January 2011
33 posts
Fuck You, Sonnet
O Sonnet, thou demon of verse; how much
I loathe thee, you and your superfluous laws
My school assignments keep me in your clutch
How will I escape your iambic claws?
I try to fly far away, past your grip
Back to the simple haiku or free verse
But at my poor mind you do claw and rip
And you stick with me like an old hag’s curse
I put pen to paper and write and write
But no idea,...
My Damn Week
My whole damn week
Was frozen ankles and phone calls
And snowy hair
And sleeping with a wet towel
But when I can have you
A stuffed dalmatian totem
Gingerale and shortbread cookies
I can do it.
Sifting
Each day
We sort through the pieces
Of one another’s day
I find positives and painfully tear them out
With tweezers
Showing them off to you in the light
And you kiss my cheek, letting the reflections
From all the bad things shine into my eyes
Now I Know What Sweet Nothings Mean
How lovely
Almost zen-like it is
To finally be able to bounce back words
Light as balloons
At each other
To trade nothings
With a person who wants something
Rather than the far nobler
And sadder
Opposite.
The Grand Inconvience of Death
The worst about death
The very worst
Is that it comes on
Wednesdays
And it comes
On Mondays and Fridays
And Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturdays and the very, very worst on Sundays.
It comes without caring
That it is Christmas
Or that you wanted to go to that party tonight
Or that you have to babysit.
But it does compensate you in one way.
It makes you stop caring
The Rug
My greatest fear
Is of having the rug pulled out
From underneath my feet
So I like to think
I leave little ballerina steps
On the dusty old thing
So when it gets tugged away
I can land
So daintily
But really
I crawl on it
Gripping with nails cut to the quick
And when it does get pulled away
I tumble backward
And break my bones
Fear
With trepidation
I urge you to speak
And as I do
You set loose upon me
Biting flies
And the sting of abandonment
But you can only smell the fruity-smelling poison
That I spray, that forces the flies within
Battling at my stomach, crawling on my collarbone
Taking nibbles at my brain, gnawing away the sector that deals in rational thinking
And beaming bright, you are relieved
So glad to...
Parents
Lately, it seems
Every conversation
Pushes me closer
To a tattoo.
“Firelight will not let you read fine stories but it’s warm and you...”
– An Irish proverb.
Revelations
I loved your smile first
First noticed your lisp on the letter ‘r’
I was a pioneer in your good traits
Wandering through the unshaven wildeness
Staking claim to the shape of your chin
And the way you laugh
But she gets to have them now
And when she sings an ode to herself
Harping on her discoveries
You look upon them as revelations
And she steals the callouses on your...
Heavy Night Short Stories
Once there was a girl named Tinna. Her back ached and ached and her knees squealed until one day she had a baby. She loved the child, but it made her sad and she never could really tell what it meant, once it began speaking of course. It would tell her lots of lovely things, but Tinna couldn’t trust the babe and so put him in an orphanage until the two slowly disappeared from each other and it...
Bad Night
As the sadness
And sense of impending doom
Weighs down on me
I tear off crayon wrappers
To spite them all.
newyorklondonmilanparis asked: Your poetry is beautiful, I think reading your blog just made my day :)
A Visit Back Home
My ancestral lands weren’t the same as the ones we’d seen in the rest of the country, not very much like a rolling green quilt, little emerald patches stitched in with lovingly sewn crooked walls of rock. This land was an angry land, with gray grass and hard bushes that reached, skeletal, from the dead earth that refused to grow, on a principle . It was a land of bombs and blood and romantic,...
Dead Eyes
He closed the dead man’s eyes
With a practiced hand.
And the child slept,
On a fat white pillow
A downy clean pillow
That meant
A mother loved him.
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"and hold you, and tell you how wonderful you...
Um. I love Skins.