We pulled into the onyx driveway, which was hinted with pools of the old father Winter, right after we stopped at the local Irving down the road. The clouds were wisps of spookingly genial gossamer that filtered the light of the moon and turned it into a crystal glow. The garage light was on while the chopping sound of wood directed us to your untailored company. Softy in the background, old “70s” music refreshed the usual beauty of Fellini and Brahms with the spark of Queen and “Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie.” Never has that music felt so real.
We gather the twigs and logs and make a bird’s nest for the newly born phoenix that would become a scorching memory in the fireplace. This phoenix was maturing in front of our eyes; it started with an intense blaze that conducted us to dance the Swing and Jive like frogs hopping across a campground road. Then, it started to slowly turn to embers that were like pieces of luminously crimson gold.
The burning emotion inside me that climaxed in cause of the flames wholeness and fresh nostalgia made me realize that the fire of true compassion is the hottest, yet most resolving. I think of those pieces of gold in front of us: that wasn’t my real treasure. As I looked into each of their eyes dotingly and felt the wistfulness of those caring hearts, my soul became so much richer.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Villanelle of Snowy Stone
The snow never seemed so lifeless,
until the day they left me alone.
To whom can I redress?
I have so many regrets.
My body is stiff as stone
The snow never seemed so lifeless.
My granite neck becomes nerveless
as I drift from friends and home.
To whom can I redress?
I crumble in my loneliness,
and I turn to sand and bone.
The snow never felt so lifeless.
To whom can the lonely redress?
until the day they left me alone.
To whom can I redress?
I have so many regrets.
My body is stiff as stone
The snow never seemed so lifeless.
My granite neck becomes nerveless
as I drift from friends and home.
To whom can I redress?
I crumble in my loneliness,
and I turn to sand and bone.
The snow never felt so lifeless.
To whom can the lonely redress?
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Fortunes of Failure
“Do not fear failure.”
Yeah, sure, that’s a nice
piece of advice,
but what do you do when the pressure
for perfection becomes a vice
that squeezes your thoughts into irrationality
and muffles your breath
into a raspy gasp.
The feeling of you knowing
you could have touched the stars
makes your insides collapse.
All the drive to be the best
breaks my want to even try.
Slowly, like someone fading
away into cancer,
my ambition seems to die.
Yet, I know that if I lose
my passion for goals
my life will become
a torn rag full of dust and holes.
Maybe by not caring about rankings,
hierarchy, or all the rest.
This fortune will come true,
“Your ability for accomplishment
will be followed by success.”
Yeah, sure, that’s a nice
piece of advice,
but what do you do when the pressure
for perfection becomes a vice
that squeezes your thoughts into irrationality
and muffles your breath
into a raspy gasp.
The feeling of you knowing
you could have touched the stars
makes your insides collapse.
All the drive to be the best
breaks my want to even try.
Slowly, like someone fading
away into cancer,
my ambition seems to die.
Yet, I know that if I lose
my passion for goals
my life will become
a torn rag full of dust and holes.
Maybe by not caring about rankings,
hierarchy, or all the rest.
This fortune will come true,
“Your ability for accomplishment
will be followed by success.”
Thursday, March 15, 2007
The Flock of Bronze Parrots
What a long day! yuk! Tomorrow I have the St. Kieran Dinner Dance and then a ardent weekend of work.
It was at the age of three
when a bronze parrot decided
to perch on his shoulder.
At the time he broke
his mother’s vase: a priceless treasure,
and he started to run and eschew her.
The parrot would pierce his body
with it’s grotesque talons,
and would squawk over and over.
In the night the parrot would feed
him musty crackers of remembrance
which were stale, yet bitter.
The more he would run,
hide, and cause mischief
as he grew older and older.
More of these demon parrots
would feast on his body
and his whole life became heavier.
One landed on his head
when he broke a window,
another when he became a cheater.
Until, he became stolid,
while a flock of birds would,
in his continuous guilt, make him suffer.
It was at the age of three
when a bronze parrot decided
to perch on his shoulder.
At the time he broke
his mother’s vase: a priceless treasure,
and he started to run and eschew her.
The parrot would pierce his body
with it’s grotesque talons,
and would squawk over and over.
In the night the parrot would feed
him musty crackers of remembrance
which were stale, yet bitter.
The more he would run,
hide, and cause mischief
as he grew older and older.
More of these demon parrots
would feast on his body
and his whole life became heavier.
One landed on his head
when he broke a window,
another when he became a cheater.
Until, he became stolid,
while a flock of birds would,
in his continuous guilt, make him suffer.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
The Remainder
Today was a half-day in school. I thought it would be nice to just talk about my life, since I haven't really been giving a lot of intros lately in my blogs.
The thing that is ruling my life right now is school. This being my junior year, I have the toughest courses in the school: Chemistry and U.S. History. Both require a multitude of work and time. Although, I am learning a lot in school, and plus, I have some cool classes like Songwriting and Poetry. Next year, along with some other wicked sweet courses, I am taking Shakespeare and Drama classes! O fuckin yea! Sorry, that not really like me.
Play rehearsals for Once Upon a Mattress is starting to expedite. Along with the multi-stress environment comes incompetent workers and lack of focus. It is directing; what else is directing like in the midst of a show but stress?
Friends, let me say that I have a few that are wonderful. All of my friends input some level of happiness in my life. Most of my friends though have their vices, or I don't see them all the time (yes, I know I need to call you more Maddi, and I love ya). Some of my other friends are moving on. Isn't it strange how one day you are telling someone that you never want to stop being their best friend, and then the next watching them across the hall while in the process of changing. I feel that I have only a few people that are truly their for me no matter what: my parents and a few of my relatives, Tim, and the few of my friends who don't change personalities.
First, I want to say that my mother and father are truly Gods. No matter how wonderful, or unruly I can be, they always try their hardest to love, provide, and nurture me. I will admit, sometimes I don't give them enough credit. Being a teenager, innately I just sometimes don't understand them, but afterwards their start to make more sense. I love them so much; I know they have sinned and have some idiosyncrasies, both funny and vexing, but I would do anything in the world for them. Also, some of my relatives, like my Aunt Patti, give me this unconditional love. Some of my relatives I don't get along with because they are either to caught up in their fighting, hubris, or have different interests than me. Anyways, I want to thank my relatives that have given me so much, even though I might be most of the time busy.
Next, I want to mention Tim. I have no blood relation to this person, yet he is like a second father to me. ever since I have met Tim, I have grown as a person, inquired a wonderful skill, been imbued with a love for aesthetics, and obtained another true friend. No matter what foibles I have, Tim doesn't care. He is the perfect person to symbolize rectitude. Thank you so much Tim, you have made dreams come true!
Finally, I want to talk about those friends who no matter how much time or pain has passed, never change and really care. Madeline this definitely includes you; even though we hardly see each other, you still trust me with some deep things and never change the way you feel about me. You are one of my best friends because you don't change, ever. I have some friends that have promised to always be faithful, yet a year latter they are flaunting themselves around other peoples presences. My friend Aly is another friend that no matter that it has been 3 years since we started to be friends, she still care so much for me. We all have or vices, yet these friends I will love them past all of those evils.
If I could change anything right now, I think I would want to have people take me more seriously. I feel sometimes that people think just because I am clumsy and blond, that nothing bothers me or that I am someone who can be used. I wish that more people would get real to realize that I am a person too. Okay, enough introduction: here's a poem.
What was it like the first
time I met you?
Did we laugh, cry, talk—
I can’t remember.
Was it your striking kindness
and similarity what made you true.
Try to solve this puzzle:
Why am I now a remainder?
You decided that our promises
had no value.
You haven’t made the will
to call in four days.
So much for a best friend
to be there beside you.
I am oblivious and confused
by your ways.
Does he have the courage that I don’t?
Does he have just more to give?
Does he have that factor you were looking for?
I’m past the point where I can forgive.
When was the last time we talked?
De we laugh, cry, scream—
I can’t remember.
The weirdest thing since
you have walked.
I guess I don’t mind
being the remainder.
The thing that is ruling my life right now is school. This being my junior year, I have the toughest courses in the school: Chemistry and U.S. History. Both require a multitude of work and time. Although, I am learning a lot in school, and plus, I have some cool classes like Songwriting and Poetry. Next year, along with some other wicked sweet courses, I am taking Shakespeare and Drama classes! O fuckin yea! Sorry, that not really like me.
Play rehearsals for Once Upon a Mattress is starting to expedite. Along with the multi-stress environment comes incompetent workers and lack of focus. It is directing; what else is directing like in the midst of a show but stress?
Friends, let me say that I have a few that are wonderful. All of my friends input some level of happiness in my life. Most of my friends though have their vices, or I don't see them all the time (yes, I know I need to call you more Maddi, and I love ya). Some of my other friends are moving on. Isn't it strange how one day you are telling someone that you never want to stop being their best friend, and then the next watching them across the hall while in the process of changing. I feel that I have only a few people that are truly their for me no matter what: my parents and a few of my relatives, Tim, and the few of my friends who don't change personalities.
First, I want to say that my mother and father are truly Gods. No matter how wonderful, or unruly I can be, they always try their hardest to love, provide, and nurture me. I will admit, sometimes I don't give them enough credit. Being a teenager, innately I just sometimes don't understand them, but afterwards their start to make more sense. I love them so much; I know they have sinned and have some idiosyncrasies, both funny and vexing, but I would do anything in the world for them. Also, some of my relatives, like my Aunt Patti, give me this unconditional love. Some of my relatives I don't get along with because they are either to caught up in their fighting, hubris, or have different interests than me. Anyways, I want to thank my relatives that have given me so much, even though I might be most of the time busy.
Next, I want to mention Tim. I have no blood relation to this person, yet he is like a second father to me. ever since I have met Tim, I have grown as a person, inquired a wonderful skill, been imbued with a love for aesthetics, and obtained another true friend. No matter what foibles I have, Tim doesn't care. He is the perfect person to symbolize rectitude. Thank you so much Tim, you have made dreams come true!
Finally, I want to talk about those friends who no matter how much time or pain has passed, never change and really care. Madeline this definitely includes you; even though we hardly see each other, you still trust me with some deep things and never change the way you feel about me. You are one of my best friends because you don't change, ever. I have some friends that have promised to always be faithful, yet a year latter they are flaunting themselves around other peoples presences. My friend Aly is another friend that no matter that it has been 3 years since we started to be friends, she still care so much for me. We all have or vices, yet these friends I will love them past all of those evils.
If I could change anything right now, I think I would want to have people take me more seriously. I feel sometimes that people think just because I am clumsy and blond, that nothing bothers me or that I am someone who can be used. I wish that more people would get real to realize that I am a person too. Okay, enough introduction: here's a poem.
What was it like the first
time I met you?
Did we laugh, cry, talk—
I can’t remember.
Was it your striking kindness
and similarity what made you true.
Try to solve this puzzle:
Why am I now a remainder?
You decided that our promises
had no value.
You haven’t made the will
to call in four days.
So much for a best friend
to be there beside you.
I am oblivious and confused
by your ways.
Does he have the courage that I don’t?
Does he have just more to give?
Does he have that factor you were looking for?
I’m past the point where I can forgive.
When was the last time we talked?
De we laugh, cry, scream—
I can’t remember.
The weirdest thing since
you have walked.
I guess I don’t mind
being the remainder.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
The Player and the Hoar
Tonight, I am going to a play rehersal for Theatre North, for they are having trouble with the set. My own play, Once Upon a Matress, is coming along. It has just been a very weird life lately.
The phone rings
like a siren destroying my hope.
They’re calling me away
because he was such a dope.
I start to get up from trueness:
a bed with a friend.
I take the last sip of water
when it turns to alcohol again.
The steps lead down to him:
the perfect user to use.
I want to forget; it is not that I love.
It is more that I amuse.
I walk into the mud room:
the final beat of regret.
Blood whispers to me to live,
and I just want to forget.
You give me a hug:
a catalyst to the thoughts I obtain.
I turn the doorknob slowly―
nothing I haven’t given.
Sit down in the truck
and take a deep breath.
I want to stare at you all night;
my heart hopes in darkness.
I just want to be whole.
I want to know what is real.
Darkness seems to dissolve light
along with everything that I feel.
Then, I think of her; I cringe―
How much I want to yell
at the top of my lungs,
“Come on, we can all tell!”
One thing I have learned
that you should not count
your eggs, even after they hatch.
I close the truck door.
Why is it I can’t cry?
Maybe, there really is no more,
like a puppet, I grow banal.
I’m sick of the player and hoar.
Shine your love on me.
I need a beacon to beseech.
I need to become whole.
It is always out of reach.
I now sit, questioning,
should I really dial the phone
to call her like a siren―
I really don’t want to be alone.
The phone rings
like a siren destroying my hope.
They’re calling me away
because he was such a dope.
I start to get up from trueness:
a bed with a friend.
I take the last sip of water
when it turns to alcohol again.
The steps lead down to him:
the perfect user to use.
I want to forget; it is not that I love.
It is more that I amuse.
I walk into the mud room:
the final beat of regret.
Blood whispers to me to live,
and I just want to forget.
You give me a hug:
a catalyst to the thoughts I obtain.
I turn the doorknob slowly―
nothing I haven’t given.
Sit down in the truck
and take a deep breath.
I want to stare at you all night;
my heart hopes in darkness.
I just want to be whole.
I want to know what is real.
Darkness seems to dissolve light
along with everything that I feel.
Then, I think of her; I cringe―
How much I want to yell
at the top of my lungs,
“Come on, we can all tell!”
One thing I have learned
that you should not count
your eggs, even after they hatch.
I close the truck door.
Why is it I can’t cry?
Maybe, there really is no more,
like a puppet, I grow banal.
I’m sick of the player and hoar.
Shine your love on me.
I need a beacon to beseech.
I need to become whole.
It is always out of reach.
I now sit, questioning,
should I really dial the phone
to call her like a siren―
I really don’t want to be alone.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Don't Take it Away
Wrapped up in a web of the ties,
I stay clung to you; you’re breaking me.
The sticky string of old connections
don’t tell me lies; you’re hurting me.
All of the pressure to soothe your pain
blinds my wisdom like a foggy rain.
You can call me names; tell me that I’m wrong.
Just please, don’t take away my love.
I want nothing more than to rip
these strings from me; you’re vexing me.
They bind my veins. Why can’t
I break this grip; you’re deceiving me.
Everyone wants the time to rewind.
They are all moral, but they are blind.
They can think me false or myopic minded.
Just please don’t let them lose my love.
I will lose everything in this constriction.
You will gain everyone and their attention.
I know that mourning is a solemn phase,
but why must I grieve with you?
Do I sound selfish in this cage?
I can’t breathe; you’re beating me.
How can I finally free myself
from your outrage; you’re devouring me.
Please, you can keep me here.
I’m trapped without sight, and I won’t hear.
You can bring me down into your sins,
but just please, don’t take away my love.
I stay clung to you; you’re breaking me.
The sticky string of old connections
don’t tell me lies; you’re hurting me.
All of the pressure to soothe your pain
blinds my wisdom like a foggy rain.
You can call me names; tell me that I’m wrong.
Just please, don’t take away my love.
I want nothing more than to rip
these strings from me; you’re vexing me.
They bind my veins. Why can’t
I break this grip; you’re deceiving me.
Everyone wants the time to rewind.
They are all moral, but they are blind.
They can think me false or myopic minded.
Just please don’t let them lose my love.
I will lose everything in this constriction.
You will gain everyone and their attention.
I know that mourning is a solemn phase,
but why must I grieve with you?
Do I sound selfish in this cage?
I can’t breathe; you’re beating me.
How can I finally free myself
from your outrage; you’re devouring me.
Please, you can keep me here.
I’m trapped without sight, and I won’t hear.
You can bring me down into your sins,
but just please, don’t take away my love.
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