Days 86-90 - So NOT Amused (Get it, it's ironic, cuz these poems are funny)

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.

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?

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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