Concert, music, people, drinks,
smoke and fog, lights and noise
filler space and filler bands,
each one better,
til the show begins.
some of the best
are old as the hills -
don't be scared off
by grey hair,
wedding rings,
the scars of commitment.
sometimes the best comes with age,
not the exuberant boy
running around onstage,
singing his heart out.
27 August 2008
26 August 2008
August #22
This time of year comes,
and the season calls me back
to yellow school buses
and newspaper-wrapped textbooks,
to fond memories
of homecoming games
where the sun always shined
right on the crowd's face.
This time of year I am strongly and
constantly pulled
back to halls full of students,
a body that I knew and was a part of,
a community where I knew everyone by name,
and everyone knew me.
I remember favorite teachers,
hated teachers,
and would give my memories away
to have the reality.
But this nostalgia is just that -
memories,
whispered reminders,
and I must move forward,
enjoy each new fall
for what it is,
not what it has been.
and the season calls me back
to yellow school buses
and newspaper-wrapped textbooks,
to fond memories
of homecoming games
where the sun always shined
right on the crowd's face.
This time of year I am strongly and
constantly pulled
back to halls full of students,
a body that I knew and was a part of,
a community where I knew everyone by name,
and everyone knew me.
I remember favorite teachers,
hated teachers,
and would give my memories away
to have the reality.
But this nostalgia is just that -
memories,
whispered reminders,
and I must move forward,
enjoy each new fall
for what it is,
not what it has been.
25 August 2008
August #21
can you feel the onward rush,
the moving thrush,
the steady wind
and whispered sin
that comes with fall?
for don't we all
know too well the joy
that comes within,
when we see the bringing-in
of life and green and fresh?
when spring arrives we gladly mesh
with chicks and eggs,
wobbly horse on feeble legs,
with youth and golden days.
but we love life's dregs,
the age, the ways
that fall forces us to watch our pace
and we slow to lie in wait
for snow and the cold-hearted fates.
we rush to fall with blowing wind,
like the wind blows dry leaves in.
instead of brushing out the old
we revel in the signs of cold,
we do not clean but we count
the days until the snow can mount,
pile upon pile, to lock us in,
leaving us in our guilty sin -
the sin that makes us love our fall
much more than spring, and flower's call.
the moving thrush,
the steady wind
and whispered sin
that comes with fall?
for don't we all
know too well the joy
that comes within,
when we see the bringing-in
of life and green and fresh?
when spring arrives we gladly mesh
with chicks and eggs,
wobbly horse on feeble legs,
with youth and golden days.
but we love life's dregs,
the age, the ways
that fall forces us to watch our pace
and we slow to lie in wait
for snow and the cold-hearted fates.
we rush to fall with blowing wind,
like the wind blows dry leaves in.
instead of brushing out the old
we revel in the signs of cold,
we do not clean but we count
the days until the snow can mount,
pile upon pile, to lock us in,
leaving us in our guilty sin -
the sin that makes us love our fall
much more than spring, and flower's call.
August #20
What is there left
when you've written about everything?
Perhaps, to wallow
in the morbidity of death -
it would certainly ensure
immortality
in the literary halls of fame.
But how overdone,
how better done,
by so many others,
by Emilys and Sylvias and Poes,
Dickenses and Garpses and eternal others,
others we study for long hours,
hunched over dusty books
in endless halls
of peeling, tall-windowed wisdom.
What is there left to write about,
but symbols and jargon -
no wonder those other writers long before
could write so deep,
for after they covered the briefness
of humanity
and the bloom of all life,
they could only resort to theme,
empty, longing, meaningless,
symbolic theme.
What else is there to write about,
when love and hate,
despair and hope,
have been exhausted, extinguished?
Longlasting theme, indeed.
when you've written about everything?
Perhaps, to wallow
in the morbidity of death -
it would certainly ensure
immortality
in the literary halls of fame.
But how overdone,
how better done,
by so many others,
by Emilys and Sylvias and Poes,
Dickenses and Garpses and eternal others,
others we study for long hours,
hunched over dusty books
in endless halls
of peeling, tall-windowed wisdom.
What is there left to write about,
but symbols and jargon -
no wonder those other writers long before
could write so deep,
for after they covered the briefness
of humanity
and the bloom of all life,
they could only resort to theme,
empty, longing, meaningless,
symbolic theme.
What else is there to write about,
when love and hate,
despair and hope,
have been exhausted, extinguished?
Longlasting theme, indeed.
23 August 2008
August #19
do you ever wonder?
what comes before,
what comes after,
how can these moments cease to be?
instead
they are continous,
never-ending,
always existing
in memories,
never stopping.
time never stops,
moments always are.
do you get this,
she asks, stubbing out her cigarette,
or is this too
transcendent for you?
and she gets up, leans over,
you will understand in time,
and walks away into the sunset.
what comes before,
what comes after,
how can these moments cease to be?
instead
they are continous,
never-ending,
always existing
in memories,
never stopping.
time never stops,
moments always are.
do you get this,
she asks, stubbing out her cigarette,
or is this too
transcendent for you?
and she gets up, leans over,
you will understand in time,
and walks away into the sunset.
August #18
Heaven looks into the room
spattering through lace white curtains
and illuminating the floor,
as a breeze floats in
through the open windows
and stirs cool air about.
It is a lovely room,
a spacious room,
packed with the girlish
necessities of life-
daydreams and secret crushes,
diaries and best friends.
It is, indeed, a lovely room.
spattering through lace white curtains
and illuminating the floor,
as a breeze floats in
through the open windows
and stirs cool air about.
It is a lovely room,
a spacious room,
packed with the girlish
necessities of life-
daydreams and secret crushes,
diaries and best friends.
It is, indeed, a lovely room.
August #17
On the way into surgery
I wouldn't speak to the doctor.
It was my first time, you see,
I didn't have any questions,
and I was scared.
When I woke up
the first thing I said
(to my mother)
was
"I'm sorry I was rude
I need to apologize."
(This was through the tears
left over
from before they knocked me out.)
And she must've smiled,
or something.
It was hard to focus.
But when he came in
the first thing I did
was apologize.
I was scared.
I hadn't meant to be rude,
I just didn't want to talk
when he was asking me all those questions.
He laughed,
and I had no pain.
It was good.
I wouldn't speak to the doctor.
It was my first time, you see,
I didn't have any questions,
and I was scared.
When I woke up
the first thing I said
(to my mother)
was
"I'm sorry I was rude
I need to apologize."
(This was through the tears
left over
from before they knocked me out.)
And she must've smiled,
or something.
It was hard to focus.
But when he came in
the first thing I did
was apologize.
I was scared.
I hadn't meant to be rude,
I just didn't want to talk
when he was asking me all those questions.
He laughed,
and I had no pain.
It was good.
20 August 2008
August #16
at this point
it's about racing the clock
typing fast
getting it done
reaming things out
racing
til the deadline approaches.
at this point
quality dissolves
into what one can do,
and do well,
and what one does not do
because one can't.
concerns
and perfectionism die,
the night of a deadline.
speed is the devil horse left.
it's about racing the clock
typing fast
getting it done
reaming things out
racing
til the deadline approaches.
at this point
quality dissolves
into what one can do,
and do well,
and what one does not do
because one can't.
concerns
and perfectionism die,
the night of a deadline.
speed is the devil horse left.
August #15
she muses
on actresses
and their crooked smiles,
on truffles
looking lovely in glass jars.
she ponders sit ups and pushups,
pull ups and let downs,
and cracks her neck,
stretches her arms out,
thinks about
the glamorous death of smoking.
It's time for bed,
not that she wants it,
but she can feel the tired coming on.
It's time for sleep,
time to die
another day.
on actresses
and their crooked smiles,
on truffles
looking lovely in glass jars.
she ponders sit ups and pushups,
pull ups and let downs,
and cracks her neck,
stretches her arms out,
thinks about
the glamorous death of smoking.
It's time for bed,
not that she wants it,
but she can feel the tired coming on.
It's time for sleep,
time to die
another day.
18 August 2008
August #14
today
was a very good day
wherein i made plans
and broke them
so i could be with myself.
i made cookies
and ate them
so i could be myself.
i bought cardboard cartons
and ate chinese
so i could enjoy myself.
i went to his house
and cuddled
so i could love myself.
today
was a very, very good day.
was a very good day
wherein i made plans
and broke them
so i could be with myself.
i made cookies
and ate them
so i could be myself.
i bought cardboard cartons
and ate chinese
so i could enjoy myself.
i went to his house
and cuddled
so i could love myself.
today
was a very, very good day.
17 August 2008
August #13
In which the author is very, very clever.
I am clever,
she said to herself,
as she cleaned her room.
I am very clever,
she said to herself,
as she put her yarn away
somewhere she would find it later.
I am so clever,
she said to herself,
as she cast on with the same yarn
a portion of the hidden ball.
I am extremely clever,
she thought to herself,
as she ran out of yarn,
because she knew she had plenty.
I am so clever,
she sighed after tearing her room apart
(twice)
I am so clever
that I have forgotten
where I have cleverly hidden
this yarn.
I am clever,
she said to herself,
as she cleaned her room.
I am very clever,
she said to herself,
as she put her yarn away
somewhere she would find it later.
I am so clever,
she said to herself,
as she cast on with the same yarn
a portion of the hidden ball.
I am extremely clever,
she thought to herself,
as she ran out of yarn,
because she knew she had plenty.
I am so clever,
she sighed after tearing her room apart
(twice)
I am so clever
that I have forgotten
where I have cleverly hidden
this yarn.
August #12
Let's go for coffee
and sit and talk
sipping our beverages
as they cool, too fast,
and be contemplative.
Let's hold our cups in both hands
and gaze out into the distance
over the rim,
like they do
in movies,
when the heroine
(who is probably Scarlett or Uma or
some other perfect blonde)
contemplates
some not-really-life-altering thing.
Let's do it
and catch up on life together
by sitting in coffee shops
pretending to be people we're not.
and sit and talk
sipping our beverages
as they cool, too fast,
and be contemplative.
Let's hold our cups in both hands
and gaze out into the distance
over the rim,
like they do
in movies,
when the heroine
(who is probably Scarlett or Uma or
some other perfect blonde)
contemplates
some not-really-life-altering thing.
Let's do it
and catch up on life together
by sitting in coffee shops
pretending to be people we're not.
August #11
sometimes I sit
and wonder about the world.
sometimes I sit
and wonder about reality,
Euclidean planes,
moebius strips,
government conspiracies,
and the twelfth dimension.
Who knows?
That speck on the wall
could be another universe,
and when you dust it into oblivion,
that could be their supernova.
We could be a fly
sitting on a positively massive
fractal tree
in some unknown,
unthinkable
universe.
We could be nothing,
or we could be alpha, omega.
No one knows any more than you.
and wonder about the world.
sometimes I sit
and wonder about reality,
Euclidean planes,
moebius strips,
government conspiracies,
and the twelfth dimension.
Who knows?
That speck on the wall
could be another universe,
and when you dust it into oblivion,
that could be their supernova.
We could be a fly
sitting on a positively massive
fractal tree
in some unknown,
unthinkable
universe.
We could be nothing,
or we could be alpha, omega.
No one knows any more than you.
16 August 2008
August #10
Sometimes I spend far too much time
with mirrors or computers or people
and I have to get away.
Sometimes I forget what I look like
or need to write or play
or just need to talk,
to pour out my soul,
to some other
very human being.
Then, I return.
with mirrors or computers or people
and I have to get away.
Sometimes I forget what I look like
or need to write or play
or just need to talk,
to pour out my soul,
to some other
very human being.
Then, I return.
August #9
I was walking today,
or showering,
I forget.
Anyway
as I was doing
this mundane thing
(whichever thing it was)
I was writing,
in my head,
snatches of poetry.
Really good poetry.
But now I forget it all.
or showering,
I forget.
Anyway
as I was doing
this mundane thing
(whichever thing it was)
I was writing,
in my head,
snatches of poetry.
Really good poetry.
But now I forget it all.
15 August 2008
August #8
Whereupon the Author Realizes, to her Dismay, That She Believes In Romance
I believe in romance
not in the common sense,
the typical
white knight gray steed sense
But in the way
that I believe
in poets that only wear white
and authors who walk
for miles and miles every day
contemplating the ends of the universe.
I believe
in hope, in people, in light, and love
in waiting, once you've found that person'
months if you have to,
until they come back
from wherever they were.
I believe in being a lady
but I think
I may be a feminist.
I believe in family
and children
and maybe
one last name.
I believe
and I realize
that I believe in a very rosy,
romantic kind of life.
Who knew?
not I.
I believe in romance
not in the common sense,
the typical
white knight gray steed sense
But in the way
that I believe
in poets that only wear white
and authors who walk
for miles and miles every day
contemplating the ends of the universe.
I believe
in hope, in people, in light, and love
in waiting, once you've found that person'
months if you have to,
until they come back
from wherever they were.
I believe in being a lady
but I think
I may be a feminist.
I believe in family
and children
and maybe
one last name.
I believe
and I realize
that I believe in a very rosy,
romantic kind of life.
Who knew?
not I.
10 August 2008
Short Story
She was a bad driver, always had been. Sometimes she would sing along with the radio when her favorite song came on (and they were all her favorite songs) and then the music would get to her and she would dance, grooving in her seat, until suddenly the light had changed and the people behind her were honking, leaning on their horns until she could hear them, just barely, over the music that she had turned up in what seemed an attempt to deafen herself. She loved music. She was music.
One day, though, one day she was alone at the light, and she stopped and grooved and forgot all about her midnight cruise to retrieve something from the grocery store before it closed. Suddenly, four songs later, it was quarter before one and she was embarrassed, sitting alone in her car, surrounded by the dark. She turned her music down, pulled away.
It was all about moderation, you see. She could dance if she needed to, she could express herself in that way, but she couldn't totally escape the confines of life and live in a club within her car. She had to do other things, to explore. It is necessary that we all wander the great outdoors, and learn about others as well as about ourselves. Deafening oneself by drowning in one's own music only makes it harder for everyone to understand each other. We must reach out, as well as reach within.
One day, though, one day she was alone at the light, and she stopped and grooved and forgot all about her midnight cruise to retrieve something from the grocery store before it closed. Suddenly, four songs later, it was quarter before one and she was embarrassed, sitting alone in her car, surrounded by the dark. She turned her music down, pulled away.
It was all about moderation, you see. She could dance if she needed to, she could express herself in that way, but she couldn't totally escape the confines of life and live in a club within her car. She had to do other things, to explore. It is necessary that we all wander the great outdoors, and learn about others as well as about ourselves. Deafening oneself by drowning in one's own music only makes it harder for everyone to understand each other. We must reach out, as well as reach within.
August #7
Tomorrow
I will be sitting in class
and when my teacher comes in
tell her
that feminism is disturbing my love life,
in little ways at least.
She will ask me why
and I will tell her
about the
last-name-battle
and then she may ask me
what I think.
I know what I will say.
"I think
I am far too young
to be thinking about marriage
either way."
I will be sitting in class
and when my teacher comes in
tell her
that feminism is disturbing my love life,
in little ways at least.
She will ask me why
and I will tell her
about the
last-name-battle
and then she may ask me
what I think.
I know what I will say.
"I think
I am far too young
to be thinking about marriage
either way."
09 August 2008
August #6
Jazz
I dislike jazz
Starbucks
and people who go
to such coffee places
to surf the internet
on their MacIntoshes.
I feel it's
pretentious.
I dislike
the low-fat no sugar soy grande mochachinno frappuchino decaf lattes
that hipsters sip
sitting at little tables
eating their coffee flavored cookies
and listening
to that insufferable jazz music
the kind
that is predictable
and done.
That image - that silly, yuppie image -
and yet
I go to my Starbucks,
order my non-coffee beverage
(can't stand the taste)
and open up my computer
which I have made to look
like a renegade Mac
and play
and sometimes
I even enjoy
the jazz.
I dislike jazz
Starbucks
and people who go
to such coffee places
to surf the internet
on their MacIntoshes.
I feel it's
pretentious.
I dislike
the low-fat no sugar soy grande mochachinno frappuchino decaf lattes
that hipsters sip
sitting at little tables
eating their coffee flavored cookies
and listening
to that insufferable jazz music
the kind
that is predictable
and done.
That image - that silly, yuppie image -
and yet
I go to my Starbucks,
order my non-coffee beverage
(can't stand the taste)
and open up my computer
which I have made to look
like a renegade Mac
and play
and sometimes
I even enjoy
the jazz.
August #5
For Alex Palumbo
He said
he wishes he could flip
some switch in me
like I'm a circuit or something.
Can't he get it?
He's liked me for years
and I've always said no
it's never been good
and then finally
I give him one try,
one date,
and when at the end I tell him
"no, thanks"
he starts talking about some switch.
It's not a switch.
It's not some magical lever
that if you raise it right
I'm all over you.
It's just
he's not the right guy for me.
And I'm still not the right girl
but he keeps hanging on anyway.
He said
he wishes he could flip
some switch in me
like I'm a circuit or something.
Can't he get it?
He's liked me for years
and I've always said no
it's never been good
and then finally
I give him one try,
one date,
and when at the end I tell him
"no, thanks"
he starts talking about some switch.
It's not a switch.
It's not some magical lever
that if you raise it right
I'm all over you.
It's just
he's not the right guy for me.
And I'm still not the right girl
but he keeps hanging on anyway.
August #4
Two Sides of One Conversation
on the phone
she says
"What are you talking about?...
Things are going to be fine, you,ll see.
We can work this out.
No! Honey,
don't do that. Don't do that
to me. Everything's going to be okay.
I love you, I love you so much.
Do you know how much you're hurting me?
Stop this, stop it right now.
You can't do that. Baby,
I know things are tough right now,
but we can fix these problems.
See a psychiatrist?
Of course I listen to you!
Don't, okay? Just please don't, I'm coming as soon as possible,
and then we can talk about this.
Just stop thinking about this
until I get there...
Baby? Baby? Are you there?
Did you hang up on me?"
She dissolves into tears.
On the other end
he was saying,
"I hate my life.
Nothing's working out.
I hate everything. I just
want to die. I think
I think I'm going to kill myself
It would be better this way.
Look, it's better for everyone this way.
I'll stop messing up your life
you'll move on
we'll all be happy.
A counselor?
Are you kidding?
No one listens to me, not even you!
I hate myself, I hate you, I hate everyone!"
And then he hung up
and stared at his gun.
on the phone
she says
"What are you talking about?...
Things are going to be fine, you,ll see.
We can work this out.
No! Honey,
don't do that. Don't do that
to me. Everything's going to be okay.
I love you, I love you so much.
Do you know how much you're hurting me?
Stop this, stop it right now.
You can't do that. Baby,
I know things are tough right now,
but we can fix these problems.
See a psychiatrist?
Of course I listen to you!
Don't, okay? Just please don't, I'm coming as soon as possible,
and then we can talk about this.
Just stop thinking about this
until I get there...
Baby? Baby? Are you there?
Did you hang up on me?"
She dissolves into tears.
On the other end
he was saying,
"I hate my life.
Nothing's working out.
I hate everything. I just
want to die. I think
I think I'm going to kill myself
It would be better this way.
Look, it's better for everyone this way.
I'll stop messing up your life
you'll move on
we'll all be happy.
A counselor?
Are you kidding?
No one listens to me, not even you!
I hate myself, I hate you, I hate everyone!"
And then he hung up
and stared at his gun.
August #3
I woke up
and started crying.
I could not stand
the awful dream
that tried to tell me
my father died.
The thought was awful,
the dream too graphic,
and I had to creep
out of bed like a four year old
and step down the hall gently
to watch my father sleep and snore.
I have grown too old and too big
to jump into bed with him
and whisper my worries
into his old ear, big and unattractive.
But I am not old enough
that I can do without him,
my daddy, my bestest.
I hold on
and hope
that dreams are just flights
of frightened imagination.
and started crying.
I could not stand
the awful dream
that tried to tell me
my father died.
The thought was awful,
the dream too graphic,
and I had to creep
out of bed like a four year old
and step down the hall gently
to watch my father sleep and snore.
I have grown too old and too big
to jump into bed with him
and whisper my worries
into his old ear, big and unattractive.
But I am not old enough
that I can do without him,
my daddy, my bestest.
I hold on
and hope
that dreams are just flights
of frightened imagination.
04 August 2008
August #2
I remember Virginia
standing in a big meadow
at ten past day
watching the lightning in the distance
so far that it framed the horizon
dancing in orange shots
down in the valley-city below.
I watched the stars
come out and dance
a planet rise, a planet fall,
a plane go by full
of people looking down
at the beauty they could barely see.
The cicadas echoed the hum of my heart
as I stood there in the big meadows
hiding from the world.
The cicadas were my heart
when I thought of you.
standing in a big meadow
at ten past day
watching the lightning in the distance
so far that it framed the horizon
dancing in orange shots
down in the valley-city below.
I watched the stars
come out and dance
a planet rise, a planet fall,
a plane go by full
of people looking down
at the beauty they could barely see.
The cicadas echoed the hum of my heart
as I stood there in the big meadows
hiding from the world.
The cicadas were my heart
when I thought of you.
August #1
I should have kissed her
I should not have kissed her
I should have kissed him
I should not have kissed him
Regret in all its silly forms.
What's done is made
cannot unform.
Our lives are stone, into which we carve
not malleable forgetting substances.
I should have read her email
I should not have read her email
I should have read his email
I should not have read his email
What we do
and how we curse ourselves
is of our own calling,
our own making.
We bring storms down upon us,
call them out of skies
that may or may not beckon rain.
I should have fought for her
I should not have fought for her
I should have fought for him
I should not have fought for him
We make our choices and we choose
to battle on or to admit defeat.
We don't need agreement in these affairs
because we are autonomous and will do
as we will.
But for now
yet again
I will fight.
So many times I have fought
hopefully
for a good cause.
I should not have kissed her
I should have kissed him
I should not have kissed him
Regret in all its silly forms.
What's done is made
cannot unform.
Our lives are stone, into which we carve
not malleable forgetting substances.
I should have read her email
I should not have read her email
I should have read his email
I should not have read his email
What we do
and how we curse ourselves
is of our own calling,
our own making.
We bring storms down upon us,
call them out of skies
that may or may not beckon rain.
I should have fought for her
I should not have fought for her
I should have fought for him
I should not have fought for him
We make our choices and we choose
to battle on or to admit defeat.
We don't need agreement in these affairs
because we are autonomous and will do
as we will.
But for now
yet again
I will fight.
So many times I have fought
hopefully
for a good cause.
01 August 2008
July #22
why don't i pick on you about something
you're sensitive?
like i don't know
your body
or your looks
or something.
don't pick on me
about my weight
the one thing
that i hate myself for.
my weight
is a constant issue
the worst of all my evils
and you think it's funny
to pick on it,
something you've never said
before tonight.
yes.
let's make fun of me.
the girl that constantly worries
about how her body looks.
my achilles heel
that's the size of the moon
my weak spot.
pick on my weight enough
and you'll make me beleive
i am a fat, lard-induced monster.
i don't understand
why YOU don't understand.
my weight is an issue.
why did you decide tonight
that you could focus on it?
since when did you decide that?
and the thing is
you know how i get
how when i weigh more
i obsess
freak out
can never look good enough
you've seen me gaze at the mirror
turn away in hate
or tears
or come out of a bathroom
feeling ugly
since when did my weight become a target?
since i started losing it?
just because i'm less fat
doesn't mean
i'm more secure.
think before you speak
you're sensitive?
like i don't know
your body
or your looks
or something.
don't pick on me
about my weight
the one thing
that i hate myself for.
my weight
is a constant issue
the worst of all my evils
and you think it's funny
to pick on it,
something you've never said
before tonight.
yes.
let's make fun of me.
the girl that constantly worries
about how her body looks.
my achilles heel
that's the size of the moon
my weak spot.
pick on my weight enough
and you'll make me beleive
i am a fat, lard-induced monster.
i don't understand
why YOU don't understand.
my weight is an issue.
why did you decide tonight
that you could focus on it?
since when did you decide that?
and the thing is
you know how i get
how when i weigh more
i obsess
freak out
can never look good enough
you've seen me gaze at the mirror
turn away in hate
or tears
or come out of a bathroom
feeling ugly
since when did my weight become a target?
since i started losing it?
just because i'm less fat
doesn't mean
i'm more secure.
think before you speak
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