you'll never guess what i did afterwards

you'll never guess what i did afterwards

it's almost friday. this class ends and it's practically here. i'm on call tonite and tomorrow nite, but i'm not gonna let that get in the way of my weekend fun! it's almost here! yay!

so, in a week, i've got this huge assignment due for poetry: i have to pick a poem from a list of poems that are about poetry. then i have to pick 15 poems from all the poems we have read this semester that i believe to meet this criteria and write a ten papge paper on it. with title page. with full works cited. basically, this means i'm going to turn in my rough draft as a final copy.

we did our presentation today. "they feed they lion" by philip levine was a huge topic. really, the only poem i read and really wanted to know more about. i enjoyed it.

from poetry 1

from poetry 1

if you haven't already, check out some poems by frank o'hara. he was born in 1926 and died in 1966. most of his poems were written during his lunch breaks while working at the museum of modern art. he was friends with a lot of painters during his life, including jackson pollock, whose art i am quite fond of. anywho, check him out. there's book we're reading called, "the vintage book of contemporary american poetry", it's an introduction to a lot of america's finest poets. in reading it through the course of the class i have discovered some poets i enjoy. check out allen ginsberg, he's interesting. wikipedia has a nice list of selected works for each of the poets i've linked to. scroll down on their pages. ginsberg's howl continues to be a haunting work.

from poetry 2

from poetry 2

i feel like i could begin many of my posts like this each day: it was so beautiful today. i have extremely blessed by warm, wonderful weather for the past few days. there are three moon bounces on the quad today. also, there is cotton candy. human bowling looks fun too. all in all, i think i will participate once i get out of poetry. i can't wait.

today we were assigned a writing exercise, for which we are to write a poem in imitation of frank o'hara. have i mentioned already how much i like him? he pays attention to details in his moments of observation. he pays attention to time. he is sure to use concrete language when describing things. it's almost always literal, rather than metaphorical. he describes things that are actually happening. i am happy for this assignment.

palindrome

palindrome

i always thought the word that would describe what it means to have something spelled the same way backwards and forwards should also act like what it describes... like instead of being called a palindrome, it'd be called a kayak. makes more sense, no?

well anyways, the longest palindrome that i had known for the longest time was "devil never even lived". thanks to a personal friend of mine who i have never met, but have seen once in awhile, although i doubt he's ever seen me... i know a longer palindrome.

click for big.

for breakfast

for breakfast

i love the way e.e. cummings writes poetry. if you read this blog and you have a collection of his poems, can i borrow it?

rice

rice

i've been listening to a lot of damien rice lately. he's got this great line in a track called cannonball:

so come on courage
teach me to be shy

i dunno, i guess i just like the line. and the song.

i for once

i for once

i welcome the cold.
i welcome the cold
nip of the wind
on the small of my neck
where my scarf
can't quite reach.

i sojourn in the anticipation
of winter's first snow,
which beckons brisk footsteps
as the sun sets;
the temperature races
a downward spiral.

i cherish the gloves
in my backseat
when her hands are cold.
but even more,
i yearn for her to
refuse the gloves.
to take my hand instead.

winter is an icebox
that bolsters cafes.
cafes heated by coffee
and heartfelt conversation.
when she and i enter
i am brought back to life.

there's much to be said about those few fleeting moments we can share together amongst the busyness of the school year and all that is the holiday season. i'm thankful for the time we do spend. today was a good day. God has blessed me indeed.

to: freedom

to: freedom

break these iron chains up from the ground
you say these words but you don't speak a sound
you've won me over heart and soul
piece by piece i extol
please break my iron chains up from the ground

to: all that we have lacking

to: all that we have lacking

it is said humanity is
sans purpose,
fostering a manufactured ideal.
that we, collectively are
grouped by infirmities, malnourished,
and stand powerless together.

but you raise a mighty fist,
and in collaboration we scream.
inaudible.
even to open ears.

because in the end,
all this noise that we make
is just silence.

to: insincerity

to: insincerity

and so they asked if i wanted to bring back
the days of monoliths and cathedrals
replace what was already here
with things that had once been

with no reply spinning, silent questions
engaging on my innocence
i spoke with speech
restless at best

things can't be the way they seem
living is questioning endless
reason deceives even the core
of who am i?

to: indulgence

to: indulgence

hey, you want half a bagel?
no. you hungry?
yea, you want half a bagel?
sure, if you get it.
ha.
put cream cheese on it.

to "my friend"

to "my friend"

you are not your clothes.
you are not your hair.
you are not your friends.
you are not your calorie intake.
you are not your latest diet.
you are not your newest trend.
you are not your parents' mistake.
you are not your self image.

you are beautiful.

not because of anything you can do.
but because God created you.
but because God loved you.
but because God loves you.

God provides your clothes.
God can count the hairs on your head.
God is bigger than your friends.
God is not concerned with your calorie intake.
God made food for you to eat.
God wants to be your newest trend.
God spoke you into being.
God made you in his image.

and you are beautiful.

to getting older

to getting older

i have this friend who just turned 20.

she's lost her memory
her eyesight is terrible
she's using old person jargon
she listens to dated music
she watches old movies

next year, she'll be 80.

to new things

to new things

we played with flashlights on the beach.
we did flashlight painting.
we painted pictures with flashlights.

we were snowmen and ninja turtles
we created interesting ways to kill each other,
we shot lasers out of our eyes,
we had fins like mermaids and hats like gentlemen.
we even flew.

we did that kind of thing,
and we were quite entertaining.

to real poetry

to real poetry

lethargic
apathetic
zebra
yea, i'm done

to distance

to distance

did you get my voicemail
about grabbing coffee?
it's been far too long.
the though of seeing you again
makes me anxious.
i discovered a love for smoking;
i'm not a smoker.
maybe a handful of times,
i've relished it.
since i don't delight in the prospect of cancer,
i'll keep the amount low.
but coffee.
coffee is my innocuous euphoria.
it's a shame you don't drink coffee.

to no one

to no one

midnight love
your song
so smooth
on my lips
is a taste
i can't ignore.

the irony i know
is that by this time tomorrow
you won't
remember my name.

midnight love
our breath
pristine
mingled here
for awhile
immaculate.

the irony i know
is that by this time tomorrow
you won't
remember my name.

midnight love
your eyes
like pools
intrinsic
of twilight
engage me

the irony i know
is that by this time tomorrow
you won't
remember my name.

to relationships

to relationships

they come in pairs
these four eyed monsters
mini skirts and tramp stamps
clothing soon to fly
for why should i be bothered
with this nonsense, not absconding
my senses, but pervasively pushing
propaganda toward the very heart
that might shy away.
i scorn these four eyed monsters,
for there are the somber
no sway, no decay, not those
who throw their lives away
for just a chance to be
a little bolder, to seem a little closer,
to feel loved and seem to know
for just a short while
that they might be.
but it's fake
and panic grips my body
to the core i am forced
with no choice to do what i despise.
i'm a hypocrite, my compromise,
i admit, is that i am a four eyed monster

to no one

to no one

i wrestled once.
with you. with myself.
i stopped staring at my shoes.
i hesitated. i made eye contact.

those eyes. your thousand story eyes
that could never just stare.
they ravaged my soul with desire.
all is well now.

to myself

to myself

you're three days leave from extraordinary
remarked the burning sun as i flew from it
across a broken bridge of empty words
soon to be left behind.

i ran.

what did the sun know of my restlessness?
did it perceive my unease?
could it stand with me in suffering?
i'll keep running.