rise above
into clouds
more heavenly
than pumpkin pie
topping and frosted
animal crackers. or
stay with me
walk the
years of our lives
together as
we sit by this
altar still not believing.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
the only heaven is heaven on earth
the only heaven is heaven on earth
rise above
into clouds
more heavenly
than pumpkin pie
topping and frosted
animal crackers. or
stay with me
walk the
years of our lives
together as
we sit by this
altar still not believing.
rise above
into clouds
more heavenly
than pumpkin pie
topping and frosted
animal crackers. or
stay with me
walk the
years of our lives
together as
we sit by this
altar still not believing.
Monday, September 25, 2006
lips of sin
lips of sin
i peel
the skin
off my lips
it's a habit
i thought
i'd excised
long ago
when love
of myself
became
stronger than
stress
but here i am
picking
at skin
that had never
been flaky
before
i peel
the skin
off my lips
it's a habit
i thought
i'd excised
long ago
when love
of myself
became
stronger than
stress
but here i am
picking
at skin
that had never
been flaky
before
Friday, September 22, 2006
Tea for The Monarch
Tea for The Monarch
"Please pass the sugar,"
Dr. Girlfriend said
in a voice deep and rich
as hundred doller cheesecake.
"Okay," said
The Monarch
and he passed the
butterfly dotted bowl
across the delicate lace tablecloth.
"Please pass the sugar,"
Dr. Girlfriend said
in a voice deep and rich
as hundred doller cheesecake.
"Okay," said
The Monarch
and he passed the
butterfly dotted bowl
across the delicate lace tablecloth.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
I'm so awesome
I was going to do post a recap of summer poetry around when school started, but I'd forgotten how much time school takes. It is only now, when I've made myself a short break between intellectual discussions, planning classes, drinking and reading poetry, that I've been able to make the time to talk about my favorite poems from the summer. (I'm also planning on submitting some of my poems to a literary publication, so it will be helpful to remember what I wrote in order to find the best pieces.) I'm hoping that I don't sound arrogant when I write my explanations, but I'm picking the pieces that I think are the best.
I like "when an atheist prays" because I think the imagery is really good. I love the lines "smash god with your/ fingernail like a droplet of wax/ semihardened/ and exposed"; it describes exactly how I feel about my atheism, and it explains it better than I could ever do in prose.
As much as I hate knowing that a lot of my poems are about myself, sometimes a great poem about me does seem to compose itself. "first kiss" is a poem that I feel that way about. It describes an event (inaccurately so, I must admit) that happened when I was in high school, a memory which was triggered by smelling the exact smell again on the body of another man I encountered here. It's amazing how a smell can travel all the space of time and still be recognized by a brain that's been removed for a scent so long.
Occassionally, I write a poem that's actually funny. I'm not usually good with poetic humor (my humor is often crass as this poem is, in a way), but "TV time" is funny. It's not too over the top. I guess I'm quite proud of this poem.
My favorite poem that I've written in the last year is probably "puppet theatre" because after all these months, I still don't understand it. On a basic level it's about insomnia (an affliction I suffered from over the summer), but it's also about survival and finding whatever one can to make to tomorrow.
I like "when an atheist prays" because I think the imagery is really good. I love the lines "smash god with your/ fingernail like a droplet of wax/ semihardened/ and exposed"; it describes exactly how I feel about my atheism, and it explains it better than I could ever do in prose.
As much as I hate knowing that a lot of my poems are about myself, sometimes a great poem about me does seem to compose itself. "first kiss" is a poem that I feel that way about. It describes an event (inaccurately so, I must admit) that happened when I was in high school, a memory which was triggered by smelling the exact smell again on the body of another man I encountered here. It's amazing how a smell can travel all the space of time and still be recognized by a brain that's been removed for a scent so long.
Occassionally, I write a poem that's actually funny. I'm not usually good with poetic humor (my humor is often crass as this poem is, in a way), but "TV time" is funny. It's not too over the top. I guess I'm quite proud of this poem.
My favorite poem that I've written in the last year is probably "puppet theatre" because after all these months, I still don't understand it. On a basic level it's about insomnia (an affliction I suffered from over the summer), but it's also about survival and finding whatever one can to make to tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
porcelain punch bowl
Thanks GreenPinga for inspiring this poem.
porcelain punch bowl
why not mix your drinks
in the toliet
and serve them out as if
you are at a Jane Austen ball
and save yourself the effort
of returning
time after time
to worship the porcelain god?
porcelain punch bowl
why not mix your drinks
in the toliet
and serve them out as if
you are at a Jane Austen ball
and save yourself the effort
of returning
time after time
to worship the porcelain god?
Thursday, September 14, 2006
redeyedmidnight
redeyedmidnight
cant go home
must sleep
wind whips
through twigged trees
raises hair
(not spirits)
the pursuit of happiness may be futile
yet it is ever present
and i am wrong
just the same
cant go home
must sleep
wind whips
through twigged trees
raises hair
(not spirits)
the pursuit of happiness may be futile
yet it is ever present
and i am wrong
just the same
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
i write cold poems
i write cold poems
it stomps each step--
trys to shake the snow on the rug
to not damp the carpet.
it's the shrill wind ripping
at your too thin coat
as you walk Chicago streets
on your birthday.
chilled bones shiver your frame
and scrape and scratch
like a black cat at midnight
at your front door.
you keep her outside.
this little mental machine
has no meaning
until you start it up.
it stomps each step--
trys to shake the snow on the rug
to not damp the carpet.
it's the shrill wind ripping
at your too thin coat
as you walk Chicago streets
on your birthday.
chilled bones shiver your frame
and scrape and scratch
like a black cat at midnight
at your front door.
you keep her outside.
this little mental machine
has no meaning
until you start it up.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
mystery night
mystery night
i reside in shadows
--in whispers
--in the dark places
deep in your heart
call to me
and i will join you
by your side
i reside in shadows
--in whispers
--in the dark places
deep in your heart
call to me
and i will join you
by your side
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Another blog I'm a member of...
I am a member of a new blog that the University has started up. It's sort of a blog promoting the school, and sort of a blog to give students who want to write professionally a chance to get some experience. This blog is called The Lodge, and if you want to link to it, you should. It's basically a multiperspective account of college life at this university. I plan to post poems now and then, but mostly I will write prose.
