Terrible Poetry from Terrible People

An Ode to Winter

2012-01-19T15:45:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of Kathryn S. (thank you facebook)

cough cough sneeze sniff sniff
slurp swallow sigh rub eyes
I hate being sick

I just couldn't resist. It was too good not to post here. ;-P

A Primer in Starting Fires

2011-12-31T22:30:00.000-08:00

(alternate title: Champagne and Judging bad poetry created this)

Did I tell you about the time
In fifth grade
When I had “Uptown Girl” stuck in my head for three days?

There is no getting rid of Billy Joel
He’s good for about five minutes
But the better part of a school week
When you’re ten?

And that is what happened to the school, officer.

hibernation's end

2011-12-23T16:39:00.000-08:00

How do you know

How do you know when you’re home

When you’ve been gone for so long

But you’ve made it finally

With presents wrapped tightly

Mom, Dad, 3 sisters, 2.5 brothers

The .5 is an in-law

But he’s alright

We’ll round up.

But how do you know

That college, grad school, and 2 stints of expat life--

That that time, that non-linear time

That stretches, compresses, and skips beats at will

Did it have time to remember you.

Door opens and cradles you with light and sound

Sensory overload--

Split wood piled near a woodstove, fire’s going

Persianrug, wood floors, and people

Ohso many people

Smiling.

Welcome back

Welcome home.

Bad haiku is my contribution

2011-12-23T14:19:00.000-08:00

Winter is here, yes
How warm is too warm this year?
Concrete jungle rules.

Untitled Winter Poem #2

2011-12-07T19:03:00.000-08:00

Precious eyes so wide
Lips like event horizon
Flypaper window
Patient, enough
Mom!
Hurry!
Jacket unbuttoned
Tiny hands fumbling with gloves
Head first into the fresh snow

Great Blizzard of ‘91
Me and Joel
Marauding snow banks
Just to get out the front door
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Candy collection plates
Building forts
Forming future projectiles
Wrestling in the soft powder
Laughter, frozen mid-air

In tenth grade I had a girlfriend
Her name was Sarah
February brought chocolates
But not nearly as numerous as the snow
Classes canceled on account of the weather
Teenage love blossoming on account of the same
It was an icy Eden
Where we spent the day
Blank canvas countryside screaming for art
Chasing, through the trails
Teasing, tracing our dreams
Trying to decide on our wedding date
I can still see the snowflakes
Clinging to her eyelashes
Daring me to kiss them away

Today I wait for the bus
Hiding in my coat, yet no longer a Turtle at heart
Part of me waiting for summer to return
Secretly wishing I smoked
Like if the whole world became addicted
We could all put out our cigarettes at the same time
And the snow would just disappear

The past ten years I have not been attentive
The winter went from
Exciting guest
Here for the new season
To plain nuisance
I guess
This is how everything goes wrong
Growing up
Without the realization

It's a Winter Wonderland out there...

2011-12-02T11:06:00.000-08:00

...and it's too cold to ski, so might as well get to writing about your fabulous winter plans and all the beauty that the season brings with it.

We're back!

2011-11-30T07:35:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's been a while folks, but we're gonna do this poetry thing "write!" Get it. Ha. Not funny. Any who, vote on a theme for December, or suggest your own, here! Click here to take survey

nameless

2011-10-10T06:08:00.000-07:00

feet move in directions,
blood moves in prepositions:
across
through
in
between
more exact than its servants

but the gossamer of electric wire that lives
in the brain is responsible
for the bulk of the language,
presiding over the putt putt of a million motorized things
and the business they carry

maybe eventually it becomes its own poison

it's not so different, after all

it can claim
dominion over a far greater
and vast thing

over a thing
perhaps too disinterestedor
too bent on its own survival
to make its true weight felt.

Autumn Reckoning

2011-09-29T19:48:00.000-07:00

Hot air swirls up from the south
Iowa harvest of corn in the fields
dancing sweet and buttery in my mouth
Am I ready for it all to end?
Am I ready for the colors to turn

from fresh to fierce
green to gold
clear to copper to crimson
crackle crackle crackle
says the hay beneath my feet;
and the August sun strains to bake
the dry and browning earth
but weakening, daylight waning
Autumn tickling the trees

teasing the sky to dark upon dark
upon dark
I know whether or not I'm ready
Autumn will conquer my soul again
With her stealthy seductive footfalls
and her Samhain-scented embrace.

Woman

2011-09-15T21:00:00.000-07:00

The last shreds of shadow touch

her feet as she waits by the water

her body a brave Babylon

a savage paradise at sea

Woman

You strive to change history

worlds

You see a day with

copper light

ancient sunshine dreams

myth

peace

wind and passion

life balance

sacred sisterhood

You want love beyond gestures beyond limbo

love always shared

A radical thought

a world unfolding

You inspired a future

For Real

2011-08-26T21:33:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I sat down
In an attempt to create the most honest and genuine
Poem I could afford

I started out by lamenting
The fact that illness and sickness feel as though
They will not leave my family
Until my parents pass away

I reflected upon how stupid I think this country is sometimes
And how I could not have a lower opinion of my fellow Americans
Given their propensity to support idiots that run for office

I dwelled on:

How much I hate it when I log onto OkCupid
And see no new messages
And wonder how these losers
Get more attention than me

How I am going to block every single
Annoying and nagging person on Facebook
And smile

How I adore my niece and nephew
But God
Damn
I don’t need kids for a good while

How I am a fake of a graduate student
And I am going to fuck up this meta-analysis project

And the fact that I still can’t determine
If my ex cheated on me just once
Or for the entire relationship
And how stupid I am for still caring

How some of the activities I engage in
I only pursue so people know who I really am inside
In case I were to die tomorrow

How much I miss my brother
How I think you all need to do more with your lives
And how I might secretly be an asshole deep down inside
Thus, how I need to get back into mindfulness and channel those feelings

How it takes at least two hands
To count the things in my personal life I consider tragedies
But when I reflect upon the most painful and life changing
She still tops the list

This afternoon I sat down
In an attempt to create the most honest and genuine
Poem I could afford

And you know what?
It sucked
But I would be lying if I didn’t say
It felt damn good to write it

New Song

2011-08-19T20:05:00.000-07:00

Updated 9/22/11. After walking away from it for awhile, I kind of like it better now.

Was This 'The Good Fight'?

You tell me I should stay
You say it's easier for you
To have me stowed away, in one place
But your empathy's locked in a separate room

Those too-brief, stolen moments
I will never seek again
And here I'll build my walls
To save my pride from break or bend

Can't you see, it's stifling here
For someone like me, but
I can't persuade you to care
You say with certainty
There is no perfect absolute

This was too much, too soon
But not enough to sway the doubts
I never could remove
And my soul will never find the room
To breathe here

Walking through the motions
Like a dreamer through her sleep
The weight of absent-minded slights
Pulls me under, holds me deep

The small injustices add up
Eat away at who I was
This will never be enough
I'm not a bitch, I just gave up

Can't you see, I'm drowning here
Futile reaching for a lifeline
That was never really there
I see now, with certainty
What I've lost, but you lost, too

This was too little, too late
But not enough to break the bonds
That tie me to this lonely place
And my soul will never find the strength
To leave here

There are countless ways to justify
This war that we have wrought
But how could I let you determine
Who I am or who I'm not?

Who I am
And who I'm not...

Home Is Where The Mind Is

2011-08-06T11:47:00.000-07:00

Cannot speak Swedish
Psychology conference
Here I feel at home

Soles

2011-08-06T11:43:00.001-07:00

Breast cancer Nikes
Trading souls for mammograms
We still win, you lose

Why?

2011-07-24T13:48:00.001-07:00

Why does it feel like
I am climbing uphill
With lead weights attached to my ankles?

Why does it taste like
There are staples in my mouth
That won't go down?

Why does it smell like
The dog needs a bath
And I am too lazy to give it to him?

Why does it look like
The clouds will
Never go away?

Why does it sound like
A typical Monday morning
On I-285?

Why can't I stop dragging my finger nails against the chalk board?
Because the chalk board has been replaced
With the smart board
And I have yet
To get the message.

July Theme???

2011-07-02T02:53:00.000-07:00

Saludos, poets.

Since it's July 2nd already, I thought I'd offer a monthly theme suggestion for our rejuvenated blog. I know some of us have already posted poems about summer here, and yeah, I think we've already had a summer-themed month... but honestly, it's so friggin' ludicrously hot in Arizona right now, it's really all I can think about.

So, my suggestion is anything to do with summer, the heat, the (desired or undesired) consequences of said heat, etc., etc. Sorry for the repeat, but thanks, everybody, for assisting with the preservation of my sanity.

And here's a little inspiration:

A something in a summer's Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer's noon—
A depth—an Azure—a perfume—
Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see—

Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle—shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me—

The wizard fingers never rest—
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes it narrow bed—

Still rears the East her amber Flag—
Guides still the sun along the Crag
His Caravan of Red—

So looking on—the night—the morn
Conclude the wonder gay—
And I meet, coming thro' the dews
Another summer's Day!

~Emily Dickenson

Only A Drop In The Bucket

2011-06-21T21:22:00.000-07:00

I still recall that beautiful day
No clouds
A grinning sun
The Grand Canyon deserves every ounce of its namesake
Faithful flock to it
The Mecca of the Southwest
They come to gaze
Touch nature and see reflections of our common story

We hiked all over the southern rim that morning
Speechless
For a brief moment
We were part of something so much bigger
But for all the memories of that visit
My most visceral recollection

Mindless masses
Tourists littering empty water bottles
They lay like fallen soldiers
All over the dirt
Filling the garbage to the brim
And next to the trash can?
An empty recycling bin

I guess they were so blown away by the view
So amazed we hadn’t fucked up the Grand Canyon yet
They wanted to play their part in aiding and abetting
The blight of our planet

I could have screamed so loud
That those on the northern rim would have been rocked by the echo
Would have been brought to their knees
We acted strident and obnoxious
While we tossed a few bottles into the recycling
Hoping to make a point
But in the end we only had so much energy
I suppose we wanted to have enough left over to enjoy the Grand Canyon too

I am only a drop in the bucket
Sometimes even that is too much

2011-06-12T01:30:00.000-07:00

Restless on this sultry desert night

distracted by thoughts
of your lips on my skin.

We smoke cigarettes under the stars
miles apart, insulated by
our separate lives

and I wish I knew
if you loved me at all.

Back at it

2011-04-19T11:29:00.000-07:00

This thing kind of got neglected with me in Korea and Maki God-knows where in research land other wise known as grad school. I intend to bring it back, now that I'm back in the great south (otherwise known as Atlanta, GA) and living in my parents' house until further notice. Comment with themes you want to see explored in poetry form or add your own poem.

Sickness

2010-12-11T04:40:00.000-08:00

There's more to just being sick
Than a cough in your throat
A tickle in your nose
And a jumping sensation in your stomach

It's the total bloody feeling g
Of losing all control
Being out of your element
And trying to find a damn doctor that speaks just the slightest hint of English

This is harder than it sounds
And then when you do find one
You discover
That she tells you that

You have the flu and bronchitis
Because these are the only two words
She can remember how to say in English
So much for doctors

Pills are subscribed
And you feel like a drug addict with your
Plastic pouches of God-knows-what
But you're in Korea, so what can you do?

Not a poem, but some terribly funny inspiration!

2010-11-30T20:54:00.001-08:00

From... you guessed it... high schoolers.

56 worst/best analogies of high school students

June 19th, 2007 by admin

Apparently the washingtonpost held a contest in which high school teachers sent in the “worst” analogies they’d encountered in grading their students’ papers over the years. (I place “worst” in quotes because many of these actually strike me as quite witty). The top 25 of these have been circulating around the “Sandra Bullock” (”net”, get it?) recently, but I decided to post all 56 that I was able to find. Here they are, in their order of objective funniness (in my opinion):

Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
He was as tall as a 6′3″ tree.
Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.
The lamp just sat there, like an inanimate object.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at asolar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.
Even in his last years, Grand pappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it hadrusted shut.
He felt like he was being hunted down like a dog, in a place that hunts dogs, I suppose.
She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword.
She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
“Oh, Jason, take me!” she panted, her breasts heaving like a college freshman on $1-a-beer night.
It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.
It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.
Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like “Second Tall Man.”
The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.
The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.
She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.
Her pants fit her like a glove, well, maybe more like a mitten, actually.
Fishing is like waiting for something that does not happen very often.
They were as good friends as the people on “Friends.”
Oooo, he smells bad, she thought, as bad as Calvin Klein’s Obsession would smell if it were called Enema and was made from spoiled Spamburgers instead of natural floral fragrances.
The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee (D-Tex.) in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Rep. Henry Hyde (R-Ill.) in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the impeachment of President William Jefferson Clinton.
He was as bald as one of the Three Stooges, either Curly or Larry, you know, the one who goes woo woo woo.
The sardines were packed as tight as the coach section of a 747.
Her eyes were shining like two marbles that someone dropped in mucus and then held up to catch the light.
The baseball player stepped out of the box and spit like a fountain statue of a Greek god that scratches itself a lot and spits brown, rusty tobacco water and refuses to sign autographs for all the little Greek kids unless they pay him lots of drachmas.
I felt a nameless dread. Well, there probably is a long German name for it, like Geschpooklichkeit or something, but I don’t speak German. Anyway, it’s a dread that nobody knows the name for, like those little square plastic gizmos that close your bread bags. I don’t know the name for those either.
She was as unhappy as when someone puts your cake out in the rain, and all the sweet green icing flows down and then you lose the recipe, and on top of that you can’t sing worth a damn.
Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.
It came down the stairs looking very much like something no one had ever seen before.
Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by mistake.
You know how in “Rocky” he prepares for the fight by punching sides of raw beef? Well, yesterday it was as cold as that meat locker he was in.
The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.
Her lips were red and full, like tubes of blood drawn by an inattentive phlebotomist.
The sunset displayed rich, spectacular hues like a .jpeg file at 10 percent cyan, 10 percent magenta, 60 percent yellow and 10 percent black.

A different kind of death

2010-10-30T02:28:00.000-07:00

A death so surprising
It will leave you reeling
Mourning
For the hunger of new words
Left lingering
In bookshops
I'm talking about the completion of a
Good book
Nothing else
I hate finishing a new book
Because it just feels like
A part of me
Died

Can't I have it all back?

Monsters

2010-10-28T16:38:00.000-07:00

These days
Spot trembling knees
Through polka dots on bed sheets
He hears ghosts in the hallway
Monsters in the closet
Sense of safety precarious
I soothe concerns with open doors
Bedside lamps
Stroking dark hair
While eyelids forget worries
Until next time
I will still be here

As he gets older
Notice quick-fire nerves
When kids spout
Homegrown slurs
When tears well in innocent eyes
Cloud almond brown
I will hold the tissue
Rub his back
Absorb anger
While emotions obtain equilibrium
Until next time
I will still be here

As he navigates love
Sacrifices self-centeredness
To learn how to live
With others in mind
Knocked down repeatedly
Only to get back up each time
I will tend broken hearts
Mend frayed self-esteem
Invisible chin-held-high holder
Supporting him in leaps of faith
Until next time
I will still be here

When his own children are growing up
Their monsters constantly forming new skin
I will slowly fade
Torch-bearer to bed-ridden
I will smile at what he has become
And finally
He will be take care of me
Holding my hand as vision fails
Reminding me of memories
From this beautiful life
Cradling my head while I take my last breath
Roles reversed in some beautiful irony
As he helps me
Embrace my final monster

10

2010-10-25T19:39:00.000-07:00

the singlemost significant event

september 29^th, 2000—present

was the official commercial release

of kid a

you would have loved it

when i saw the art for the first time

i resolved to unsuccessfully mimic

the cutting slant of graphite on tracing paper

alone

scribbling on my dorm room loft the quaking mountains

the scraggly, menacing trees

and the fire

it was cathartic, chanting

i'm not here, this isn't happening

i will see you in the next life

it beat the hell out of listening

to the mix tape your mother gave me

the one they found playing in your car

still running

she meant well but it was too much

all that wondering when it came

at what moment

your music stopped

you've got it made

with us here still counting

our conditioned lives in tens and fives

and this year

i didn't even visit

please know i didn't forget

i just didn't have the heart to remember

everything else you've missed.

Death is...

2010-10-24T02:54:00.000-07:00

Death is something for
Someone else not me never
Me always someone

Death: a set of stairs

2010-10-17T05:24:00.000-07:00

Death: A Set of Stairs
Climbing to the top of a
Korean mountain peak

Death Haiku Number Two

2010-10-15T04:09:00.000-07:00

Blood and gore and brains,

Half-priced drinks and undead leers...

Zombie pub crawls rule.

La Mort De Sommeil*: A French Haiku

2010-10-15T03:33:00.000-07:00

Hier, j'ai pensé
que je dormirais toujours.

Chien fait d'autre plans.**

*The Death Of Sleep

**Yesterday, I thought

that I would sleep forever.

Dog made other plans.

Last Thursday

2010-09-26T15:55:00.000-07:00

In an anonymous coffee shop in Tempe, Arizona...

Over iced soy chai lattes, we talked about

our favorite songs

why Arcade Fire is an amazing band

Ohio

Minnesota

and the qualities of both states

vermicomposting

sustainability

Arizona politics

why Arizona politics are so fucked up

best jobs we've held to date

and why we left them

our bicycles

and how we love them

local haunts where we should go to drink a great beer

--not a good beer, a great one--

what you want to be when you grow up

what I want to be when I grow up

(and why do we have to grow up, anyway?)

places we've been

Tanzania

Europe

places we want to go

India

Thailand

everywhere.

Best first date I've had in awhile.

More bad first dates

2010-09-16T08:53:00.000-07:00

This one's from another fellow GEORGIA PEACH I met in Korea. She calls her writing self "Nadibelle." Go recruitment to the blog! She asked me to post since google is being a bit of an asshole in letting her make an account. Thanks for the contribution, and I hope you get an account soon. Look forward to hearing more from you on the blog. "It's a small world after all."

I had hardly left the other

When My eyes wandered away

I knew he wasn't the one for me

But I guess I was ready to stray

I remember how I ended

The old relation.shit

I was in the car with the new one

And on the phone, the first one's ears lended

I said, "I'm sorry, things just aren't working out"

"You see, I found happiness, once you weren't about".

And Happiness was looking

Across the seat at me.

As soon as our cellulars turned to tone

The interest's lips and I did meet.

Buttferlies conjured around my insides

And my shirt so did lift at his touch.

I pulled away to make sure

That he was what I wanted...

I was his before the kiss,

When we sat alone in his old car

We often talked to each other,

letting secrets fill the air...

It wasn't long before I was caught up in hopeless, hapless, innocent love

It wasn't long before he blurted, "I love you", in a sandwhich shop.

Smiling, and shaking, and nervous, and joyous I just looked down and basked

"Could he really have just said, what I think I heard?"

He nodded in approval and said, "You don't have to say anything".

But love like this can't last for long,

and distance set us apart

Distance to me was just a test of my ability

To be, one gracious-girlfriend- stick-in-the mud, whose heart belonged to he

But, to distance, his heart so did growingly palpitate...

Into the dormroom of a girl

I once did think to be a friend

Hence, I did say, "did"...

I forgave them both, for we are human

And now thinking back,

I can't remember much else, except this grotesque fact.

Well, no, I lie, I remember many a good time,

But the way it ended spoke to me
Louder than a herd

Of galloping elephants trumpeting their elongated snouts

What a douche

A Prayer from the Socially Disabled

2010-09-14T06:09:00.000-07:00

Dear First Date,

You are meeting me now
But you are not really meeting me
You are meeting a version of myself
That I don't show the world on a regular basis

I ask that you be kind
Forgiving
And compassionate
As this is not my natural state

Since I don't do this often
I ask that overlook my fidgets and hair tosses
Nose twitches and stuttering
And don't push me to talk to much about myself

I ask that all conversation be planned in advance
And if something should arise that is controversial
I ask that it is you who avert the conversation quickly
But also gracefully

I ask that you make no comment on the
No doubt hideous skirt that I have chosen to wear
(I looked at it countless time in the mirror before)
It was fine in the privacy of my bathroom

In return for these kindnesses
I will vow to
Return the favor
I won't say anything embarrassing at will or talk about what I ate

I won't ramble on and on about how I hate myself
Even though it's on auto play in my head
I won't comment on how I think your shirt doesn't match your jeans
Or how I think your jeans are not appropriate for this restaurant

I won't say what I'm really thinking
(Get me out of here)
And I won't pull out my crocheting
(Which is what I really want to do to ease my nerves.)

I will be a listening ear
And a shoulder to cry on
And I won't say that I think you are pussy
If you cry on a first date.

I won't be any harder on you than I am on myself.
And I won't ask about your family
Your income
Or your political or religious affiliations.

I will sit calmly (with knees jittery from too much caffeine)
And wait for this
Entire
Horrific experience
To be over

So you can NOT call
Tomorrow.

Thank you for playing this game.

Sincerely,

ME

What isn't said

2010-09-13T09:43:00.000-07:00

In a room stuffed to the seams

with voices and dark corners,

I grip the pint glass

slipping in my sweating palms,

and concentrate my every fiber

on protecting the integrity

of that damn glass

from the magnet of harsh, sticky tile

three feet below.

He sits next to me

and I know him in his strangeness--

the way you know your college roommate's

sister's boyfriend.

You know his name

and maybe his age,

but not the song that starts off every

road trip mix he's ever made,

and not the name of his best childhood

four-legged friend,

and not the story he remembers

(the one that evokes shoulder-shaking

head-flung-back scrunchy-eyed delight)

when he finds

an old forgotten jersey of his favorite

professional sports team

crumpled on the floor of his closet.

The little important things

that you don't know.

The space between his ear and mine

is full of what isn't said.

And I wonder--

how many quiet encounters do we have left

before I find the courage

to ask?

First Year Date

2010-09-12T06:53:00.000-07:00

She called me and asked me to meet her at the park.
I came, though I didn't have any skates.
She skated, while I slipped around in old sneakers.
I only fell twice.

We had hot chocolate at Prince Albert's.
(It's a cafe that is very popular.)
We took a cab to her place and she asked,
"Do you want to get off here?"

I said, "No. I'll just ride on the rest of the way home."
Later, I told my roommate what had happened.
He laughed at me and said, "Yo man.
You were just on your first date!"

There wasn't a second.

New Month, New Theme: And You Thought Yours Were Bad

2010-09-04T20:42:00.000-07:00

That's right folks, get your awkward on, as Maki likes to say. This month is all about the FIRST DATE. Whether you thought yours have been funny, clingy, desperate, heart-breaking, or just downright outrageous, everyone has a first date story (true or exaggerated, but exaggerated are probably better) hidden deep inside themselves waiting to get out. I've included a little trailer from my favorite awkward date movie courtesy of YouTube. Enjoy, and happy writing!

Broken Dreams

2010-08-29T15:38:00.000-07:00

As I am job searching yet again
For the fourth summer in a row
After college graduation
Mom, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry

You escaped the war
Moved to a foreign land
All because you dreamed of a better life for us
And what do I do?

I went to college and had dreams of social justice
How dare I dream of making this world better,
When I can't even make your life better?
Why couldn't I have just gotten a business degree?

Sorry I couldn't buy you that new house in the suburb
Sorry I couldn't buy you that fancy car
Sorry I couldn't get you all the things you deserved
Sorry I couldn't live out the dreams that you had for me
The saddest thing is that
I can't even express my sorrows
In a language that you could understand

You've never faulted me for who I've become
And I just wanted you to know that I am who I am
Because of your good teachings
Luckily you have two other sons who will live out your dreams

And although, I don't follow your Buddhist ways
I really hope that reincarnation does exist
So that I could be your son again in the next lifetime
And every lifetime after that
Maybe then,
I'd be able to do more for you
Than I am able to do in this lifetime
Maybe I could make your dreams come true
Maybe I'll be able to give you all the good things that you never asked for

One More Minute

2010-08-29T02:56:00.000-07:00

I don't want to leave yet
May I stay here a bit longer?
To try to get to know you a little better
Cuz I have so many questions I'd like to ask

Like
How are you doing?
Where have you been all this time?
Did I live up to your expectations?

Sorry
Didn't mean to get so serious right away
I guess we can start with the fundamentals
Cuz I don't even know that
What's your favorite food?
Your favorite color?

Please answer me
Say something
Tell me that you love me
Tell me that you're proud of me
Say anything

You can even tell me that I'm a disappointment
I just want to hear that voice
That calm and soothing voice
That used to put me to sleep every night

Alright
Don't speak
But would you at least listen to what I have to say?
Cuz a lot has happened in the twenty-six years that you've been gone

For instance
We've all grown up now
Not struggling so much now
And all three of us are doing our best to take care of mom
But she is sick often
She seems happy though
I think it's because of the grandkids

Oh, by the way
Did you know that you're a grandfather now?
Yeah, both my brothers have kids
They're great fathers
They would do anything for those kids
I think that's because they know how it feels to not have a father

Oh no
It's not your fault
None of us blame you for what happened

All I'm saying
Is that they know how it feels to have that emptiness in their heart
And I don't think they would want to wish that upon any child

Um, also...

What?

It's time to go?

No
Please no
Please don't let me wake up yet dad

You died to young dad
I was only a baby
Never had a chance to get to know you
And the only time I get to see you
Are in these dreams
Standing there, silently
I have so much to tell you

Please
Please let me dream for just a minute longer
To make up for the millions of minutes that I've thought about you
Just a minute longer
To make up for the millions of minutes that I've been without you
Please
Let me dream for just a minute longer
To make up for the 13,756,320 minutes that I've missed you
PLEASE

ballad of the weird-ass dream

2010-08-23T19:22:00.000-07:00

someone had found this journal

and saw all that i had written about you there

rather than fight

we fucked on the kitchen floor

this is when

i knew i was dreaming

she brought me a glass of sparkling water

saying wake up, already

but my eyes were sheets of the heaviest metal

my head an unnegotiable boulder

and in it you and i were cruising streets

tryin to get to some show

we flew through stoplights

and drove into ditches

we waded in waist-deep water

but didn't get wet

you parked my car dead square in the auditorium

(rather than fight

we compared dance moves)

the flask swung in my shirt pocket

with all sorts of contraband

but the guards didn't notice

you pulled one by one

all the contents of my purse

and ran naked down the street, throwing them to the wind

laughing like a maniac

one by one i picked them up

and cursed you with words

brilliant words wittily insulting

the most satisfying tirades

when i did wake up, i found you weren't there

so i cursed again

but it was only empty.

I keep dreaming

2010-08-23T16:27:00.000-07:00

About babies.
Small ones.
Beautiful ones.
Ugly ones.
Babies with big heads.
Big bones
Small delicate features

That I almost drop on their heads

What does it all mean?

Who Am I?

2010-08-23T07:27:00.000-07:00

I'm your worst nightmare.
That's right.
That dream you had the other night?
That was me.
Telling you to speak in full sentences.
Full, grammatically correct sentences.
In your non-native language.

I am your English dream.
If you dream in English, it's my fault.
I tell you to squelch your Korean
And leave it at the door.
I tell you to
Be a little adult
For 55 minutes a day.

I dream about it too.
So it's not just you.
I'm insanely curious about your world
But the hogwon doesn't care.
They care that you can conjugate the verb "to go" in your sleep.
You are so brave
And it's me that is the coward.

Louder
Scream it
Until you have a headache
And are vomiting in fear
Open class is in four days
And you are so strong
Keep going

Show your work ethic
And your child-like spirit at once
I Dare you.

Dream on.

Summer of Sinuses

2010-08-21T13:52:00.000-07:00

That damn clock
Is mocking me again
Taunting my tireless eyelids
3am
Still awake
Just like last night
And the night before
Check my phone
Nope
She still hasn’t texted me
Maybe
I can once again make my NFL season predictions
Or
Daydream about how our date could have turned out a bit better
Toss
Turn
Get angry that I can’t fall asleep
Get angry about the fact that
I am angry that I can’t fall asleep
Look forward to the fact that the circles under my eyes
Will be one shade darker tomorrow morning
Well
After some thought
I think the Ravens will represent the AFC in the Super Bowl
Same as last night
And the night before

How can one dream
When they cannot get any sleep?

To William Carlos Williams

2010-08-06T04:12:00.000-07:00

Last night I had
an amazing dream
filled with a thousand splendid fantasies.

But
all I can remember
is eating a really delicious pickle.

Our Sweet Fossil Fuel Dreams

2010-08-02T20:47:00.000-07:00

The trip to the corner store

Key ignition to shorten shuffle step

Could you feel the drill?

Pulsing through the surface

Pulverizing rock and dirt into specks of dust

The bus ride home

Did it taste like salt?

Did it cover you in black?

A dark blanket wrapped around

A casket carved out of delusions

The bottled water sitting on your desk

Is it reminiscent of a quiet failure

Or the roaring explosion that took 11 lives?

One that quickly dwarfed Alaska

Swallowed the world in its horror

How about that plane ride to New Orleans?

Could your selfish eyes see the 1,866 dead birds?

Did you pay the extra fare?

Not for baggage

But for 463 slaughtered sea turtles?

59 dead sea mammals?

Drill baby

Drill

That is our mess that is making the sea a little less pretty

So much more than an eyesore

Our cute little secret hidden in our closets

Our cognitive dissonance that was rude enough

To awaken us from our sweet dreams

That candle

That lighter

That car

Those are OUR failures

It is our criminal fingerprint

Embedded in the oil

Not Obama's

Not BP's

Ours

And we will not be able to wipe it away any time soon

Hagwon Blues 1

2010-07-26T03:27:00.000-07:00

am I just
a cog in the machine?
a part
to be replaced when worn?
a tank
of fuel
once emptied
replaced by another?

in five years, will they remember my name?

or am I just
a cog in the machine the
current seat warmer?

Someone Else's Childhood Memory

2010-07-22T07:38:00.000-07:00

I’m too cool for you
I’m stylin’
Says Miss Caroline
My blonde hair is waving behind me
And with some help I learned to glue some feathers
And butterflies
To my sunglasses

Layla behind me isn’t as cool as I am
Don’t I look cute?
Sure I do.
I can get anything I want; I’m so cute.
I love life and me
And you can’t stop me
I am invincible; I am three

Someone Else's Childhood Memory

2010-07-22T07:36:00.000-07:00

I’m back!
And I’m ready to play!
Look at me.
I’ve got my smock on
And I’m holding myself
Like I need to pee

If I don’t tell my teacher
Then I won’t have to stop playing
I’ll just keep going
I’m back for more
Of what
Only time will tell

My pigtails say that I am young
But they really don’t know how young
I’m not supposed to be at camp
My big sister takes care of me
Nothing to worry about
Because I am three

To Find A Cure

2010-07-04T08:25:00.000-07:00

When I was a young boy
I would take tremendously long showers
And in those showers I used to mix concoctions
Create potions I was convinced
Would one day cure HIV/AIDS
As my little hands measured out
Equal parts Pert Plus and Head and Shoulders
I would shave razor thin slices of hand soap
Shuttle them into my beaker of toiletries
I would squeeze drops of Arm and Hammer toothpaste
Like pearls that would soon save ravaged New York and Los Angeles
And as the hot water beat against me
I mixed mouthwash with deodorant
As if I got just the right mixture
A sign would arise out of the potion
That would say
“You did it! You found the cure!”
Congratulations!
I would smile and the walls of my childhood bathroom would fall away
I would be revealed to the world’s leading scientists
Bioengineers
Humanitarians
They would all circle around me
Shaking hands
Posing for pictures
Hanging Nobel prizes around my neck like Christmas tree ornaments
None of them seeming to notice the naked physique of an 8-year-old boy

Alas

I remember the final time I attempted to discover the special formula
My older brother had just bought some fancy, expensive new face product
This, I was convinced, was the secret ingredient
The heavenly-ordained addition
That would ensure my place in your history books
Child celebrity
Boy-Wonder
World Savior
I carefully proportioned out
One quarter container liquid hand soap
One quarter container hand moisturizer
And the other half
Unopened “Aftershave”
As I stirred this concoction with my finger
The hot water pummeled down on me
And something, perhaps someone
Knocked the cup out of my hand
It must have been Michelle Bachmann
Or one of those evangelical leaders that hate scientific progress
Regardless of who it was
I recall the cup staying completely upright as it ascended into the air
But at the apex of its journey
It was as if gravity too wanted to play a trick
The side of the cup closest to me
Was yanked toward the earth
The contained liquid of the cup
Proceeded to spill
And it splashed down on my young, unsuspecting privates
Causing an instant burning sensation that felt like napalm

I screamed

And as I screamed I danced under the showerhead
But to no avail
I wailed
I clawed
And I scraped at my crotch
Hoping to stop the spread
Within seconds I was reduced to a quivering mess on the shower floor
I heard the heavy steps of my older brother approach the bathroom
The same bathroom I had locked because scientists need privacy
“What’s wrong Al?” my brother screamed
I didn’t have the courage or consciousness to yell back
All I could do was mutter to myself
“I just wanted to help…”

2010-07-02T07:17:00.000-07:00

Reflections

My expression indicates a certain level of

thought

inquiry

processing

sadness

energy and serious contemplation

careful inspection

What did they expect me to do?

I'm trying to break the blonde sterotype

Quiet yes, but I sure do know

What is going on

At all times

Aware consciously aware

And ready for anything, to do battle even

What do they expect me to do next?

Taking everything in

Before I speak

Don't let on to the things I know

Keep everything mysterious

Surprise people when I do speak

With my great vocabulary

And thoughtfully chosen sentences

Surprise them. Do something unexpected. What though? It must be something good.

Listening to my teachers

Confirms what everyone thinks of me

Peers the same thing

Helps me learn what do do and when to do it

Learning about the social order of the world

And where I stand in that world puts my mind at ease

Still feeling uncomfortable

Breakthrough.

When given the chance to escape

I enjoy pretending to be a snake in teh game Jumanji

It lets me hide from the person I don't want to be

I don't have to talk.

Just slither

And hiss

And show people that I really can do this play thing

Slithering back to the spot on the carpet feeling proud

I have a passion for art and creation

Compassionate energy

A passion for learning

Maybe even studying

Contemplation

Observation

There are so many rules, yet not enough

They didn't expect that.

They are letting me draw on the windows?

That doesn't happen at home.

I'm confused, yet I have

An appreciation for the finer things in life

Like window markers

And reflections.

2010-07-02T07:13:00.000-07:00

Fingers brush the keys
All wrong
But you don’t care
You listen
To the playing—as bad as it is

I memorized it all
Just as you instructed
You are nothing like my parents
Forgiving
And willing to listen to everything

You listen as I tell you how I
Recovered
From the rain
I come literally drenched to your studio
On my bike

You run for towel
And seem genuinely concerned
I try really hard
Not to cry
But I am touched at your kindness

And you are so smart
I want to be you
I don’t want to be meth
You have it all
A piano, a husband, a kid

You are loved
And you are respected
And I am 14
I hate myself
Except when I am in your studio

You make me feel worthy again
I have practiced so hard
My father can’t appreciate it
But you have a different reaction
You tell me it will all be ok with your eyes and your gentle voice

2010-07-02T06:16:00.000-07:00

It was a disaster
My milk is two days old
And I knew no one

I walked back to my car alone
To drive back to my house
That I rent from the guy who was supposed to show up

That sounds different than the way it is supposed to
I’m not involved
With anyone in any way

I loved listening to stories from staff
Meeting people I haven’t met before
Still I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t supposed to be there

I don’t belong
To anyone
Not even myself

Someone Else's Childhood Memory

2010-06-20T09:03:00.000-07:00

It’s not you; it’s me
I’m the one
That needs the work
Forgive me
I shall be myself in a few days

Climbing
Shouting
Anxiety
Bills
Cream

It’s all about the cream
That Damn cream
Everything doesn’t have to be about the whipped cream
Or does it?
Why can’t I have a normal life?

Waiting in line
For an oil change
Came across a little café
We were hungry
So we thought we would grab some lunch

I’ll have a salami sandwich on rye
He’ll have a bowl of your soup du jour
Why are you ordering for him miss?
I don’t know
Habit I guess

He would also like
Your crème burlee
With extra whipped cream
I do?
You always want the whipped cream

I do not
You do too
Can I just order my own damn meal?
You don’t love me anymore
You used to always let me take care of you

There were no kids
Just the car
That was broken
And the salami sandwich and soup du jour
And that whipped cream

Creamy chowder with biscuits
And tomato enchiladas with cheese
You should watch your cholesterol intake
I want you to be around with me until I die
Who says I wouldn’t?

Your diet says you wouldn’t
Says who?
Cheese? Whipped Cream?
You’re the one who ordered the whipped cream!
I was just trying to please you!

Can I get you anything else?
A beer?
A glass of wine?
Oh we don’t drink here
Says who?

I would like a drink
I would like a whiskey
The hard stuff
It’s the only way I’m going to tolerate
The rest of the afternoon

And the bill
For the car
God I don’t want to know how much that
Bill
Will be

Huddled Masses

2010-06-13T21:32:00.000-07:00

Routine shuttled me away at a young age
Just like it did to everyone else
We are huddled masses
The ones who cry for love

We know not of its true name

New month, new theme

2010-06-13T06:42:00.000-07:00

This month, bring out the big guns: CHILDHOOD MEMORIES.

It doesn't matter if yours were good or bad, and the more embarrassing the better. We always say our childhood is the best fuel for our writing, so bring it kiddos. We want to hear about your childhood, in poetry form. Just do it.

Summer

2010-06-04T23:10:00.000-07:00

They say that this is summer
That summer is full of change
I don't think that's true
Summer is just strange

Be it June, July, or August
Muggy, hot, or dry
I believe that summer
Is just a time to cry

I don't really think so
But rhyming is quite hard
Cry is the only thing I could think of
That fits into this little yard

This isn't making any sense
So I will leave you now
I can blame it on Korea
And the newness that is approaching me. WOW!!!

Snapshot of Love #7

2010-05-24T20:27:00.000-07:00

It is usually from afar
That I pen these laments
These quixotic prayers
My first thought when I saw you
Never
Never would I have a chance to speak to you
Never would you humor me for even a minute
And that was just fine
It was the world I was accustomed to

That is why I sit here
Thinking of you
And what I would give
To know
You have these daydreams too

But It's a Dry Heat...

2010-05-16T16:01:00.001-07:00

This time of year

the desert blisters the unwary.

I watch people crawl into their shells

slither backward into dark basements

the cool crevices of their protective havens

and wait for September, resigned.

Spending summer months

behind concrete walls and central air

is like self-imposed house arrest.

Like cabin fever in reverse

Minnesota in negative twenty degrees

except

when in the desert, you step outside

and feel EVERYTHING...

Every. Thing.

Every molecule of arid sun

every wavering doubt

every shimmering illusion of grandeur

bleaches you, inside out.

There are only so many

clothes to take off

until you are stripped bare and left

over the fiery coal-bed of melting pavement.

There is no wind chill to numb

your insecurities away.

And so, the withdrawal

the cautious retreat

to the shadows, the hidden familiar.

I don't want to exist in an emotionless desert.

I don't want to slip back

into the mind's dark basement

and forget the warmth of

the human condition.

I don't want to construct walls--

psychological or otherwise--

or succumb to the fear of heat stroke.

I will step out

wear sunscreen

breathe deep in the dry heat

and embrace the day.

Ignore The Snow

2010-05-08T09:53:00.000-07:00

Her legs were balanced on my thigh as she typed away at her laptop
I was far enough away that I could sneak glances into her eyes
She never noticed
I did not really know her three weeks ago
Hell, I did not really know her now
For some reason, she was just pleased to grace my presence
She seemed satisfied to just ride the wave
We were skating on thin ice, realizing it all the while

Summer has a funny way of making one needy
We need to be outside in the sun
We need to be enjoying beers and tea with friends
We need to smell the charcoal
Taste the burgers and veggie brats
Feel the grass between our toes

The last thing I wanted to need that summer was love
I felt like I had earned a free ride
I had suffered through distances that soldiers could not traverse
I had panhandled on the telephone wires
Under the cell phone towers

And yet, I still wanted it
I still wanted her
I wanted to share in all of the quick heartbeats
The shallow breaths
The sweaty hands
The silly looks

Summer
How we need thee
Even when we do not want it.

Party Like It’s 1773

2010-04-28T16:51:00.000-07:00

Evolved with hair-trigger war yearning
Crush other
Fight back
Own all
Yet
Some learned how to
Share
Love
Support
One another

You still loved the struggle
Desire to dominate
Subjugate
Oppress
We thought we left you behind

Cities they began to call them
Short, nasty, and brutish without
We had come so far!
Language, hygiene
Weapons
We still raped
Still clawed with blood dry
Underneath fingernails from past battles

Perhaps
It was a continent thing
Africa
Asia
Europe

The “settlers”
Spread their compassion around
Smallpox on blankets
Stolen slaves and dehumanized possessions
Some
Were opposed
But you could always hear the rally cry
“Slavery must be allowed!”
“Protect the union!”
You heard their protests
Their screams
Their hatred

In the end
They lost
But the spirit of their hatred
Lived on in many hearts
Instead of chains
Just rubber bullets
Dogs perverted to be bloodthirsty
Flags made to inspire fear

Guess what
It did not work
Progress was made
Never perfection
Never
But progress nevertheless

Today
You hold your hate high
Shrouded in tea parties
And news channels
Masked behind klansmen
Like Ron Paul
Like the ghost of Strom Thurman
You can protest all you want
Pretend your hatred of a black president
Your xenophobic demands of birth certificates
Your antichrist fear-mongering
They are just rational concerns
But we see what they are
We remember the plains of Africa
We recall the first cities
The first “settlers”
The slave owners and the
Segregationists
Dress up hatred
Hide it
But we see it

And you know what?
You will lose
In the end
You always do

Little Birds (Or: In My World, There is No Hate)

2010-04-26T23:59:00.000-07:00

Little girl daydreams

are full of birthday parties,

strawberry popsicles

that drip in the sun.

Piñatas and candy,

Mami cooks tamales,

and Papá sings mañanitas

to rouse her in the morning.

Little girl realities

are full of stares.

People look at her face

(but don't really look),

look at Mami's beautiful brown face,

hear Mami habla en español,

and wonder

without asking;

their disapproving silences

say just enough.

Little girl nightmares

are full of flashes--

red and blue--

in the dark.

Guns and badges thrust in her face,

Mami screaming

and clutching her hand

to stop the world from going...

going...

from going to pieces.

Papá in handcuffs,

mouthing the words

"Te amo, be brave"

through the windshield.

Some kids at school

call her things she's only heard

on TV, where angry people

wave fingers in brown faces.

But some kids are quiet,

scared for their own papás

working in the fruit fields

or driving down the streets.

Her poor little heart

is torn

in two pieces.

One piece still sings,

"Despierta, mi bien, despierta,

mira que ya amaneci.

Ya los pajarillos cantan,

la luna ya se meti."*

The other cries herself to sleep

somewhere in Mexico.

*Awaken, my dear, awaken,

and see that the day has dawned.

Now the little birds are singing,

and the moon has set.

Another bad "Justice Is" Poem, because I am perpetually in fifth grade

2010-04-24T14:53:00.000-07:00

Justice is being with
Who you want
When you want
Without having to question
What you are doing
When it happens or when the next step
Will take place or
Why you are with that person.

Justice is...

2010-04-24T14:36:00.000-07:00

What is Justice?
Can it be quantified?
Justice is intangible and
Out of control.

Justice is catching a lunch thief in the act
And a pretty cool name of a kid I know
Justice is fairness
And we all know that life ain't fair.

We try to pursue justice
All our lives
But the pursuit is fruitless
Judgmental, even

For the 23-year-old single mother of two
Justice means alimony and child support
Maybe even a night off
And a chance at castration for the bastard that did this to her.

I will tell you one thing
My thin skin can't
fight for justice anymore
I need to find something else I'm passionate about.

Justice is
"It's my turn" followed by a
"You got it yesterday" and "She always gets to sit in the front" followed by a
"If you don't let me have it I don't love you anymore."

Justice is
Finding your daughter's rapist and murderer has been given
Two life sentences in maximum security
Instead of the death penalty

Justice is
Meeting your birth mother
For the first time
After 35 years

Justice is
Conceiving a baby
After being told
Your husband is sterile

Justice is adoption

Justice is
"It's not fair" and
"It has no boundaries"
We march for justice but what does that mean?

I find myself tonight
Surrounded by a sea of protesters
In the pursuit
Of fairness

Justice is
Purely the precise
Banging of a gavel at the right moment
Bringing the jury to a verdict

Because justice is subjective
Maybe we need to alter our viewpoints
Slightly
But I don't want to get in too deep over my head

Justice can be peace and olive branches
Justice lies in a warm meal
After a long, cold, hard day
Justice is a privilege, not a right.

Justice is earned, not given out
As a freebie
Justice can be
Overdone

Justice is
A warm blanket
And a place
To lay your head

Peter, Paul, and Mary
Sing about justice
In the form of a hammer, a bell, and
A song

But I still don't know precisely
What justice is.
Any thoughts?
Feel free to add on...

Yes, I Went There.

2010-04-24T14:32:00.000-07:00

Judge Judy knows justice
Judge Judy also knows
How to make me feel better
About my life situation

Who's with me there?
Oh come on.
You know you can't resist
Watching the slumlords

Swindle the morons
Out of their hard-earned dope cash
And live to tell about it
On national TV.

But there is more to justice, I fear,
Than morons
Making fools of themselves
In front of ten million viewers.

Catch

2010-04-24T10:15:00.000-07:00

No
God did not help you make that catch
Stop pointing to the sky
Acting as if
God gives a shit about football
Besides
I could have made that catch
Get a fucking life

It's Not Fair

2010-04-21T19:33:00.001-07:00

It's not fair
I have lived a charmed life
While the world crumbles

It's not fair
The country of Iceland is under clouds
While I haven't ever seen a volcano

It's not fair
That Judy Blume can be brilliant
And I can't pen this poem

New Month, New Theme

2010-04-09T13:08:00.000-07:00

And the theme of the month is: JUSTICE. Go forth and create.

Some last haikus of the season!

2010-04-04T10:55:00.000-07:00

Where have all the grateful gone?

Why me! she repeats
Employed, healthy and engaged
Please! do keep whining

The forgetting

You were a poem
I wrote into memory
Now, even that fades

And this one is from a favorite poet of mine Charles Simic

Watermelons

Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.

haiku blues

2010-03-31T14:12:00.000-07:00

baby you gotta
love me up a little bit
so i don't go cold

Total Consciousness: A Dilemma

2010-03-29T23:27:00.000-07:00

Caught between choices.

Who has all the answers now?

Buddha would have guessed.

I Used to Be a Team Player

2010-03-29T23:23:00.000-07:00

Wishy-washy whines:

"When is this thing due again?"

Skull versus brick wall.

I will wash the dishes while you go have a beer

2010-03-29T19:55:00.000-07:00

paula cole ponders
where have all the cowboys gone?
in line with ARM's theme.

an apology or an excuse

2010-03-29T19:49:00.000-07:00

my friends, please forgive!
the end of march has come fast
sans inspiration.

THIS Revolution is Still Alive

2010-03-29T15:45:00.000-07:00

Brown hands holding white,

Niños holding stars and stripes,

We will march for love.

The Dentist

2010-03-29T08:20:00.001-07:00

Spring cleaning takes a
Mouthful of a new meaning
Polished, plaque-free teeth.

Where Have All The Complainers Gone?

2010-03-28T17:36:00.000-07:00

Life’s complicated
Good thing no one ever whines
Oops, except right here

A night of spoken word poetry

2010-03-27T21:03:00.000-07:00

He spouts poetry
liquid rhymes that slip through teeth
so fast you can't blink

Where Have All The Authentic People Gone?

2010-03-26T16:22:00.000-07:00

Holden had it right
Fakes, smiles wrapped tight, keep warm
Minnesota cold

Where Have All The Laborers Gone?

2010-03-24T19:37:00.000-07:00

Parents foot the bill
Complain, scream, whine, throw a fit
Your life is not fair

Just sayin': Haiku

2010-03-20T08:46:00.000-07:00

Old coffee tastes bad
Like water through an old sock
Can I make fresh pot?

Reality: A Haiku

2010-03-20T08:43:00.000-07:00

Be yourself always
Never give up dreaming big
But you have to pay bills

Not a Haiku, but still a poem

2010-03-19T11:12:00.000-07:00

And themes were only meant to be guidelines, right? So here goes.

A GUIDE TO LIFE ACCORDING TO ME
(An Alphabet Poem)

A raise of a glass, a turn of a head
Be the best you can be as you roll out of bed
Create the world you want for yourself and others
Don't be afraid to hide under the covers
Exaggerate the truth, but only sometimes
Forget the past; to yesterday there are no rhymes
Google your boss but only when desperate
Hurry home for comfort and you will find it quite pleasant
I believe there is no cure for homesickness
Just put in a tape and you'll be all set-ness.
Kindness
Love, peace, and forgiveness to friends
Money is nice but is not a means to an end
Never say no to an opportunity for fun
Open your home to any girl on the run
Pay no attention to gossip or greed
Quick! Run to hide that prisoner you freed
Rest when you need to
Stand still now and then
Take time for yourself
Use all products on the top shelf
Veal is never an answer
When wondering what to cook for dinner
Xenophobia is never smart
Your head is never wiser than your heart
Zeal for life is worth more than a fart.

Interviewing hell: A Haiku in Loose Form

2010-03-18T21:54:00.001-07:00

Interview brings hope
To those souls who need it most
Please like me, please do

Spring is in the Haiku

2010-03-18T21:52:00.001-07:00

It's sixty degrees
I'm wearing flip flops today
And it feels so fab

Insomnia: A Haiku

2010-03-18T21:49:00.000-07:00

I should be sleeping
Instead I am still dreaming
Not pleasant ones, dull

Where Have All The Lovers Gone?

2010-03-17T14:25:00.000-07:00

Love is Santa Clause
But no presents here, just coal
Adults cease belief

Where Have All The Hippies Gone?

2010-03-15T18:11:00.000-07:00

Remember Kent State?
Had burning passion for change
Paper or Plastic?

Where Have All The Revolutionaries Gone?

2010-03-14T21:05:00.000-07:00

Silent rifles now
Just aim to fuck each other’s
Partners, Che is proud

An ode to daylight savings time in haiku form

2010-03-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

Lose an hour fast
Gain it back without the past
Don't look back, glance up.

A Scene from Downtown Phoenix on First Friday (in Seventeen Syllables)

2010-03-07T11:25:00.000-08:00

Fire eating, art

Vodka, hot dogs, ultrasounds

Cowbell acid trip

nuns, friars, veggies

2010-02-28T17:41:00.000-08:00

Friar Stephen climbed the hill to the nunnery
With a basket of veggies in hand
For he'd lately heard his dear sisters
Complaining of meals that were bland

Sister Catherine, when seeing his bounty
Brought her hands to her cheeks and she said
"Dear brother, I truly must ask you
How you grow tomatoes so rich and so red!"

Said he, "Dear sister, I go out each morning
So early that the birds even hush
And I lift my robes in front of my garden
And these tomatoes are so proper, they blush!"

Some weeks later, Sister Catherine herself
Travelled down to the valley below
To bring a thank you gift to her brothers
For helping their vegetables to grow

Friar Stephen greeted her, asking,
"Dear sister, are your tomatoes much redder?"
Said she, "Dear brother, they haven't changed much
But our cucumbers have never looked better!"

What's for Dinner Farmer Jim?

2010-02-27T12:30:00.000-08:00

Homegrown vegetables are healthy and good,

I would eat them every day out of your garden if I could.

Steamed, sautéed, or thrown in a stew,

Raw is my preference when eating with you.

If I get hungry I know where to turn,

Saliva trickles and tastebuds yearn.

For your succulent harvest,

For the most ripe of your goods.

You labor so diligently and I accept your request

To expend all of my efforts in devouring your best.

Before we enjoy the delicious main course,

Calories must be spent with just the right amount of force.

Turn on some music, grab some wine and relax,

With me in the kitchen you’ll never go back.

I will…

Peel your carrot

Marinate your summer squash

Shuck your corn

Choke your artichoke

Stalk your celery

Deep-fry your eggplant

Toss your salad

Braise your zucchini

Roast your peppers

Salt your cucumber

This five course meal just wouldn’t be complete,

Without a climax of something unique, perfect, and sweet.

Dessert will be had in style and warmth,

When peaches and bananas simmer together at last,

A luscious combination that’s sure to go fast.

A plump, juicy cherry is a luxurious treat,

I’ll give you mine now, if you promise to meet

Me tomorrow for another round

Of vegetable worship, I’ll give you the crown!

So come when you’re ready,

And say it loud if you must.

We’ll feast on the Earth’s bounty

It’s in her that we trust.

This One Is For Nancy

2010-02-26T14:08:00.000-08:00

Nancy
Your ascendancy to sudden stardom
Has had me standing at attention
Admiring your robust countenance
So eloquently articulating
The importance of ensuring civil liberties
It is as if
Your delicious lips wrap around me
A member
Of a different world

When you speak of global warming
I must undress
Otherwise I might explode from the heat
That is building up inside of me

And who needs to explore Alaska for oil
When you can traverse my body
In search of salty solutions
To all of our problems

Recently, almost knocked unconscious
Amazed at your effort to bring health care reform
Check my pulse
One vein in particular

Concerning Iraq
You were right all along
You never needed a surge
I can already give you more than you can handle

You knew we did not need
A fence on the border
Though you will require barb wire
To keep me from pillaging your lands

And despite the fact that you are opposed to it
You can waterboard me all day
I am already drowning
In my lust for you

If in your eyes I am to not suitable
Let me give you my oral defense
Let me stir you in ways
You have not been moved in years
I will make you squirm in your seat
As I slide my rhetoric further into you

And if that is not enough
To sway your hips to my music
I will disrobe this clothed modesty
And stick my socialist sickle
Where your secret X Marx the spot

In the end we shall see
If you can maintain your composure
Be able to communicate in complete words
Required for your position as
Speaker of the House

skin

2010-02-24T21:49:00.000-08:00

Your breath

tickled

the bare

sensitive

skin

right there--no...

there...

underneath

skin

no one sees

except at awkward angles

skin

unkissed

by the sun

Your fingers

teased

tweaked

and the warmth

flooded

convulsed

broke free

i'm the only girl i know

who has

ticklish

(elbows)

i love the smell of rubber in the morning

2010-02-18T11:49:00.000-08:00

i love the smell of rubber in the morning and
the exhausted groan of a satisfied machine

pushing with pistons its apparatus
into a mold, romancing the container

the vessel

the craft that carries the thing
into existence.

air hisses from hoses, begging its release,
its purge of the dirty

dirty canisters that smear flesh-- it is air
blasted clean by the power

of its own thrust.

they sound the alarm when the stench
and the sweat of their twisted bodies

hovers above them. they come
out of the dark, through the shaftway

back into the part of the world
where the sun shines,

to smoke cigarettes.

Damn that hindsight--it's always 20/20

2010-02-17T19:58:00.000-08:00

In retrospect
It wasn't such a great idea
To make snakes out of balloons

It was harmless
I promise

Provided hours of entertainment
For unknowing children ages 6-8

Little did they know
What the final product
Would look like

(No, it didn't get better after painting.)

And the laughter in the staff room
Hours, days, months
Later

They say I'm no good at sexual innuendo
But I've cracked
A "That's what she said"
A few nice times
Before "That's what she said"
Was hip
Before Micheal Scott

No, not one of my finer moments
As an art educator
And creative leader
Of small children

It was messy
Oh damn!
I've done it again
Spot the sexual innuendo there

So yes, there is a lesson in here somewhere
I've never attempted snakes
Again
In my project forays

Stuck to safe subjects
Like faces
With balloons
Anyone?

I am a horrible person.

An add on--I'm on fire tonight!

Don't stop now!
You're on fire
Tonight
Little did we know
The balloons, er, subjects...er
Whatever...

Were WAY too big
Too rough
Not the right size
Not the right shape
ALL WRONG

It won't fit
If only we would have gotten the
Expensive balloons
The longer ones

What went wrong?
Glue makes the stuff
Less slippery
And more slippery

Is that what you want?
I don't know what I want
I'm just the INTERN!

I bet you are learning a lot
At the CHILDREN'S MUSEUM.
OH YES.
OH YES.
YES.

Can I come back next year?

New Month, New Theme

2010-02-10T19:01:00.000-08:00

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. The new month brings the new theme of...you guessed it, SEXUAL INNUENDO. I wouldn't have chosen it myself, but I guess that's beside the point. Something about this month being the month of love or something. Love? Sex? What's that? Unfamiliar and rather, if I might add, uncomfortable territory for this contributor to TPFTP, but I shall keep an open mind. I've always called February "because my life would suck without you" month and I have always recognized those that have given me what I have today. I don't think think of sex when I think of love and appreciation in that view, but I suppose it is time to branch out. For me, and for readers and writers of poetry alike. Get wraunchy! Get down, and get dirty! Ready, set, write horrible, sexual-innuendo laden poetry. And do it now.

metaphors be with you

2010-02-01T20:29:00.001-08:00

be always wary of metaphors

they can destroy your life

say he is wine and all others water

enough time in his presence

why, you're drunk.

be always wary of metaphors

they're viruses that carry your undoing

chose orange juice instead of both water and wine

(unless you met him at brunch.

then you're screwed)

(TRIUMPHANT RETURN!)

It's January 31, 2010

2010-01-31T09:29:00.001-08:00

Have I accomplished any of my said resolutions yet?
Not a damn one

Am I proud of myself?
Absolutely.

That's what February is for
January is just
Too damn cold
To do anything
Remotely
Productive
In the state of
Minnesota

Here's to a productive and happy February, all.
And when Maki gets back from Vegas
He not only will have stories to tell
But hopefully new poem topics as well.

January 27, 2010

2010-01-27T23:25:00.000-08:00

I am not willing

to wander through

three hundred

thirty

eight

more days

with my eyes closed.

Resolutions are overrated.

Living life

(while awake)

is not.

POEMS WRITTEN BY THE RUNNING WATER

2010-01-23T00:30:00.000-08:00

LORENA DUARTE

** NOTE: This poem is NOT terrible. It is one of my favorites. Lorena is amazing! And she's from Minneapolis! :-) **

the quicksand has taken me of late

and to this I add that

certainty certainly left me.

where have I been?

I have been waiting for the world

to turn on its axis

have been expecting the four horsemen of the apocalypse

with what I hear on the wind

full of fools and flippants,

have been staring at the running water, daring myself

to run.

to do this week:

1. develop serious drinking/drug/depressive/social/love

problem, in manner of all great poets,

see: Thomas, Dylan

see: Mistral Gabriela

see: Dickinson, Emily

see: cummings, e.e.

see: Ahkmatova, Anna

see: Dalton, Roque

2. wear inappropriately heavy eyeliner

at 7 a.m. in manner of all brooding half drunk 27 year old poet girls

the world over.

3. sport bright pink fairy tutu costume complete with sequins

at 7 a.m. in manner of all sweet 7 year old girls

the world over.

perhaps then the knives will rip themselves out of my stomach,

perhaps then my heart will stop its running, like the water,

will stop its running like the water,

will really deserve the "nicest smile of the day award"

the guy at the coffee shop gave me this morning,

perhaps then I could map the quicksand

all our – and by our – I mean we –

all our quicksand, our holes

where we find ourselves stranded,

we could kiss each and all our

boo boos away,

we could write late into the night

all the crazy poets

write infinity into our poems

no pretending

no parasites

no jewels

no cages

no.

only the sweat dripping of soft lovers

little bombs going off in our hearts

poem prayers under our pillows every morning.

where have I been?

where have we been?

where are we headed in this conciseness?

in these tricks

in these empty howls

in the barren?

no.

I propose instead:

1. living/loving dangerously

2. having the guts to be useless and

3. following visions of the always running towards the new

yeah, the running towards the new –

yeah like the water,

I propose poems written by the running water.

BLESSING THE BOATS

2010-01-23T00:27:00.000-08:00

LUCILLE CLIFTON

(at St. Mary's)

may the tide

that is entering even now

the lip of our understanding

carry you out

beyond the face of fear

may you kiss

the wind then turn from it

certain that it will

love your back may you

open your eyes to water

water waving forever

and may you in your innocence

sail through this to that

A brilliant poem from Elizabeth Bishop. Enjoy!

2010-01-21T17:17:00.000-08:00

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.