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

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

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)

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

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?

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

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)

Day 6 - Heat Wave

HA! Success! I was thinking about how hot it was and how desperately i need water, and my thoughts began to congeal into a poem (maybe not a very good one, but whatever)
Poem-isation of the (incredibly) mundane: Mission Accomplished!

Ice
the crash of cubes in a glass
beckoning with clear, white coolness
i would worship at it's feet
for just one frigid drop
thirst
all consuming
it almost burns
not only in my mouth
but down through my body
to the farthest tips of my toes
quenched
sweet, delicious release
from summer's tormenting blaze
in my haste i take too much
it slides from my lips and down my chin
it's amazing
but let's not get carried away
it's just a glass of water

Day 5: The Joy of Sex

A large part of my inspiration in starting this project was "Julie and Julia." When I saw the movie I thought it might be fun to do something similar, and reading the book this week (which, by the way, is infinitely more hysterical) I decided to finally get going. Anyway, my point is that early on, the author, Julie Powell, describes how she, at the ripe old age of 11, discovered her parents' copy of The Joy of Sex. After I finished laughing myself silly at her descriptions of dirty french words and illustrations of "naked hippies," as well as her frequent and frightening comparisons between TJoS and Mastering the Art of French Cooking, I was inspired to write the limericks below.
Disclaimer: These two poems are incredibly lewd. If you are even the least bit prudish, I strongly, strongly urge you NOT to read them. If you do, well, you were warned.

I once loved a woman of fire
I left when she called me a liar
No sex was the deal
But still I copped feels
And feigning my shame made me tire

-The Totally Fictional, Completely Imaginary, Definitely NOT True Confessions of A Former Thirteen Year Old Boy- (note: I'm hoping this title will eventually be for a collection of poems along the same vane as the one below... I just haven't written those yet)

No sex before marriage is great
It's really quite easy to wait
With five fingered solos
(and one sticky polo)
To Heaven! I've sealed my fate

Quick sidenote: in case it wasn't clear, these two are the two that make up for the day I missed, so I am caught up. Just in case there was any confusion among the imaginary people that I find myself thinking about when I write these posts.

Day 4 - My soul on the table, my heart on my sleeve

You've already read this, and honestly I don't know if you're actually reading the blog, but whatever.
Love, Julz

Apology
I need for you to understand my pain.
It's not that you stayed home that made me mad.
I know that I was wrong and earned disdain.
My selfish act, I promise just a fad.

But still I need for you to understand
and to believe I hate when I unspool.
For me my anger's reasons are not fools;
to bring me back you need just take my hand

I don't know how to hold it all inside.
I feel first without much thought but mine.
Just speak your mind and you will stem the tide.
Please don't dismiss the flash frustration shines.

The time that passed has let me see what's true.
I hope you know the feeling in my heart
is love. In mind resides the angry part,
no matter what I say or what you do

Remember I am here for with you for good.
Forever and forever if you would.

A note on the form: I'm calling this a French sonnet because it's a hyrid of the English and Italian forms, and France lies right between those two. Also because France is awesome (especially the food) :P

Day 2/3 - Whoops

Okay. For the sake of practicality, I've decided something. Instead of a poem a day, i will be TECHNICALLY writing seven poems a week. Now, that may sound like the same thing but it's not. This way, if I miss a day, I won't worry about it and I'll just make sure I'm caught up by the time every Monday rolls around.

Anway, my poem for the day is one that shows the kind of pure emotion that I often find poetry is good for
upchucking. I usually don't revise these types of poems much, but hopefully it isn't too painful.

pressure in my throat, blocking breath
racing of my pulse, pounding blood
quiver in my chin, predicting tears
waver in my voice, begging: "longer"
clenching of my fingers, gripping you
hesitation on the steps, looking back
tears upon my cheeks, revealing sorrow
pleas through my lips, expressing pain
loving in my soul, demanding you
echo in my mind, remembering goodbye
smile parts my lips, feigning survival
kissing shares your scent, foreshadowing hello
weight in my soul, feeling death
knowledge in my mind, sure of love
knowledge in my heart, sure of love

Day 1... sort of

I realise that at 12:33 it's TECHNICALLY Wednesday the 11th, but I think for most people, staying up past midnight still counts as the same day so... too bad. Anyway, here is the first poem. It's better than I thought it would be considering I wrote it over the course of the last 20 minutes. It 's pretty simple, but I'm pretty busy so I'm not worrying about it. I hope no one else does either.

PS can anyone help me think of a title (I've NEVER been good with titles)

Awakening        -thank you Taryn for the title <3-
noticing you
seeing you
watching you

brushing you
touching you
caressing you

taking you
holding you
clutching you

wanting you
needing you
craving you

loving you
loving you
loving you