Didn't mean to write a poem, but had this amazing image come to me in the car driving home as I pretended to be a hip hop artist. I wrote the image down, then continued to write and I suppose I'll just call it a poem, or whatever.
A Violent Embrace
I want to cut off your lips and place
Them in a bottle with mine.
I'm going to shake that bottle,
Shake, shake it,
A million times,
A million kisses,
Covering all area of the skin.
No two kisses the same.
We'll keep kissing until
The lips go dry,
Then I'll add water,
And we'll kiss some more.
We'll keep kissing, til the bottle hits the floor.
It's not the best rhyme, and I could probably work on it some more to make it more powerful, but as it is, I think the idea is pretty cool.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Haruki Murakami
"Well, there was no point in attacking a big bakery. All we wanted was bread, not money. We were attackers, not robbers." The Second Bakery Attack
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
i'm on a roll
Vain Human Labor
Mining in a pine forest,
For rooster eggs and old ship heads,
Listening for what and who,
Your pickaxe breaks in two.
No more light,
it left with the horses,
A sleigh, that way;
there’s enough pine
But no time.
Forgetting a reason, lost in your heart,
All ships have sailed and words,
Written only on post-it notes
Get lost amongst directions.
Was it north or blu-fin?
5.8 miles then turn left,
Arriving at the soil’s epidermis.
You’re really lost now, but does
It matter?
Did that pick un-soil enlightenment?
Maybe that forest over there
Will offer you more,
A talking rabbit,
A blue stained rainbow,
A treasure box with answers.
But if this be the only green world,
Perhaps you should
Fix that axe,
Set it aside,
And call it a day.
Mining in a pine forest,
For rooster eggs and old ship heads,
Listening for what and who,
Your pickaxe breaks in two.
No more light,
it left with the horses,
A sleigh, that way;
there’s enough pine
But no time.
Forgetting a reason, lost in your heart,
All ships have sailed and words,
Written only on post-it notes
Get lost amongst directions.
Was it north or blu-fin?
5.8 miles then turn left,
Arriving at the soil’s epidermis.
You’re really lost now, but does
It matter?
Did that pick un-soil enlightenment?
Maybe that forest over there
Will offer you more,
A talking rabbit,
A blue stained rainbow,
A treasure box with answers.
But if this be the only green world,
Perhaps you should
Fix that axe,
Set it aside,
And call it a day.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
sonnet
i wrote this sonnet today. don't know what to title it. any suggestions?
A maple leaf fell from its tree today,
Twas reddish-orange, a plain frequent sight.
Me walking away, till ears heard it say.
This tree’s been my life, since born one Spring night.
And then three more fell upon the wind’s sigh,
Friends of the one, a curious thinking.
I never knew them, the lost one blew nigh,
Yet a fate still the same, we four linking.
The leaves now lay there, hard sidewalk their home,
Some most pleasant shapes, ‘gainst a morose stone.
Not-friends now huddled, still scared to be known,
Not long until rootless body turns bone.
A curious bunch, these four strangers look,
A terrible death, this strong friendship took.
A maple leaf fell from its tree today,
Twas reddish-orange, a plain frequent sight.
Me walking away, till ears heard it say.
This tree’s been my life, since born one Spring night.
And then three more fell upon the wind’s sigh,
Friends of the one, a curious thinking.
I never knew them, the lost one blew nigh,
Yet a fate still the same, we four linking.
The leaves now lay there, hard sidewalk their home,
Some most pleasant shapes, ‘gainst a morose stone.
Not-friends now huddled, still scared to be known,
Not long until rootless body turns bone.
A curious bunch, these four strangers look,
A terrible death, this strong friendship took.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Experiment with Words and Your Brain
(from teachgoodwriting.blogspot.com) I just had to share it cuz it's awesome!
A Poetry Experiment
Ed Pacht wrote, "You know, the very existence of a word is a powerful attack upon randomness. Every word or phrase, even a bit of nonsense like 'slithy tove', is a purposeful ordering of reality to an end. I'd say further that it is impossible for a single human mind to make a truly random selection among words. One's brain is, it would seem, wired so as to make connections, even when they are not apparent. Actually, the list I worked from, if I'd found it without attribution, would have made me think of a personality much like what I've come to know of yours. I would not/could not have made that selection myself. Writing the poem actually felt like taking a journey with Alice into her own wonderland."
This caused me to wonder what would happen were Ed to provide me with a random list. Would I create a poem that reflects his inner world? So I proposed an experiment and he wrote back with his list and said: "You're on -- as random as I could make it. A couple of them popped into my head. I randomly did page roulette on a thesaurus, a dictionary, my BCP, my Bible, and a couple of books I've been reading. Even so, the choice can't be entirely random as what was chosen is whatever caught my attention during the process -- and my attention is uniquely mine."
Here is Ed's list: tinder-box --magic-lantern slides--peace offerings--semi-transparency--tabernacle--headstone--visible sign--careful observations--gaunt little man--leaping lizard--hearing impaired--attention deficit--waterfall--bright image--spring pollen--bouquet--diamond sheen
And here is the poem I wrote. I wasn't able to use the phrase: magic-lantern slides.
Athos Tabernacle
Alice C. Linsley
Gaunt little man in monkish garb
beside his hermit house sits
in contemplation of the headstone moon
streaming light on his bearded face.
From gnarled fingers flow whispered prayers,
a waterfall of beads on a black cord with a diamond sheen.
At prayer, attention deficit, though not hearing impaired,
He strikes a bright image of semi-transparency.
Careful observations of high soaring hawks and leaping lizards
Of spring pollen from earth’s bouquet,
He too is a visible sign of Heaven’s peace offerings,
His soul a tinderbox for the Divine Fire.
A Poetry Experiment
Ed Pacht wrote, "You know, the very existence of a word is a powerful attack upon randomness. Every word or phrase, even a bit of nonsense like 'slithy tove', is a purposeful ordering of reality to an end. I'd say further that it is impossible for a single human mind to make a truly random selection among words. One's brain is, it would seem, wired so as to make connections, even when they are not apparent. Actually, the list I worked from, if I'd found it without attribution, would have made me think of a personality much like what I've come to know of yours. I would not/could not have made that selection myself. Writing the poem actually felt like taking a journey with Alice into her own wonderland."
This caused me to wonder what would happen were Ed to provide me with a random list. Would I create a poem that reflects his inner world? So I proposed an experiment and he wrote back with his list and said: "You're on -- as random as I could make it. A couple of them popped into my head. I randomly did page roulette on a thesaurus, a dictionary, my BCP, my Bible, and a couple of books I've been reading. Even so, the choice can't be entirely random as what was chosen is whatever caught my attention during the process -- and my attention is uniquely mine."
Here is Ed's list: tinder-box --magic-lantern slides--peace offerings--semi-transparency--tabernacle--headstone--visible sign--careful observations--gaunt little man--leaping lizard--hearing impaired--attention deficit--waterfall--bright image--spring pollen--bouquet--diamond sheen
And here is the poem I wrote. I wasn't able to use the phrase: magic-lantern slides.
Athos Tabernacle
Alice C. Linsley
Gaunt little man in monkish garb
beside his hermit house sits
in contemplation of the headstone moon
streaming light on his bearded face.
From gnarled fingers flow whispered prayers,
a waterfall of beads on a black cord with a diamond sheen.
At prayer, attention deficit, though not hearing impaired,
He strikes a bright image of semi-transparency.
Careful observations of high soaring hawks and leaping lizards
Of spring pollen from earth’s bouquet,
He too is a visible sign of Heaven’s peace offerings,
His soul a tinderbox for the Divine Fire.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Sonnet
To be loved in a time of cholera
To be seen in a world of fallen doves
Is a wish that I have for all of us
A wish on behalf of the one who loves.
There’s a girl who cries in her bed at night
For the things she’s seen and the hope that dies.
And no outside world points her to the light
Cause the outside world binds her to its lies.
No but she won’t break, she won’t fall away.
There’s a dove in her mind, she won’t waste time.
She’ll stand up and say, “I’m here for this day”
“This dove will now fly, I’ll follow his rhyme”.
She flies from the deep valley’s of her mind
She flies to a new place where all is kind.
To be seen in a world of fallen doves
Is a wish that I have for all of us
A wish on behalf of the one who loves.
There’s a girl who cries in her bed at night
For the things she’s seen and the hope that dies.
And no outside world points her to the light
Cause the outside world binds her to its lies.
No but she won’t break, she won’t fall away.
There’s a dove in her mind, she won’t waste time.
She’ll stand up and say, “I’m here for this day”
“This dove will now fly, I’ll follow his rhyme”.
She flies from the deep valley’s of her mind
She flies to a new place where all is kind.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
A few poems
I wanted to write some haiku's but instead of the 575 structure, these are 747, after thinking about jumbo jets. i like jumbo jets because they take us to far away places. so thank you to all the jumbos out there in the sky.
I love to see so much love,
an elephant,
Feeding hippo as her own.
That lake use to have water.
Now it's dead fish,
Lined against the craggy shore.
She was quiet in the dark,
but with lamp,
teeth spread, an orotund sound.
I think when we give ourselves a specific set of rules to follow or apply some form of structure to our words, it can actually be quite freeing in the creative process. It allows us to have something to focus on, which I think really helps us to express ourselves. Otherwise it is just like a madman letting any and everything pour out, which isn't bad either. I guess it's just about whatever works for the individual, and for me, I can work either way.
I love to see so much love,
an elephant,
Feeding hippo as her own.
That lake use to have water.
Now it's dead fish,
Lined against the craggy shore.
She was quiet in the dark,
but with lamp,
teeth spread, an orotund sound.
I think when we give ourselves a specific set of rules to follow or apply some form of structure to our words, it can actually be quite freeing in the creative process. It allows us to have something to focus on, which I think really helps us to express ourselves. Otherwise it is just like a madman letting any and everything pour out, which isn't bad either. I guess it's just about whatever works for the individual, and for me, I can work either way.
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