,
the phone chirps too.
I answered with my sleepy moan,
Morning beast awake.
A crisis all the way at work
I have to go
It happens
I want to go back home
I need a nap
If only the day were over yet.
Where's the weekend?
It happens
I actually wrote this a while ago as a song. But it fits this Sugarland song so well that I'm using it.
We Run
Joey
What if you'd said no?
What if I'd said go?
What if he'd held tighter?
What if I hadn't been a fighter?
What if your fear was stronger?
What if I had waited longer?
What if we'd given up?
What if patience had emptied it's cup?
I'd be sorry
Love
Love is stubborn
Love is loud
Love is angry
Love is painful
Love is patient
Love is tender
Love is kind
Love is healing
Love is long
Love is passionate
Love is needy
Love is greedy
Love makes fools of us all
Love makes cowards of the weak
Love makes stonger those who stay
I love Love
Genevieve
In the shadows of a broken hill lives a broken man.
He lies in frigid dark though in the sun.
A face is carved into the sight of his lost mind.
Her name is but an echo on his wicked tongue.
In the shadows of a broken hill lives a broken man.
Next to him there used to live a broken women.
Until the day she fixed her legs and ran.
And on that day he became a broken man.
Keep You
Two lives
One to have, one to hold
One to cherish, one to keep
One to touch, one to feel
Can we have two?
Can we have both?
Can we find a way to hold what we have? To keep what we cherish? To feel what we touch?
Can we find a way to remember the glory of the world?
Take Me As I Am
My shoes don't match,
I revel in attention,
Bad jokes make me smile, (worse ones make me laugh)
I'll always refuse to see the worst,
And I will never change.
I have a history,
a past and some emotional luggage.
My dreams are impossibly large,
my goals are unimaginably huge.
And I will never change
I know who I am.
I know what I want.
I know who I love.
And I will never change.
All I Want To Do
Laughing when we're lying on the floor
and sipping wine
and living high and fine with time for love and lust
and holding hands
and kissing lips
that's what I want to do with you
This next one sucks. But I reaaally don't have time to make it better.
It Happens
Some mornings when the clock strikes one,
the phone chirps too.
I answered with my sleepy moan,
Morning beast awake.
A crisis all the way at work
I have to go
It happens
I want to go back home
I need a nap
If only the day were over yet.
Where's the weekend?
It happens
I actually wrote this a while ago as a song. But it fits this Sugarland song so well that I'm using it.
We Run
Run
Until there’s no more ground beneath your feet
Run
Until you reach the end of the longest street
Run
Run as fast as far as long as hard as you can
And when you feel like you could never get up again
Thats when you run
They say i’m running away
But i’m not running away
I’m running to you
Into your arms
And i know that you might never take me
Might never hold me
But even if that’s true
The only thing left for me is to
Run
Until I feel the earth just disappear beneath my feet
Run
Until I can’t remember who you are
Run
Until I can't remember where you are
Run
Until I've run so far away I could never find my way back again
Run
Joey
What if you'd said no?
What if I'd said go?
What if he'd held tighter?
What if I hadn't been a fighter?
What if your fear was stronger?
What if I had waited longer?
What if we'd given up?
What if patience had emptied it's cup?
I'd be sorry
Love
Love is stubborn
Love is loud
Love is angry
Love is painful
Love is patient
Love is tender
Love is kind
Love is healing
Love is long
Love is passionate
Love is needy
Love is greedy
Love makes fools of us all
Love makes cowards of the weak
Love makes stonger those who stay
I love Love
Genevieve
In the shadows of a broken hill lives a broken man.
He lies in frigid dark though in the sun.
A face is carved into the sight of his lost mind.
Her name is but an echo on his wicked tongue.
In the shadows of a broken hill lives a broken man.
Next to him there used to live a broken women.
Until the day she fixed her legs and ran.
And on that day he became a broken man.
Keep You
Two lives
One to have, one to hold
One to cherish, one to keep
One to touch, one to feel
Can we have two?
Can we have both?
Can we find a way to hold what we have? To keep what we cherish? To feel what we touch?
Can we find a way to remember the glory of the world?
Take Me As I Am
My shoes don't match,
I revel in attention,
Bad jokes make me smile, (worse ones make me laugh)
I'll always refuse to see the worst,
And I will never change.
I have a history,
a past and some emotional luggage.
My dreams are impossibly large,
my goals are unimaginably huge.
And I will never change
I know who I am.
I know what I want.
I know who I love.
And I will never change.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Day 38 - Want To
Ya.. I'm TOTALLY gonna get all the Sugarland poems done on time....
Want To
I want to see your face
I want to touch your skin
I want to kiss your lips
I want to hold your hand
I want to free your soul
I want to end his hurt
I want to stop this now
I want to relieve my guilt
I want to split yourself
I want to let you have us both
I want your utter happiness
I want my conscience silenced
I want to say "surrender"
I want to make retreat
I want to save my fragile heart
I want to swiftly kill my pain
I want to have you and to hold you
I want to seranade you
I want to dance with you
I want to love you without fear of retribution
I want to say hello
I want to say goodbye
I want to whisper in your ear
I want to scream my rage
I want to cry and sob
I want to laugh and smile
I want to let go of the world
I want to hold you for a while
I want to reach the future
I want this to be the past
I want to just move on, with you or without
I want to know your choice
I wanted you
I wanted not you
And one of those came true.
Want To
I want to see your face
I want to touch your skin
I want to kiss your lips
I want to hold your hand
I want to free your soul
I want to end his hurt
I want to stop this now
I want to relieve my guilt
I want to split yourself
I want to let you have us both
I want your utter happiness
I want my conscience silenced
I want to say "surrender"
I want to make retreat
I want to save my fragile heart
I want to swiftly kill my pain
I want to have you and to hold you
I want to seranade you
I want to dance with you
I want to love you without fear of retribution
I want to say hello
I want to say goodbye
I want to whisper in your ear
I want to scream my rage
I want to cry and sob
I want to laugh and smile
I want to let go of the world
I want to hold you for a while
I want to reach the future
I want this to be the past
I want to just move on, with you or without
I want to know your choice
I wanted you
I wanted not you
And one of those came true.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Day 37 - Something More
This is the first of my Sugarland poems. It's based on the first song from their first album. As I plan to do with all of these poems, the title is the same as that of the song.
Something More
There must be more to life than fruitless work
or no one right would ever in it lurk.
There must be more to life than pain and ache
or in the heat of it we all would bake.
There must be more to life than missing you
or from our cages all us would have flew.
There is so much more to life than that which pains
and in your eyes I find all suff'ring wanes.
There is so much more to life than being lone
Happiness is true when love and friends are shown.
Something More
There must be more to life than fruitless work
or no one right would ever in it lurk.
There must be more to life than pain and ache
or in the heat of it we all would bake.
There must be more to life than missing you
or from our cages all us would have flew.
There is so much more to life than that which pains
and in your eyes I find all suff'ring wanes.
There is so much more to life than being lone
Happiness is true when love and friends are shown.
YES!!!!
That's right. I'm back. And I HAVE THE ANSWER!!!!!
In my opinion, the greatest musical act in the history of the Universe is Sugarland and they have a new album being released next Tuesday. In celebration of that, I will be writing one poem based on each song they have every released between now and then. All total, that is 62 songs (minus five that are non-original songs from their Christmas album, plus one of those that is awesome and not cliched (and yes that means they wrote HALF of the songs on said Xmas album-how much more awesome can you get!!!) also minus three that are duplicates from their live album, and including one that is actually a Brooks & Dunn song (Red Dirt Road) of which Sugarland did a cover that I LOVE!!)
For those of you not good at fuzzy math, I will have posted 55 new poems by next Tuesday. Not only will I be caught up, I will actually be 35, that's right 35!!!!!!!! (please imagine that those numbers are in caps, even though that isn't a real thing) AHEAD of schedule, which will give me some buffer room if i should miss any days in the future.
If anyone is wondering about the fact that I won't technically HAVE to write a poem EVERY DAY if I have that many extra, I say to you first, I still plan on writing as many days as a possibly can, and second the point of this project was not for me to force myself to write EVERY SINGLE DAY, it was to force myself to write MANY MANY days and produce A LOT of poetry. I will write MANY MANY days and will produce A LOT of poetry so this is NOT jeapardising the project.
Prepare yourselves, I WILL post some poems tonight!!!
In my opinion, the greatest musical act in the history of the Universe is Sugarland and they have a new album being released next Tuesday. In celebration of that, I will be writing one poem based on each song they have every released between now and then. All total, that is 62 songs (minus five that are non-original songs from their Christmas album, plus one of those that is awesome and not cliched (and yes that means they wrote HALF of the songs on said Xmas album-how much more awesome can you get!!!) also minus three that are duplicates from their live album, and including one that is actually a Brooks & Dunn song (Red Dirt Road) of which Sugarland did a cover that I LOVE!!)
For those of you not good at fuzzy math, I will have posted 55 new poems by next Tuesday. Not only will I be caught up, I will actually be 35, that's right 35!!!!!!!! (please imagine that those numbers are in caps, even though that isn't a real thing) AHEAD of schedule, which will give me some buffer room if i should miss any days in the future.
If anyone is wondering about the fact that I won't technically HAVE to write a poem EVERY DAY if I have that many extra, I say to you first, I still plan on writing as many days as a possibly can, and second the point of this project was not for me to force myself to write EVERY SINGLE DAY, it was to force myself to write MANY MANY days and produce A LOT of poetry. I will write MANY MANY days and will produce A LOT of poetry so this is NOT jeapardising the project.
Prepare yourselves, I WILL post some poems tonight!!!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Day 36 - Lasagna
Lasagna
You make me melt
just like hot cheese
and feel warm inside too.
A mix of everything perfect.
Cheese, pasta, sauce;
Beauty, kindness, affection.
And you feel like home,
to match the dish's taste.
But though I love lasagna,
I love you more.
You make me melt
just like hot cheese
and feel warm inside too.
A mix of everything perfect.
Cheese, pasta, sauce;
Beauty, kindness, affection.
And you feel like home,
to match the dish's taste.
But though I love lasagna,
I love you more.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Sick Leave
Just thought I'd mention that I am deathly ill and thus have not posted the last few days, in case anyone is still reading this and is wondering why I stopped.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Day 35 - Limerick Time
Whatever. At least this one isn't about my inability to write my poems every day.
Pinnochio or The Real Poem
Nonsense rhymes are fun
But this here isn't one
It makes good sense
And isn't tense
It's just a game I run
(when I don't have time to write on one of the ideas I have for real poems)
Pinnochio or The Real Poem
Nonsense rhymes are fun
But this here isn't one
It makes good sense
And isn't tense
It's just a game I run
(when I don't have time to write on one of the ideas I have for real poems)
Day 34 - A Laugh
I'm pushing the limits of what can be defined as poetry. Well.. either that or I'm lazy. Take your pick.
Aptitude Test
Aptitude Test
If you enjoy planning murders, you might consider becoming
a. a mystery writer
b. a serial killer
If you enjoy shaping young minds, you might consider becoming
a. a teacher
b. a cult leader
if you enjoy having power, you might consider working your way up the ranks to become
a. a business executive
b. a dictator in a small forgotten Eastern European country
If you enjoy cutting people up, you might consider becoming
a. a surgeon
b. a serial killer
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Day 33 - Prince Hamlet
Have a mentioned that I'm just a WEEE bit Shakespeare obsessed. And that I'm taking three Lit classes right now. And that in not one but TWO of them I'm studying Hamlet. No? I didn't? Well anyway, now you know.
O cursèd spite
O cursèd spite
that ever 't be my task to be the right
one, who shows my strength when none will come.
O horrible!
My painèd leave. Deplorable
when I must go from her I love so.
O festering canker!
Upon my skin 'tis anchored.
With no means for me to purge 't.
O rotted root!
What cost is paid for love's sweet fruit.
When my reality doth step in 'tween ours.
O sweet relief!
When dawn of darkness is a thief
and newly shall I come to thee.
For mine own self to 'noint with earnest glee.
O cursèd spite
O cursèd spite
that ever 't be my task to be the right
one, who shows my strength when none will come.
O horrible!
My painèd leave. Deplorable
when I must go from her I love so.
O festering canker!
Upon my skin 'tis anchored.
With no means for me to purge 't.
O rotted root!
What cost is paid for love's sweet fruit.
When my reality doth step in 'tween ours.
O sweet relief!
When dawn of darkness is a thief
and newly shall I come to thee.
For mine own self to 'noint with earnest glee.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Day 33 - I'm venting... get over it
Thine is Just Fine (Really... Thine is)
Thou shalt not lie
But shalt thou make an enemy
of one who is a friend?
Shalt thou seem a rash
and rageful being?
Shalt thou burn a bridge
never to be repaired?
Thou shalt not lie?
No.
Thou shalt not be mean,
thou shalt not harbour a pained resentment
thou shalt not be ungrateful,
thou shalt not sin in envy,
thou shalt not manufacture suffering,
thou shalt not force oneself to hurt.
Thou shalt not lie?
No.
Thou shalt lie,
if thou shalt retain a happy mask
worn so long that sadness is not seen.
For if not seen, the sadness dissapears.
And happiness shalt reign,
Unless thou shalt not lie.
Thou shalt not lie
But shalt thou make an enemy
of one who is a friend?
Shalt thou seem a rash
and rageful being?
Shalt thou burn a bridge
never to be repaired?
Thou shalt not lie?
No.
Thou shalt not be mean,
thou shalt not harbour a pained resentment
thou shalt not be ungrateful,
thou shalt not sin in envy,
thou shalt not manufacture suffering,
thou shalt not force oneself to hurt.
Thou shalt not lie?
No.
Thou shalt lie,
if thou shalt retain a happy mask
worn so long that sadness is not seen.
For if not seen, the sadness dissapears.
And happiness shalt reign,
Unless thou shalt not lie.
Day 32 - AAHHH!!!
See!! Even when I don't really have time to, I'm STILL writing a poem. AAAHH SOOO LAAATE!!!!
Tardiness
Oh dear God I'm running late
Whatever will I do
Oh dear God I'm running late
I haven't time to lose
Oh dear God I'm running late
I really have to go
Oh dear God I'm running late
I need a rhyme, uh oh
Tardiness
Oh dear God I'm running late
Whatever will I do
Oh dear God I'm running late
I haven't time to lose
Oh dear God I'm running late
I really have to go
Oh dear God I'm running late
I need a rhyme, uh oh
Sunday, September 26, 2010
A Request
Those (albeit few) of you who don`t see me on a regular basis, please email me and tell me that you`re still reading. I think I know who most of you are (or were) but as I said a few posts ago, I`m really worried that my sporadic posting has resulted in you all giving up and if I don`t post this right now, I`m going to keep worrying that I let you all down and not be able to sleep for another hour.
julian_legere@hotmail.com
julian_legere@hotmail.com
Day 31 - WHEEEEE this is FUUUNNN (also I`m TTIIIREEDDD and LLOOOPPYYYY)
NOT a limerick
This is a haiku
Another poetic form
For variety
That was really short
Now it`s longer, so it counts
And I have no guilt
This is a haiku
Another poetic form
For variety
That was really short
Now it`s longer, so it counts
And I have no guilt
Day 30 - Please don`t judge me... I`m a desperate man!!!
The Previous Post
Sweet Jesus that was bad
But I`m desperate (just a tad)
I will do better
(insert rhymed letter)
My lameness is so sad
Sweet Jesus that was bad
But I`m desperate (just a tad)
I will do better
(insert rhymed letter)
My lameness is so sad
Day 29 - Oh Snap!!!
Okay I REALLLY should be in bed right now, but the last post got me really envigourated so I'm writing another poem now. A limerick. They may be boring, and I may use them a lot (haha the alot... google hyperbole and a half) but dammit Im not going to sleep until I write another poem!
I need to write another
I cannot shame my mother
This one sucks
but with some luck
I might just pride my brother
I need to write another
I cannot shame my mother
This one sucks
but with some luck
I might just pride my brother
Day 28 - A New Beginning!!!!!!!!
I really should be in bed right now. In fact, I was in bed. But then I had a minor panic attack and realised that all of you will stop reading if I stop posting. So here I am, posting instead of sleeping. Please enjoy, and please keep checking, because tonight I have renewed my vow: I WILL post a poem every day, and, at some point in the near future, I WILL get caught up. Seriously, I will. I made a list of first-lines-of-songs today to act as inspiration and as of RIGHT NOW I promise to force myself to sit in this chair every single night before I go to bed and write at least one poem. I will also force myself to write at least one over breakfast every morning and at least one at lunch at school every day. That is at least three poems EVERY DAY for the next while until I get caught up. Well now I am rambling and really should stop (because this part is surely boring for all of you) and go to sleep.
Leaving
Ripping.
Tearing.
Why must I go?
Why can't I stay?
So warm in there ,
so cold out here.
It hurts,
it aches.
It kills me when I go.
I hate it when I'm gone.
Getting up is hard.
Walking home is hard.
Because I'm not walking home,
because I already am home.
You are home,
we are home.
I want this pain to go away,
I need my world to stay this way.
Just one more moment,
just one more second,
before I have to leave.
But now I have to leave.
Ripping,
tearing,
leaving.
Leaving
Ripping.
Tearing.
Why must I go?
Why can't I stay?
So warm in there ,
so cold out here.
It hurts,
it aches.
It kills me when I go.
I hate it when I'm gone.
Getting up is hard.
Walking home is hard.
Because I'm not walking home,
because I already am home.
You are home,
we are home.
I want this pain to go away,
I need my world to stay this way.
Just one more moment,
just one more second,
before I have to leave.
But now I have to leave.
Ripping,
tearing,
leaving.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Day 27 - Who needs superheroes when you've got teachers
Okay. This is my poem modeled after Geoffrey Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales. The form is quite simple: Iambic pentameter (about which I will be less strict about than I usually am) and rhyming couplets.
I will also model my content after his: descriptions of people. This is going to be one of my methods of coping with a lack of inspiration: if I can't think of anything, I will pick a person I know and write one of these about them. So here it is, the very first entry in The Vancouver Tales.
PS. For the sake of the rhythm, please read the ♥ as "love" not "heart" ( i would have just put "love", but the spelling is important so i needed a way to get people to read "love" without the letters L-O-V-E being there. Its kind of an in joke, but just go with it)
The Teacher
First, there went a teacher, with hair of black
who's skilled and smart and wise, but still a quack.
Her passion spreads a love for all the arts:
more important than academic smarts.
She works so hard to try and save the world
although the threads of kindness come unfurled.
A hero, clothed in modesty (but chic!),
there's not one thing about her I would tweak.
The kind of person I so want to be.
I ♥ her (but not creepy: "L-U-V")
I will also model my content after his: descriptions of people. This is going to be one of my methods of coping with a lack of inspiration: if I can't think of anything, I will pick a person I know and write one of these about them. So here it is, the very first entry in The Vancouver Tales.
PS. For the sake of the rhythm, please read the ♥ as "love" not "heart" ( i would have just put "love", but the spelling is important so i needed a way to get people to read "love" without the letters L-O-V-E being there. Its kind of an in joke, but just go with it)
The Teacher
First, there went a teacher, with hair of black
who's skilled and smart and wise, but still a quack.
Her passion spreads a love for all the arts:
more important than academic smarts.
She works so hard to try and save the world
although the threads of kindness come unfurled.
A hero, clothed in modesty (but chic!),
there's not one thing about her I would tweak.
The kind of person I so want to be.
I ♥ her (but not creepy: "L-U-V")
Day 26 - LOL (I hope....)
I Will
I will get caught up today.
I will, I will.
I won't get distracted.
I won't, I won't.
My blogsite will be fed.
It will, it will.
My focus will not stray.
It won't, it won't.
I will find something to say.
I will, I will.
I will find something to say.
Oh look, I did.
I will get caught up today.
I will, I will.
I won't get distracted.
I won't, I won't.
My blogsite will be fed.
It will, it will.
My focus will not stray.
It won't, it won't.
I will find something to say.
I will, I will.
I will find something to say.
Oh look, I did.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Day 25 - I could do better
I Could do Better
I could do better than that
Instead of those worn old sights and sounds,
you'd gasp at the richest textures and flavours,
filling your senses with a smooth sweetness.
Forget that flat sigh of a metre.
I'd serenade you with a gentle melody:
one who past my lips just once would harmonise your gentle breath.
In place of that bored rhyme scheme,
I'd give you quick and clever quips
whose tips with wit would whet your lips.
No more angry, bitter verse.
From me the calmest lullabies
would smilingly imitate your mother's ritual embrace to lay your lids upon each other and your self upon my own that you might wade into sleep without once single ounce of fear or trepidation.
To end those tragic metaphors
my own would swiftly sail your subconscious,
their waves crashing and depositing clarity, eroding ignorant stones and burying their remnants in the depths of the endless sea
I could do better than that
Pathetic would be all other loves
for mine will grow and swell and envelop your mind and soul to meet with mine and mix with mine until we share it all forever
I will do better
Shakespeare will bow before the words that you bring out from my pen
and Romeo will spring from his pages and stare in awe at my sweet love for you
We will do better,
We will be better,
my love.
I could do better than that
Instead of those worn old sights and sounds,
you'd gasp at the richest textures and flavours,
filling your senses with a smooth sweetness.
Forget that flat sigh of a metre.
I'd serenade you with a gentle melody:
one who past my lips just once would harmonise your gentle breath.
In place of that bored rhyme scheme,
I'd give you quick and clever quips
whose tips with wit would whet your lips.
No more angry, bitter verse.
From me the calmest lullabies
would smilingly imitate your mother's ritual embrace to lay your lids upon each other and your self upon my own that you might wade into sleep without once single ounce of fear or trepidation.
To end those tragic metaphors
my own would swiftly sail your subconscious,
their waves crashing and depositing clarity, eroding ignorant stones and burying their remnants in the depths of the endless sea
I could do better than that
Pathetic would be all other loves
for mine will grow and swell and envelop your mind and soul to meet with mine and mix with mine until we share it all forever
I will do better
Shakespeare will bow before the words that you bring out from my pen
and Romeo will spring from his pages and stare in awe at my sweet love for you
We will do better,
We will be better,
my love.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Catching Up
Okay. Here's the deal. As of this moment, I am 15 days behind. I am going to get caught up TONIGHT. I have some ideas that will allow this process to be much more stimulating and interesting both for me and the people who may happen to be reading this than simply writing 15 boring old limericks.
1. Finish and post a few poems that I have that are currently in process
2. Since music is so huge for me, I thought I would use music as inspiration by writing a series of poems starting with the first lines of some of my favourite songs
3. There are a few classical poem forms I have learned about recently that I am itching to try (Terza Rima, Ghazal)
4. Maybe some similar to the poems I have been reading in my Lit class lately, which are Beowulf, The Canterbury Tales, and Hamlet
5. Once all the above options are exhausted, I will finish getting caught up with a few limericks, if needed
1. Finish and post a few poems that I have that are currently in process
2. Since music is so huge for me, I thought I would use music as inspiration by writing a series of poems starting with the first lines of some of my favourite songs
3. There are a few classical poem forms I have learned about recently that I am itching to try (Terza Rima, Ghazal)
4. Maybe some similar to the poems I have been reading in my Lit class lately, which are Beowulf, The Canterbury Tales, and Hamlet
5. Once all the above options are exhausted, I will finish getting caught up with a few limericks, if needed
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Day 24 - Parlez-vous francais?
Quand je recommence d'apprendre le francais a l'ecole aujourd'hui, je rappelle que j'adore cette langue et je decide d'ecrire un poeme en francais. Ici ce n'est pas un poeme tres bon, mais je suis un eleve de francais, si je pense que c'est bon.
(When I started French again at school today, I remebered how much I love the language and I decided to write a poem in french. It's not a great poem, but since I'm a student of french, I think it's pretty good.)
Un Miserable
Je connais cette ville.
Ma chere copine,
ma seule copine.
Je connais les rues.
Je les adore,
je les exige.
La ville, les rues:
mon foyer,
mon coeur,
ma vie.
(When I started French again at school today, I remebered how much I love the language and I decided to write a poem in french. It's not a great poem, but since I'm a student of french, I think it's pretty good.)
Un Miserable
Je connais cette ville.
Ma chere copine,
ma seule copine.
Je connais les rues.
Je les adore,
je les exige.
La ville, les rues:
mon foyer,
mon coeur,
ma vie.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Day 23 - Blah
First day at school, change of pace, tiirreeddd. Don't judge me.
This is a haiku
and not another limerick.
They say change is good.
This is a haiku
and not another limerick.
They say change is good.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Day 22 - Back to School
Back to school tomorrow... senior year. AHH HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!!!! One minute I'm learning how to spell in kindergarten and now I'm ten months away from GRADUATING FROM HIGH SCHOOL!!!!
It's very exciting (especially since of how awesome my course load is) but it's also more than a little scary.
This is going to be a turbulent, emotional year... in other words: the PERFECT year for writing poetry :D
Senior Year
Oh gosh I'm so excited
The end can now be sighted
An era to bury
A wee bit scary
But for that I am delighted
Also, apparently I will be graduating with the class of 1956 - ("oh gosh"?... talk about scary!)
It's very exciting (especially since of how awesome my course load is) but it's also more than a little scary.
This is going to be a turbulent, emotional year... in other words: the PERFECT year for writing poetry :D
Senior Year
Oh gosh I'm so excited
The end can now be sighted
An era to bury
A wee bit scary
But for that I am delighted
Also, apparently I will be graduating with the class of 1956 - ("oh gosh"?... talk about scary!)
Monday, September 6, 2010
Day 21- Rainin' on Sunday
I LOVE the rain. Who's with me?
Rainin' on Sunday
Rain rain here today,
please don't go away.
Cold damp soggy rain,
sunshine please abstain.
Warm dry here inside,
in here we will hide.
Soft touch, gentle kiss,
these days can't be missed.
Sly grin fills a face,
lost in simple grace.
Sun comes back tomorrow,
bright but with small sorrow.
Rainin' on Sunday
Rain rain here today,
please don't go away.
Cold damp soggy rain,
sunshine please abstain.
Warm dry here inside,
in here we will hide.
Soft touch, gentle kiss,
these days can't be missed.
Sly grin fills a face,
lost in simple grace.
Sun comes back tomorrow,
bright but with small sorrow.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Guest Poet - Michelle Chevalier
These poems were N.O.T written by me. They were written by a friend of mine: Michelle Chevalier. And she's sort of incredibly talented, so please enjoy.
LOVE
Heart Hurts
Two Cold Hands
Squeeze
A Credit Card
not to be used
In Deep Freeze
And Still
I Claw
Impatiently
Fingers Bleed
An Endless
Unfulfilled
Need
STRANGERS
Signed Permission
Children Conditioned
To Fear THEM
A Smile Offered on a Tray
They'll stare blankly Away
It's best to Avoid THEM
Everywhere you Go
Careful - Someone Follows
Never Trust THEM
People are Unknown
Dangerous, Misunderstood - Clones.
Why is it a Wonder we feel so Alone?
WE ARE THEM...
LOVE
Heart Hurts
Two Cold Hands
Squeeze
A Credit Card
not to be used
In Deep Freeze
And Still
I Claw
Impatiently
Fingers Bleed
An Endless
Unfulfilled
Need
STRANGERS
Signed Permission
Children Conditioned
To Fear THEM
A Smile Offered on a Tray
They'll stare blankly Away
It's best to Avoid THEM
Everywhere you Go
Careful - Someone Follows
Never Trust THEM
People are Unknown
Dangerous, Misunderstood - Clones.
Why is it a Wonder we feel so Alone?
WE ARE THEM...
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Day 20 - Legere's Anatomy (I know... SO clever right)
Since Grey's Anatomy is awesome and Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures is awesome I decided to do this poem as an homage to both of them. Medical allegory, get it? Got it? Good! I even named it after a song, as Shondra Rhimes does with Grey's.
Fix You Up
Surgeons cut.
They cut long, they cut deep, they cut with certainty.
So sure that they are right,
they give themselves over completely.
Every time.
Patients bleed.
They bleed red blood that borders broken skin.
They trust.
They trust that they will live,
that they will be stronger,
better,
healthier.
Complete trust.
Open to another person,
letting someone into you.
To see you,
to feel you,
to fix you.
Surgeons close.
They sew their long, deep, certain cuts.
They close.
They leave.
They pull out and pack up and take off,
to the next cut.
Patients scar.
Fixed, whole, better off.
But for a scar:
a reminder
of what was lost,
of what was saved.
Scars.
They last.
And they do remind us
of the gaping hole the surgeon left.
Of the pain.
Of the hurt.
Of the trust that is broken if we aren't fixed,
if we aren't whole,
if we aren't better off.
The only reminder of the person we opened to,
the person we let inside.
The person who left.
The person who moved on to their next cut
with nothing in their wake
but a scar.
Fix You Up
Surgeons cut.
They cut long, they cut deep, they cut with certainty.
So sure that they are right,
they give themselves over completely.
Every time.
Patients bleed.
They bleed red blood that borders broken skin.
They trust.
They trust that they will live,
that they will be stronger,
better,
healthier.
Complete trust.
Open to another person,
letting someone into you.
To see you,
to feel you,
to fix you.
Surgeons close.
They sew their long, deep, certain cuts.
They close.
They leave.
They pull out and pack up and take off,
to the next cut.
Patients scar.
Fixed, whole, better off.
But for a scar:
a reminder
of what was lost,
of what was saved.
Scars.
They last.
And they do remind us
of the gaping hole the surgeon left.
Of the pain.
Of the hurt.
Of the trust that is broken if we aren't fixed,
if we aren't whole,
if we aren't better off.
The only reminder of the person we opened to,
the person we let inside.
The person who left.
The person who moved on to their next cut
with nothing in their wake
but a scar.
Day 19 - Seussian Feet
Working at the PNE I spent most of my time staring at people's asses, legs, and (often filthy) feet. This is me venting... Suess style.
As I've said many times here before: PLEASE don't anybody sue me.
One feet, Two feet, Dirty feet, Smelly feet
One feet, Two feet, Dirty feet, Smelly feet,
Black sock, Blue sock, Old sock, New sock,
This one has a little scar,
This one has a tattoo star,
Say! What a lot of feet there are,
Yes. Some are dirty some are smelly.
Some are old and some are new.
All are close, all are gross.
All are very, very gross.
Why are they close and gross and gross?
I do not know, go ask a ghost?
(Who died from the smell by the way.)
Some are dark and some are light.
The light ones’ socks are often bright.
From there to here,
From here to there,
Stinky things are everywhere.
Here are some who like to run.
They run for fun in the hot, hot sun.
(Which is why they’re so fucking sweaty and disgusting and covered in filth that they smear on my arms!)
Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!
What a lot of stinky things go by.
Some have five toes, some have four.
Some have less hair, some have more.
Where do they come from?
I can’t say.
I see them come.
I see them go.
Some are fast.
And some are slow.
Some are high.
And some are low
Not one of them is like another.
Don't ask me why.
Go ask your mother.
As I've said many times here before: PLEASE don't anybody sue me.
One feet, Two feet, Dirty feet, Smelly feet
One feet, Two feet, Dirty feet, Smelly feet,
Black sock, Blue sock, Old sock, New sock,
This one has a little scar,
This one has a tattoo star,
Say! What a lot of feet there are,
Yes. Some are dirty some are smelly.
Some are old and some are new.
All are close, all are gross.
All are very, very gross.
Why are they close and gross and gross?
I do not know, go ask a ghost?
(Who died from the smell by the way.)
Some are dark and some are light.
The light ones’ socks are often bright.
From there to here,
From here to there,
Stinky things are everywhere.
Here are some who like to run.
They run for fun in the hot, hot sun.
(Which is why they’re so fucking sweaty and disgusting and covered in filth that they smear on my arms!)
Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!
What a lot of stinky things go by.
Some have five toes, some have four.
Some have less hair, some have more.
Where do they come from?
I can’t say.
I see them come.
I see them go.
Some are fast.
And some are slow.
Some are high.
And some are low
Not one of them is like another.
Don't ask me why.
Go ask your mother.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Day 18 - Hunger
I was at work... the moral of the story is DON'T forget your lunch when you have to stand up for 7 hours.
Dammit
Dammit!
So god damn hungry
I cannot find a single rhyme
I have no metre
my images are bland
because I have no god damn food!
I want to go to sleep,
to chop my feet off
to sit, to lay down (or lie down, I'm too damn hungry to remember which is right!)
Because I have no god damn food!
A bowl of god damn cereal
It seems like so little now
and it was so long ago
The energy it gave me is gone
and I have no god damn food!
The first two hours seemed so long
But there are five more before I'm done
and get to go home
The first thing I'll do is eat
because I have no god damn food!
Dammit
Dammit!
So god damn hungry
I cannot find a single rhyme
I have no metre
my images are bland
because I have no god damn food!
I want to go to sleep,
to chop my feet off
to sit, to lay down (or lie down, I'm too damn hungry to remember which is right!)
Because I have no god damn food!
A bowl of god damn cereal
It seems like so little now
and it was so long ago
The energy it gave me is gone
and I have no god damn food!
The first two hours seemed so long
But there are five more before I'm done
and get to go home
The first thing I'll do is eat
because I have no god damn food!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Day 17 - Brrrrrr!!
I was supposed to work an 8 hour PNE shift today... which because of the whether and resulting lack of people would have meant standing around cold and soggy for that time. Mercifully, I was allowed to leave early and only had to stand around cold and soggy for 4 hours. I couldn't decide if I wanted this poem to be funny or not.... so take it as you will.
Storm's a Brewin'
If I gouged out my eyes
I would still see the rain
If I tore off my ears
I would still hear it fall
If I amputated my feet
I would still feel them, damp and cold
If I shaved off all my hair
It would still catch the drops and send them slithering down my neck
Until I get out of this damn storm
It will keep chilling me
When I get home to you
I will finally be warm
Storm's a Brewin'
If I gouged out my eyes
I would still see the rain
If I tore off my ears
I would still hear it fall
If I amputated my feet
I would still feel them, damp and cold
If I shaved off all my hair
It would still catch the drops and send them slithering down my neck
Until I get out of this damn storm
It will keep chilling me
When I get home to you
I will finally be warm
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Day 16- For Tory
This is for Tory Inglis, one of the stongest and bravest people I have ever known. I love you gal!
Some lines are excerpted from the song "I Believe in Love" -Dixie Chicks. PLEASE don't anybody sue me.
For Tory
Upon his name I spat
My tongue escaped the cat
Countered with my tit his tat
After on your rep he shat
His words were crass
I'd kick his ass
But I believe in Love
He said that you should go
because he didn't know:
you are filled with light, it shows
glows from heart, to head, to toes
You are golden
we, beholden
For you believe in Love
You faced a scornful squad
Winged angels will give nods
When you see the face of God
Sweet, so trusting, you were trod
But you had right
and Tim false might
for He! believes in Love
Love is real
Love is strong
Love will live on and on
Beyond the reach of hate
which will, in time, abate
Leading us will be your fate
like The Son you were the bait
To me you flew
I never knew
the power of such Love
It rings so true
My heart needs you
You, my friend, I Love
Some lines are excerpted from the song "I Believe in Love" -Dixie Chicks. PLEASE don't anybody sue me.
For Tory
Upon his name I spat
My tongue escaped the cat
Countered with my tit his tat
After on your rep he shat
His words were crass
I'd kick his ass
But I believe in Love
He said that you should go
because he didn't know:
you are filled with light, it shows
glows from heart, to head, to toes
You are golden
we, beholden
For you believe in Love
You faced a scornful squad
Winged angels will give nods
When you see the face of God
Sweet, so trusting, you were trod
But you had right
and Tim false might
for He! believes in Love
Love is real
Love is strong
Love will live on and on
Beyond the reach of hate
which will, in time, abate
Leading us will be your fate
like The Son you were the bait
To me you flew
I never knew
the power of such Love
It rings so true
My heart needs you
You, my friend, I Love
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Day 14/Day 15 - ♫Workin 9 to 5♫ (...but not really)
A couple limericks I wrote as part of whoring myself out for the ladder game at the PNE. Although this particular whoring is actually quite fun.. but that's another story. Just read the poems.
Note: In terms of the first line of No. 1, the best prize at my game is an ipod nano, its not just some random line.
The last line of the same poem, on the other hand, IS just some random line.
1
It's ipod nano time
Three dollars for a climb
Or five for two
It's up to you
Just hear this silly rhyme
2
Come here and climb the ladder
The wobble doesn't matter
A prize to take
A piece of cake
Miss out and you'll be sadder
Note: In terms of the first line of No. 1, the best prize at my game is an ipod nano, its not just some random line.
The last line of the same poem, on the other hand, IS just some random line.
1
It's ipod nano time
Three dollars for a climb
Or five for two
It's up to you
Just hear this silly rhyme
2
Come here and climb the ladder
The wobble doesn't matter
A prize to take
A piece of cake
Miss out and you'll be sadder
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Day 13 - Voicemail
I wrote this like three days into this project to use as the greeting for my voicemail, but because I'm a ditz I'm only just now realising that I can use it as an entry.
To answer the phone is my plan
I can't always, I'm only a man
Please say what you need
Though it's not a live feed
I'll call you as soon as I can
(As an added bonus, call my cell - 778 327 8619 - to hear a perfomance of this limerick. I might actually answer the phone, but eventually you'll hear the voicemail)
To answer the phone is my plan
I can't always, I'm only a man
Please say what you need
Though it's not a live feed
I'll call you as soon as I can
(As an added bonus, call my cell - 778 327 8619 - to hear a perfomance of this limerick. I might actually answer the phone, but eventually you'll hear the voicemail)
Monday, August 23, 2010
Day 10, Day 11, Day 12 - Argh! Am I caught up yet??!! :S
I wish I had a witty intro in me, but I just don't right now. Unless... was THAT witty? I certainly hope so, or else I've lost my touch.
Cinnamon Bun
first, the smell
strong and sweet
the kind that drifts to you
then slowly fills the room,
fills the house
next, the sight
bouncing toward us
on plates in her hands
twirlyswirlywhirly
sugar glistens, icing gleams
third, the texture
hot
steaming
and pillow soft
smooth
melts to nothing in your mouth
last, the taste
beautifully delicious
lingers on the tongue
fresh to the last bite
sharp cinnamon
sweet sugar
too soon...
it's gone
A Meal (this is dedicated to Tory Inglis)
Puzghetti,
long and tender.
Garlic oil
fresh basil
and vegkebles:
tomatoes and spinach.
Twirling, slurping, chewing, tasting.
Polished off so quick.
Bellies full,
faces smiling,
hunger gone...
for now.
When it's a Ode, you know it's bad. I would not reccomend reading this one. If you ignore that advice: no, this was NOT written by my 22 month old niece, it just seems like it because its so dreadful.
Ode to Plant
Tall brown stem
Big green leaves
Sun lit gem
Picked fresh please
Smooth round pot
Cool black dirt
Takes it's spot
Now inert
A beautiful flower
Cinnamon Bun
first, the smell
strong and sweet
the kind that drifts to you
then slowly fills the room,
fills the house
next, the sight
bouncing toward us
on plates in her hands
twirlyswirlywhirly
sugar glistens, icing gleams
third, the texture
hot
steaming
and pillow soft
smooth
melts to nothing in your mouth
last, the taste
beautifully delicious
lingers on the tongue
fresh to the last bite
sharp cinnamon
sweet sugar
too soon...
it's gone
A Meal (this is dedicated to Tory Inglis)
Puzghetti,
long and tender.
Garlic oil
fresh basil
and vegkebles:
tomatoes and spinach.
Twirling, slurping, chewing, tasting.
Polished off so quick.
Bellies full,
faces smiling,
hunger gone...
for now.
When it's a Ode, you know it's bad. I would not reccomend reading this one. If you ignore that advice: no, this was NOT written by my 22 month old niece, it just seems like it because its so dreadful.
Ode to Plant
Tall brown stem
Big green leaves
Sun lit gem
Picked fresh please
Smooth round pot
Cool black dirt
Takes it's spot
Now inert
A beautiful flower
Friday, August 20, 2010
Day 9 (well... perhaps that's debatable. POEM 9 for sure though) - OHSHIT!
Okay. Don't panic. I'm two days behind. I'm probably not going to get another one in today, so then I'll STAY two days behind.... but DON'T PANIC!
On a lighter note: every poem I've done so far has had some kind of a form to it. But I have always loved free verse, so here is the first of what will be many freestyle poems.
How (an obvious title but, well, AHHHH SOO BEHIND!!!!)
How do you clutch a moment?
When every sound, every smell, and every touch is a grain of sand
how do you stop them from slipping through the cracks in your mind?
The sound of her breath, the smell of her hair, the touch of her warm, soft hand.
When they are all so strong that I sense them in my soul
how do I grip them,
keep them and hold them so they won't escape?
Please.
Tell me.
How?
On a lighter note: every poem I've done so far has had some kind of a form to it. But I have always loved free verse, so here is the first of what will be many freestyle poems.
How (an obvious title but, well, AHHHH SOO BEHIND!!!!)
How do you clutch a moment?
When every sound, every smell, and every touch is a grain of sand
how do you stop them from slipping through the cracks in your mind?
The sound of her breath, the smell of her hair, the touch of her warm, soft hand.
When they are all so strong that I sense them in my soul
how do I grip them,
keep them and hold them so they won't escape?
Please.
Tell me.
How?
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Day 8 - I am slovenly, hear me "meh"
Okay. It's late, I'm tired, but in order to avoid becoming complacent about this project, I hereby PROMISE that I will post a much longer poem tomorrow (ie. NOT a limerick) But for now:
These poems are getting quite lame
The form of them mostly the same
I need to find guts
To get out of this rut
Or risk my invisible fame
These poems are getting quite lame
The form of them mostly the same
I need to find guts
To get out of this rut
Or risk my invisible fame
Monday, August 16, 2010
Day 7 - A Quickie but a Goodie
A few months ago I accidentally wrote a limerick. And when I say accidentally I don't mean I fell on my keyboard, I mean I opened my mouth and puked up a complete limerick which (apparently) my subconscious had written without my knowledge.
For a writer, when your subconscious writes an ENTIRE POEM (and this one was pretty clever, if I do say do myself,) that is basically the climactic moment of artistic achievement; a creative orgasm if you will. That poem went like this:
-An Ode to Bad Poetry-
So many poetic monstrosities
Stop the linguistic atrocities
The rhyming is bad
The metaphors sad
They lead me to growing ferocity
My point is that I fell in love with the limerick form, because it's not only simple, it's VERY easy (at least, it is after a few months of practice. So the new limerick, the one that actually counts as today's posting, is one I wrote while walking from the Vancouver Library to the Skytrain (actually I was halfway there when I had to stop and write it so I wouldn't forget.) Anyway.
There once was a man set on fire
To water him was my desire
I searched for a bucket
Found none and said "fuck it"
'Twas sad when he burned like a pyre
Gruesome, I know. But sometimes my mind just takes over and I have no responsibility (at least that's what I keep telling myself... and everyone else)
For a writer, when your subconscious writes an ENTIRE POEM (and this one was pretty clever, if I do say do myself,) that is basically the climactic moment of artistic achievement; a creative orgasm if you will. That poem went like this:
-An Ode to Bad Poetry-
So many poetic monstrosities
Stop the linguistic atrocities
The rhyming is bad
The metaphors sad
They lead me to growing ferocity
My point is that I fell in love with the limerick form, because it's not only simple, it's VERY easy (at least, it is after a few months of practice. So the new limerick, the one that actually counts as today's posting, is one I wrote while walking from the Vancouver Library to the Skytrain (actually I was halfway there when I had to stop and write it so I wouldn't forget.) Anyway.
There once was a man set on fire
To water him was my desire
I searched for a bucket
Found none and said "fuck it"
'Twas sad when he burned like a pyre
Gruesome, I know. But sometimes my mind just takes over and I have no responsibility (at least that's what I keep telling myself... and everyone else)
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