a strange stage

a guilty pleasure

2009-06-16T04:36:06Z

at midnight I can smell for miles
the scents of highway asphalt, coasting, sunroof down,
at 75 -- just off from work
and ignoring the burn of my feet.
Beyond the skunk and woodsmoke,
my patchouli wal-mart freshener,
and leafy loamy hilly forests....
I think I smell my freedom.

midsummer

2009-05-18T02:12:12Z

fireflies like litha fires will come soon.
the blazing light of July skies
will come with golden noon.
elder blossoms, lily blooms --
they will come soon.
but in the dewy spring near-dawn
I saw the summer moon.

la aridez -- 'aridity'

2009-05-01T03:57:02Z

a poem written for a spanish assignment. I'll provide a translation behind the cut, but even if one can't understand the language one should always try to savor the sound and feel of a poem's native words before polluting its purity with the muddling echoes of your tongue. :) and if you do speak spanish well, feel free to point out any mistakes. i'm still learning the language and i make no pretenses at perfection.

la aridez

Las arenas secas y gravilla granuladas,
los barros rajadas que salpican el desierto
no crecen nada de plantas floridas --
florecen solamente los guijarros castigados.

Por la tierra yerma, las mesas codiciosas
empujan al cielo sus páramos perdidos.
Ellas que sueñan de vistas nubladas
ofrecen sus huesos en tributo gritando.

Aún las montañas rezan de paz.
Son los labios partidos al borde del desierto.
Una vez lejana conocían la negrura
de nubarrones obscuros, ya olvidados.

La brisa susurra de las azucenas rojas
y del estío trayendo alivio.
Las mesas deseosas se arrancan la ropa --
pronto vendrán las lluvias anheladas.

the thing about english is that it has no masculine or feminine nouns, so i can't alternate between the two as i did in the spanish. obviously this is not an exact translation -- i'm not trying to keep the assonance, but i do want to retain a poetic feel...

'aridity'
The dried-out sand and powdered gravel,
the cracked mud that splatters the desert
cannot grow a single flowered shrub --
only the weatherbeaten stones flourish.

Throughout the wasteland, the covetous mesas
thrust their barren, lost plateaus skyward.
They, who dream of cloudy skies,
offer up their bones in shrieking tribute.

Even the mountains pray for peace.
They are the cracked lips rimming the desert.
Once upon a distant, already forgotten time
they knew the blackness of dark stormclouds.

The breeze whispers of scarlet lilies
and of summer bringing relief.
The eager mesas tear off their clothes --
soon the long-desired rains will arrive.

campathy @ 2009-04-20T21:29:00

2009-04-21T01:37:45Z

A Malaysian form centering around repetition, I found this form surprisingly comfortable to write in. Then again, I took liberties with my repetition, but that's because strict repetition sounded too forced to my ear...

Pantoum of a forgotten God

The sun is risen, I go into the West;
away beyond hills that shelter my shame.
I depart these fields where once I was blessed
for lands of dark shadow that know not my name.

And beyond these hills that shelter my shame
here am I bereft, here am I alone.
These lands of dark shadow know not my name
but the home I once knew is no longer my own.

Here am I bereft, here am I alone.
None know my songs or seek out my aid
but the home I once knew is no longer my own
and gone are its prayers and incense and shade.

None here know my songs or seek out my aid
in this exile-tomb, I strive to be heard.
Though gone are the prayers and incense, the shade
soothes my parched spirit, gives strength to my word.

In this exile-tomb, I will yet be heard.
I forsake these fields where once I was blessed
to renew my parched spirit and give strength to my word.
The sun is setting, I arise in the West.

Rubáiyát of Elms, Primavera

2009-04-18T02:09:09Z

There are reasons I cannot write, you know;
no time or place, or perhaps it was snow
in the middle of April that did me in--
I cannot feel spring when winter won't go.

And after all that, how do I begin?
How to fix the question and yes, what then?
If I cannot write cheerily, why write at all?
The world has had enough of madness and sin.

I cannot shape words or squeeze into balls
the sense of just how rainy spring lulls
the sleepy green buds, quiet on the tree,
into dreams of new leaves and baby bird calls.

And among the talk of locks and keys
of quills and keyboards and you and me
the moon out my window smiles and says:
But the buds dream of love and somehow, I see.

since the equinox...

2009-03-26T04:08:50Z

...things have changed.

eleven p.m., senior year

Our city, so small, still seems so seamy
when its nearly midnight
and I’m looking out through storefronts
at streetlights, red lights, and a silver gash of moon
just small enough to almost fit between us.
Five minutes, no more, was all it took me
in a cramped office, in a back hallway
to reverse the thoughts and deeds of four long years --
that anger between us, crammed into an inch.
Two years ago, I would’ve sworn that I hated you.
Two days ago, you could’ve had me right there.

untitled

2009-02-12T17:34:36Z

Cold and smiling
cruel and effervescent, the heart
of high-class hallways and
the whole of winter
distilled. She has known
those fertile valleys,
felt the moon upon her back
and smiled, felt a heartbeat
grow and swell and crack
back to nothing.
Her voice all boiling,
her tongue all spilling over,
until the sound is only powder
crushed
and falling like new snow.

And she took a cautious step forward, felt the light upon her face, and flinched back; having ever been a creature of shadow this sensation was new to her. But she liked it, and when she shut her eyes she could thrill to the warmth on her face -- she did not see her skin rise up in pustules, nor did her mind sound the alarm as flesh and tendon shriveled. She died of joy, and of light, because for all of the professed goodness of mankind there are those among us who were never made to be happy.

XVIII

2009-02-07T05:54:03Z

Let’s reach forth for solid ground,
if only to know the coast.
Too long spent adrift at sea
with only the moon for company
makes for bitter and horrid ghosts.

And who could turn and dive again?
Could be a mermaid, driving down
into the soft and foamy sea?
Or cease to struggle, and slowly drown?

I swear, somewhere there’s a shore I knew
hidden within the mist.
The stony sand sang to the sea;
the waves, in turn, sang to me
of eyes once loved and lips once kissed,
of pale vein-lines on an ivory wrist,
and the simple request your ears once missed:

Please don't give up on me.

«un conseil» and a tanka... kimi appears?

2009-01-28T05:18:07Z

First poem I'm surprised by how well it actually mirrors the way I think and the patterns of my brain. Read it aloud, or at least whisper it; it's the way it's supposed to be. Not slow or measured, but kind of 'all in one breath' -- it's a confession, sort of. Half admittance and half advice. In fact, the title means 'a piece of advice' in French. Oh, and a kashikoi poem. Whom I'm now certain knows, though I don't know whether he was clever enough to figure it out on his own or if someone snitched. :/ Considering kashikoi means 'clever' or 'wise', I find the latter option rather ironic... Also, if you don't understand the references at the bottom, you can google search them... or SPOILER ALERT! they're different types of sacred prostitutes, women who practiced sexual healing in the name of various divinities. Hope I didn't ruin anything for anyone. :3

Second poem, inspired by tonight. Met a nice girl through a mutual friend, she seems like an amazing person and told me that she thinks just that of me: literally said, ' you are an amazing person'. I introduced her to Pocky; she got me to drink Monster and like it. >_> In proud Campathian tradition, her name is 'kimi', a Japanese word for 'you' (of which they have tons, surprising for a language where they more often than not omit pronouns or subjects entirely). But ' kimi' has a feminine meanining -- as if tu in French had a gender like il or elle instead of being neutral and taking on its antecedent's gender. So, kimi she is.

«un conseil»

I think I know why I like you so
even now, even though
you spurned me once upon a time
and left me a bit wrathful,
four or seven years ago
or maybe months? Time seems to flow
so differently when reality
is tenuous at best…
My advice, mon bon conseil,
is simply to forget some days.
Let free your mind and go astray--
you’ll be better off for the losing.
And now I know why I like you so
(or one reason why, because well I know
that liking is a crazy thing
and loving even more so)
But I can’t help, when I watch you strain
under massive loads and stress and pain,
to want to reach out and take your hand…
I knew peace from love and, well,
maybe you could forget with me…
if qadesh or veshya I should be
or proud ghazye or pumscali
not with sex but a kiss or two
I could help you be all right, too.

kimi no tanka

A winter's evening:
The sky dark with clouds and orange
with downtown streetlights
as our car skids through the snow
I imagine holding hands.

rosemary -- poetry for kashikoi

2009-01-12T23:30:23Z

New poetry, yes. Le gasp
I have some from the poem challenges (not that I ever finished it, no) but I'm not posting them right now...
Instead, we have a poem that's kind of a love poem, but not a koishii poem. In fact, well, if koishii is koishii then we'll call him, um, kashikoi. It works well, I think, and sounds less feminine than the name I'd had in my head earlier. The second is also a kashikoi poem, but again not a love poem. There are more conflicting feelings between he and I, I think, and given past events I don't know if I'm quite confident enough to love him. Yet? Again? Choose your own modifier; I sure as hell don't know.

Rosemary

I went for a walk on a winter's day
and tasted rosemary on the wind.
The howling zephyr sang to me and said
'who will remember when we are gone away?'

I remember the slush of September,
the skies that wore grey like mourning.
If I fell again, well, to what end?
The end -- that, too, I remember.

Roundabout

call me -- witch and harlot,
dweller in the blackened pit...
Remember, will you?
I never meant to be this way.
I -- just wanted to be loved
and you --
were too good for me.
Remember, will you,
the next time you say you're lonely?

Poetry Challenge!

2008-12-02T01:56:11Z

A friend posted this month-long poetry challenge on Facebook: A poem a day, more or less, one each of the following types. I'll give explanations of each below the cut....

1. Abcedarian
2. Ballad
3. Cinquain
4. Clerihew
5. Diamonte
6. Dodoitsu
7. Dorsimbra
8. Epistle
9. Haiku
10. Kyrielle
11. Lento
12. Lilibonnelle
13. Limerick
14. Ode
15. Nonet
16. Pantoum
17. Parallelismus Membrorum
18. Pleiades
19. Quatern
20. Rondeau
21. Rondelet
22. Senryu
23. Sestina
24. Sonnet
25. Tanka
26. Tetractys
27. Terza Rima
28. Triolet
29. Tritina
30. Tyburn
31. Villanelle

Some of these are actually really freaking obscure. i'm sad, though, that they don't use the ghazal, a Middle Eastern poem form that I adore. We do, however, see the triolet, the tanka, and the pantoum -- more of my favorites.

1. Abcedarian - a poem having verses/words beginning with successive letters of the alphabet.

2. Ballad - a poem that tells a story. They have simple rhyme schemes and a regular iambic rhythm; some have a chorus or refrain. Popular rhyme schemes are a b c b; and a b c b d b.

3. Cinquain - follows this pattern:
line 1 - 2 syllables
line 2 - 4 syllables
line 3 - 6 syllables
line 4 - 8 syllables
line 5 - 2 syllables
Or this pattern:
line 1 - one word (noun) a title or name of the subject
line 2 - two words (adjectives) describing the title
line 3 - three words (verbs) describing an action related to the title
line 4 - four words describing a feeling about the title, a complete sentence
line 5 - one word referring back to the title of the poem

4. Clerihew - a humorous pseudo-biographical quatrain, rhymed as two couplets, with lines of uneven length more or less in the rhythm of prose. The name of the subject is usually at the end of the first line (sometimes the second line) and is well known.

5. Diamonte - the purpose is to go from the subject at the top of the diamond to another totally different (and sometimes opposite) subject at the bottom. The structure is:
line 1 - one noun (subject #1)
line 2 - two adjectives (describing subject #1)
line 3 - three participles (ending in -ing, telling about the subject #1)
line 4 - four nouns (first two related to the subject #1, second two related to subject #2)
line 5 - three participles (ending in -ing, telling about subject #2)
line 6 - two adjectives (describing subject #2)
line 7 - one noun (subject #2)

6. Dodoitsu - fixed folk song form of Japanese origin, often about love or humor. It has 26 syllables made of of four lines of 7, 7, 7, 5 syllables respectively. It is unrhymed and non-metrical.

7. Dorsimbra
Stanza One: Four lines of Shakespearean sonnet (iambic pentameter abab).
Stanza Two: Four lines of short and snappy free verse.
Stanza Three: Four lines of iambic pentameter blank verse, where the last line repeats the first line of Stanza One.

8. Epistle - Poem written in the form of a letter. No meter, rhyme, or length requirements; it’s more a form of voice and persona. A poet can address their epistle to a real or imaginary person.

9. Haiku - Three-line, usually nature poem, following this syllabic structure:
Line 1: 5 syllables
Line 2: 7 syllables
Line 3: 5 syllables

10. Kyrielle - Poem written in quatrains. Each quatrain contains a repeated line or phrase as a refrain. It has a meter usually composed of eight syllables per line. There is no limit to the number of stanzas, but three is generally the minimum. The normal structure is a/a/b/B, c/c/b/B, d/d/b/B. with B being the repeated line.

11. Lento - Written in 2 quatrains (a stanza consisting of 4 lines) with a fixed rhyme scheme. All the FIRST words of the verse should rhyme aaaa, bbbb with the first word of the verse and the END of second and the fourth lines should rhyme with a scheme abcb.

12. Lilibonnelle - The basic form is four stanzas of four lines each, in which each line of the first stanza is consecutively repeated as the first line of each of the other stanzas. Use an introspective or reflective theme with this form.

13. Limerick - Five-line verse with the rhyme scheme of aabba. The a-lines should have five feet, while the b-lines have only three feet. It is normally, but not always light or humorous.

14. Ode - Written for an occasion or on a particular subject. They are usually dignified and more serious as a form than other forms of poetry.

15. Nonet - Nine lines. The first line has nine syllables, the second line eight syllables, the third line seven syllables, etc... until line nine that finishes with one syllable. It can be on any subject and rhyming is optional.

16. Pantoum - Repeats lines. Lines 2 and 4 of the first stanza become lines 1 and 3 of the next stanza, etc, following this pattern throughout the poem, ending always with line 1.
________________ (line 1)
________________ (line 2)
________________ (line 3)
________________ (line 4)
space (stanza break)
________________ (line 5 - repeat line 2)
________________ (line 6)
________________ (line 7 - repeat line 4)
________________ (line 8)
space (stanza break)
________________ (line 9 - repeat line 6)
_______________ (line 10)
________________ (line 11 - repeat line 8)
________________ (line 12 - if last line in the poem, repeat line 1)

17. Parallelismus Membrorum - It has lines of parallel construction and presents antitheses and complementary extensions. The lines are usually short and contain three or four words.

18. Pleiades - Only one word is allowed in the title, followed by a single seven-line stanza. The first word in each line begins with the same letter as the title.

19. Quatern - Sixteen line form composed of four quatrains. It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. Eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow a set rhyme scheme.

20. Rondeau - Consists of three stanzas, a quintet (5 lines), a quatrain (4 lines) and a sestet (6 lines). The first phrase of the first line usually sets the refrain (R), but sometimes the refrain can be the whole of the first line. Lines 1, 9, and 15 are the refrain.

21. Rondelet - Consists of two rhymes contained in a seven line stanza. Line one is the exact same as the 3rd and 7th lines. The structure is:
Line 1: 4 syllables A rhyme
Line 2: 8 B
Line 3: 4 A
Line 4: 8 A
Line 5: 8 B
Line 6: 8 B
Line 7: 4 A

22. Senryu - Structurally similar to haiku. It is unrhymed and the subject is based human nature. It is usually satirical or ironic.

23. Sestina - 6 six-line stanzas and 1 concluding three-line stanza. Usually unrhymed; works by repeating the end words of each line. The concluding three-line stanza contains, in any order, all of the six end-words. The catch is that one has to be buried in each line and another must be at the end of the line. The pattern for repeating the words is like this: (stanza A) 123456, (stanza B) 615243. This 615243 pattern is how each of the "next" stanzas is made. It’s complicated. Google an example to make it a lot easier.

24. Sonnet - Written in fourteen lines of in iambic pentameter. It uses alternative rhyme connecting different images. A final couplet forms its conclusion. Rhyme scheme is abab,cdcd,efef,gg.

25. Tanka - Presents one image or mood in the first two lines, shifting to a related idea in the next three, commonly about sadness, love, the shortness of life, or the seasons.
TRADITIONAL FORM: The traditional Tanka follows a formula of 31 syllables, in the pattern 5, 7, 5, 7, 7 syllabic lines.
ENGLISH FORM: Most other languages do not have the same rhythms as Japanese, so to approximate the same rhythm while writing in English, try 13 syllables, in the pattern of 2, 3, 2, 3, 3 syllabic lines.

26. Tetractys - Should express a complete thought, profound or comic, witty or wise using 20 syllables. The structure is:
line 1 - 1 syllable
line 2 - 2 syllables
line 3 - 3 syllables
line 4 - 4 syllables
line 5 - 10 syllables

27. Terza Rima - Three-line stanzas. Rhyme pattern of aba, bcb, cdc, etc; as long as you want.

28. Triolet - Eight-line poem or stanza with a set rhyme scheme. Line four and line seven are the same as line one, and line eight is the same as line two. The rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB.
line 1 - A
line 2 - B
line 3 - a
line 4 - A (line 1)
line 5 - a
line 6 - b
line 7 - A (line 1)
line 8 - B (line 2)

29. Tritina - No rhyme scheme; instead it comprises of three three-line stanzas using the same three words in a Sestina-like pattern and a final line which uses the three words in the starting sequence.
A, B, C
C, A, B
B, C, A
A, B, C

30. Tyburn - Six-line poem with a set syllable count. The first four lines rhyme and are all descriptive words. The last two lines rhyme and incorporate the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th lines as the 5th to 8th syllables. The structure is:
line 1 - 2 syllables
line 2 - 2 syllables
line 3 - 2 syllables
line 4 - 2 syllables
line 5 - 9 syllables
line 6 - 9 syllables

31. Villanelle - 19 lines, 5 stanzas of three lines and 1 stanza of four lines with two rhymes and two refrains. The 1st, then the 3rd lines alternate as the last lines of stanzas 2,3,and 4, and then stanza 5 (the end) as a couplet. It is usually written in tetrameter (4 feet) or pentameter. The structure is:
line 1 - a - 1st refrain
line 2 - b
line 3 - a - 2nd refrain
line 4 - a
line 5 - b
line 6 - a - 1st refrain (same as line 1)
line 7 - a
line 8 - b
line 9 - a - 2nd refrain (same as line 2)
line 10 - a
line 11 - b
line 12 - a - 1st refrain (same as line 1)
line 13 - a
line 14 - b
line 15 - a - 2nd refrain (same as line 2)
line 16 - a
line 17 - b
line 18 - a - 1st refrain (same as line 1)
line 19 - a - 2nd refrain (same as line 2) .

I discovered a beautiful number....

2008-11-18T04:49:17Z

Found this while opening up my poem .doc to write a new one. Apparently I wrote it around the end of October; I hadn't dated it, numbered it, or titled it. However, it's number 33. Which is lucky in my book. A koishii love poem and, I hope, one of the last of its kind.

Well, I wouldn't mind writing happy ones again, but that's all up to him. **nudgenudge**.

corazón

here inside my tender heart
portraits hang on a tidy rack,
each with arrows like a subway chart;
all go out but only half come back.

back behind the picture frames,
shut-up boxes lurk in secret holes,
hotel safes for hurts and shames,
keeping the bits that keep me from whole.

that one, though, guards a unique gem:
hoarded inside it, a bank-box key.
and it in turn opens things best not thought of:
a little black box of sore memories.

I lived the winter, awkward and hoping
I lived the spring and its chances at love
I lived the summer, the joy and the coping
(I’m living the fall of forget! rise above!)

Drowning in worlds better kept well-contained,
my only thought: oh, keep my pain unknown.
I am slowly not crazy. I can self-maintain.
Pick myself up. Lick my wounds. Carry on.

Eden -- love poem sans koishii

2008-11-11T03:54:30Z

Been a while since my last post. This was scrawled down in English class as we studied the first of our allusion projects -- the first section of the Bible, Genesis chapters 1-3. I was pondering the possibilities between I and another in the class... Or the lack thereof.

I have always loved snakes.
No stranger to serpents, I
tapped on Anaconda's glass
and thrilled to hear his rustle.
Shake, rattle, and roll --
Do I miss that Garden? No.
I ate proffered apples
with caramel and delight.
Who would long for walls?
Or flaming swords? Or rules.
I am myself, the sinner,
God's proudest prodigal child.

Why am I then tempted?
No stranger to suitors, I, to
virgins bearing dulcet words,
then revealed true freedom.
You bear apples in your precious eyes.
When young I loved you, we come
full-circle. Adam-mine, I lament:
You will never love Lilith and I am no Eve.

Crescendo

2008-10-21T02:30:50Z

fever dreams, delirium;
those highway lights and fancy flights
and freaky footwork in my mind
have gotten me somewhere
near to rock-bottom.

beyond, beneath all ups and downs
where sky and earth are liquefied
the taste of those once-distant bells
embraces, races, stupefies.
coherent thought...? dare I say
what ugly words to hear!
there's no such thing as 'logical'
'pretend' is what is truly real.

Half-imagined nightmares, clouds, crying crows and loneliness,
a fourscore host of carriage-horse, all matched to bit and bridle-dress
to bear me to my resting place, deliver unto mossy yielding earth
the defunct derelict-icized remnants of my birth.
Breasts are beaten, harpies chant, wailing sorrow heavenward
whilst into soil sinks my coffin, to netherdom my soul deferred...

and if I am maybe dying,
can we stay like this some more?
can it be right just like this
the whole
ride
home?

Ephor

2008-10-19T05:54:25Z

Quarter-moon and then some. I crawled
Crying and mewling, sick with indignity,
There to the threshold and spilled on the stones.
The ephor spoke--

“Climb and keep secrets.

Do not waste effort on years that have been.
This is the losing-place, this is the turning-point
These are the stones from which lemmings leap.”
The hem of his robe was purpled with age
The soles of my feet were blackened with dust.
Out over the edge, the plains echoed onwards.
In that dread shadow I found our life together.
What I was holding onto suddenly woke up.

kennings

2008-10-08T04:00:29Z

An ambiguous or roundabout figure of speech used instead of an ordinary noun in Old Norse and later Icelandic poetry. For example, Old Norse poets might replace “sword” with a compound such as “wound-hoe”.
--paraphrased from Wikipedia

I discovered kennings when reading up on Beowulf and thought that I'd like to try adding them to my poetry. Btw, I like hyphens. And blank verse.

Embrace the weeks of the leaf-turning time,
Take hold of each instant ere the season of snow.
On cool carven tiles in lyceum hallways
Apollo's last children dance years away.
Take hold of the storm-tambours such as remain
for Christ's-month, Janus, and Februa the pure
are deserts, dry sandpits, Zeus-ammo-lacking,
gelding the father of fury with cold.
Take hold of deadfall, in its many hues.
With money tree-minted in burgundy-red
the meanest of mushrooms a grand house may make.
Dismiss not the cloud homes, enrobed to mourn;
call it not corpse-flesh but dew-gild or moon.
Embrace the best of the mean harvest months
for their followers suddenly will soon arrive.
When cascading tree-scale to ice-chip gives way
longing for fall will be easy to do.

prose -- chapter of my life

2008-10-06T04:49:10Z

I was discussing with a friend the analogy we've frequently used to describe our lives -- a novel, the chapters interspersed with primary sources from the characters' lives, like newspaper clippings and diary entries. she said, 'I think that right now, I'm the main character, even though that really hasn't happened before. I mean, kaley is all happy with her boyfriend now and you... you're just...'

I knew what she meant.

'...i'm the only one with a plot right now.'

but if I had to write the chapter of my life for these past few weeks?

journal entry #32 -- 2 oct 2008

My life's doing pretty okay right now. I mean, there's no time for it to be anything else, really. I've got band almost every day, not just practice but games and comps too... Some days I have both my early-morning history class and band -- then work! Those days I swear feel like they're never going to end. At least I'm doing fewer hours now down at Taco Hell. I have enough on my plate as it is. People keep complaining that they never see me, but I hardly see me as it is, so sorry people, but we're all on the same page! :) Optimism helps somewhat, by the way -- always look on the bright side but be prepared for the dark. So I try not to worry.

I've got my next weeks all planned out. After band's done, I'll have a week to relax before I go back to part-time at work and I am -so- looking forward to it! I need to do college stuff soon and that'll be a perfect time for it, after I get some quality friend-time in. Then it's back to work for me... (Speaking of said place of employment, I think Alex-the-Taco-Bell-kitty has some sort of bowel problem; he smells like bad fart constantly. He's sitting next to me right now and it's like a cloud of rotten eggs at a dairy farm.)

Even art and English are going pretty well for me! I just finished a triptych of henna-inspired pieces that I think will look great in my portfolio! All I need to do now is play catch-up and get my eight pieces and my jewelry done by the end of the quarter. In the grand scale of things, that's not too much. As for English, well, Beowulf isn't exactly difficult, not with loads of in-class discussion. I think memorizing Caedmon's hymn was the hardest thing we'll do yet.

...

...

oh, and by the way? I'm still not over Jay.

friendship duetta

2008-10-06T01:22:05Z

A pair of poems inspired by my friends and/or relationships... (Aren't all my poems?) But these ones more so. The longer, simply entitled friends, dates from june. The shorter one, wonders of the world, dates from approximately ten minutes ago...

friends
In response to the question of my friendships:
I’ll admit I’m a masochistic martyr
it’s been a proven fact
since the very day we met
if you’ll admit you’re a bitchy problemstarter
that, too, is simply truth;
still you’ll go and fight about it
all set to burn, all set to die
all eager for my turn to cry
why can’t I just leave myself alone?
yet still I dream of cali shores
and distant hopes of something more
what do I think, exactly, will get better?
I only hope that someday they’ll get better…

F must mean the fucks and damns
you R yelling at me yet again
I know I can do nothing right.
E isn’t very entertaining
N all these needs you keep explaining
Definitely are just more bullshit
So why shouldn’t I be sick of it?

why’d I ever bother to even love you?
it’s more trouble than it’s worth
and more guilt for me to feel
since you dislike to give a passing notice
devoted to me, though
I’m so devoted to you
all set to crash, all set to burn
too stupid now to ever learn
that hot objects lead to nasty scars.
you probably should leave me alone
stop calling me on the telephone
You know I’d tell you if I were home
(if I wanted you to know I was home…)

F must mean the fucks and damns
you R yelling at me yet again
I know I can do nothing right.
E isn’t very entertaining
N all these needs you keep explaining
Definitely are just more bullshit
So why shouldn’t I be done with this?

=====

wonders of the world
if only I could be
the colossus of Rhodes
owing everyone nothing
with to me nothing owed
to stand tall astride
the world atwixt my thighs,
to be free from dependence
to be free from desire...

if only I could be
Alexander’s light
maybe then I’d last a day
without dreading that day’s night.

repeating

2008-10-05T21:22:32Z

written in january of this year. old and rough, but somehow very relevant to me right now. I especially like the last few lines.

don’t you ever wonder what my love would taste like?
don’t you ever wonder what my life would taste like?
sometimes I know its on your mind,
sometimes I can see it in your eyes.
sometimes I pretend like I don’t mind
don’t you wonder what happens when hopes die?
every now and then you grow too much to handle
every now and then I wonder when I’ll reach the ending
every now and then I dig deep for that mantra
every now and then I find myself repeating
someday someone will love me
someday it’ll be him or her or them
someday someone will love me
someday, you-- no.
someday someone will love me.

otoño

2008-10-04T19:43:13Z

short and (bitter)sweet

Autumn brings wine-pressing, stamping plump grapes
plucked from summer vines greened in the sun.
We are sour and hard, unripe and wasted,
gathered too soon, our usefulness done.

Now say goodbye and leave me out there alone
as I try to buy your time like a glorified whore
turn your face like the leaves, go from red and gold
from the man I love to a man I hardly know.

statement: a pillow book list

2008-10-04T15:54:07Z

originally written 12 september of this year

things one cannot admit easily because one is ashamed of them:

When one cannot help but believe in one’s own lack of value but hopes fervently to be proven wrong.
One never outgrew some of one’s childhood bad habits.
“Shut up. She’s my friend.”
When one is angry.
One’s desperation for contact.
“I get excited when you show emotion because you’re feeling something.”
One is also particularly bad at taking a stance and delivering an ultimatum if one is risking driving a person away… even if that is what needs done.
“No.”
“No, I’m not okay with things.”
How much of this list concerns one’s recent relationship.
When one is wrong but persists knowingly or makes excuses.
“I miss us even though you’re happier now.”