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.

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

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.

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.

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?

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

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.

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

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.

"will all be forgiven?"

"will all be forgiven?"

clicking like a ballpoint pen
in its socket

my brain makes too much noise
for me
to sleep.
even with the radio
(i should sell it)
on repeat.

swaying to rythms,
i hope today
works out better
than this
2:42 circling of gears
--teeth grinding--
nothing quite fits
(she whispers).

will the music
turn itself off
as i write
this poem?

haunting cello
playing burntorange
hangs in the air
longer than the moon.

wearing too much

wearing too much

sitting in sweater
at my desk

i worry
about the hole
in my sleeve

but my sweater's
cherry red--
the color of fall leaves

summer's show
replaced
by fall's mystery

red

red

run through the woods.
grandma's house
is just a smell of flowers
away. but you'll
never arrive because
you're too busy
fucking the wolf.

i think i've seen this sanctuary before

i think i've seen this sanctuary before

your yesterdays are littered with smiles,
but you forget how to pray
to gods that don't answer.
man will be our salvation of trash
and of tears,
and the ivy
that covers everything
will erase all trace of pain.
all memory whispered words
that the wind will carry
over cliffs and home.
enter through the sidedoor
and kneel
with guided superstition.

reminder of no tears past

reminder of no tears past

your birthdate doesn't matter
when you're dead.
neither do raindrops
on thirsty grass
or the sun
peaking through the clouds
as you bury
your head under a comforter.

crickets still chirp,
but you no longer
will hear them.

old photographs

old photographs

sifting through longforgotten images
i see my face coupled
with friends i wish i had forgotten.

the pain of a wound that won't heal III

the pain of a wound that won't heal III

crazies...
and i'm a pill bug
rolling
on a piece of notebook paper
before they
do their experiements.

but you
wonder why i've cried.
my skin tightens
as you stroke my arm.
it's okay
i say
and can't say more.
knowledge
is the vacuum of space
and sucks
the words
out of my lungs.
there is no hope
in intellectual discourse,
only in the rising and falling
of two bodies
tightly clasped.

city park

city park

wandering through hedges and
staring at weatherworn statues
of patrons long dead,
i wonder if skyscrapers
look so forlorn in the rain
as they do in shining sun.

we howl

we howl

cold roof at night
moon in the rain

fall, small woman
and smile,
for you are the sleep of dreams

Fever

It's been a long time since I've done any poetry analysis. But since I've had a headache for days and I can't sleep because I have to work, I decided to bum around online a bit and find a good poem. And lucky me, I did! "Fever 103 degrees" has some real awesome imagery. I'm not exactly sure what the poet was going for though. Initially, I thought, "wow, this is a great poem about a headache," probably because of my own current physical affliction. Now I wonder if this poem is about anger. And why do I think it's so good when I don't understand what it means?

tension headache

tension headache

pain wrapped around my
head like a baseball mit--tight
and inflexible.

old friend

old friend

pirate westerns
and the apocalypse
with cello pulsing
to each (drum)beat
of my skin

sleeping sickness

sleeping sickness

sleeping beauty's lips
stained the color of summer strawberries
as she slept the sleep of death
but at least there was no icicle tear
clinging to the corner of her eye
as she spent years struggling
alone in the turmoil of
stagnancy

morning song

morning song

twittering and cheeping
in the no longer moondark night
interrupting my not yet sleep

there is a beauty to you
singing your morning song
when you only hope for light

dream life

dream life

in the dark opressive heat
of too many summer nights
mental fights seem more real
than true passion. yet i know
i do not trust you.
passionate eyes tell lies like
the secrets of closed hearts.
even in the dream
i cannot see your eyes.
you plead the truth
as i stand naked before you.

san andreas

san andreas

beat my heart
until it breaks open
splits down the middle
a california fault line
in my divided torso

stretch my skin tight
braid the center skin
weave me almost whole
again i am alone
and too much more to fix

a coffee cup of chillable red

a coffee cup of chillable red

i want my wine
to make the world fit
a little bit better.
(not like the khaki pants i bought
on sale--extra hip fabric
could house tiny squirles.)
but after a glass
or two the world
is smaller and i can't see
my earlier faults.
sunglasses slide past my eyes
and i can't see through solid black plastic.

the mysteries of a stranger's eyes

the mysteries of a stranger's eyes

purplescented reveries
hold me captive
until you smile
and say hello

Why I might not be posting

The internet at my house has been terrible. It hasn't worked in days. I have to come into my mostly vacated office to use the internet. Now that the poemoff is done I probably will have less motivation to haul myself into the office. If the internet gets fixed in the next couple of days, I'll be back. Whenever I get internet, I will post.

This is the end of the poemoff (sigh!)

father's tears, cursing (poemoff 16)

if i'd been a butterfly--
transceding my childish form--
perhaps i could have escaped
that hug which shamed me
even as i was
the specialest girl on earth.
still red cheeked memory
imperfectly hermetically sealed
(oh! how i tried!)
forgotten
until perfect passion
transports me to that
broken doll
i'll always be.



The title from this poem comes from "FINGERNAIL LIKE A DROPLET OF WAX," by Zack.

when an atheist prays (poemoff 15)

when an atheist prays (poemoff 15)

god said be happy
and he was good
real good
but never enough

it's never enough to
smash god with your
fingernail like a droplet of wax
semihardened
and exposed
heating the faux wood tabletop
causing curves and bubbles

they look like the surface of the moon

you never told me
that tears can
taste like candy



The first line of this poem comes from Zack's "WHATEVER."