31 July 2009

SoP 36: I'm almost there!

I'm almost done, I'm almost there!
I can't believe I even dared
to leave this thing for such a long time,
because making it up takes just as much time.
- - - - -
I know, it's short, but ah well. Here I keep going!

SoP 35: A Cup of Tea

Go to with your coffee!
I'll stick with my tea.
Why do I like it?
Why, don't you ask me

Don't ask me why I
drink wet leaves, I like it.
I especially enjoy it when
With sugar I spike it.

So keep your sopped beans,
I'll stick with my leaves.
Now, leave me in peace,
I've a book to read.
- - - - -
7/7: the write cup of tea...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/16982592@N07/3454609845/in/set-72157606411855944/

SoP 34: Untitled

ZIP
CRASH
BANG
CoNfUsIoN

Spit
Divi/sion
Mirrored
sAmE

Light
DARK
day
NiGhT
- - - - -
background
http://www.flickr.com/photos/asheynasblackbook/3754432202/in/photostream/
- - - - -
Thanks Asheyna for the pic!

I had to do a random word poem, I had to.

SoP 33: The Stone Archway

A stone archway
Maw spread before me
What could lay beyond that arch?
I take a chance to peer.

And what a sight lays before my eyes,
One of such great beauty!
A garden lush spread in the sun
With eager ivy climbing.

I sat, admiring its beauty
Beneath that great stone arch,
Beautiful as it was to me,
I heard a voice behind me sigh.

"If only there were creatures there,"
the voice moaned, oh-so-sad.
"There'd be a magic there that isn't there.
I'm certain there would be!"

I thought about it, sitting there,
and whole-heartly disagreed.
Can't a garden be beautiful
Without mythic creatures there?
- - - - -
100_2298
http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkliquid/3748218677/
- - - - -
Thanks darkliquid for the picture!

The last two lines are a variation on a quote I read recently: "Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?"

SoP 32: Sonnet

Her face, 'twas all but hidden from my sight
Just behind that light and silken fan
The only thing I could behold: two eyes,
And oh! Most beautiful of all the land!

A wooded brown, but so alight with fire!
I could only dream up her 'gelic face.
Simply melting my heart of tempered iron,
She stole it then, just leaving want in place.

Hidden by that dark blue, black-laced fan,
She ran her fiery eyes over my form
Reduced to puddle I was, no more man,
Oh, f'only if those eyes turned not to scorn!

Alas, the prize that could never be mine:
The girl behind the fan whose eyes did shine.
- - - - -
http://www.flickr.com/photos/meladegypsie/486102928/
- - - - -
Another bit I originally did on a recent Daily Writing prompt

SoP 31: Song to a Cereal Box

Cereal box, oh cereal box
Why've you inspired me so?
Cereal box, oh cereal box,
you 'spired me at the piano,

You demanded that a poem be writ
about you, box of wheat
or oats or something else, methinks
away your plea should beat.

Cereal box, oh cereal box,
Why've you inspired me so?
Cereal box, oh cereal box,
There! It's done! Now go!

SoP 30: The Sharp Tongue can Strike its Owner

Words
are curious things
Interesting projectiles that can be
-----gently lobbed
-----forcefully thrown

The tongue
launches these words
hopefully acting with the mind to
-----soften them
-----sharpen slightly

But sometimes
the tongue just sharpens
without a thought from the mind
-----badly received
-----self-wounding

Regret
is an awful thing
it can scar the self, but
-----one learns
-----from mistakes

29 July 2009

SoP: Historical Haiku

Ludwig Beethoven:
Who else could compose such works
and not hear a thing?
------------
And such a dynamic composer, too. Early on his pieces were very lyrical, almost indistinguishable from Mozart shortly before him. But the change is very clear, becoming more stormy, more powerful, more romantic as his career went on.
Vhat?
--------
The above originally appeared here.

Huh. Not too bad for a half-asleep haiku, if I may say so...

26 July 2009

SoP 28: Intentions

I meant to write a poem or two.
I meant to write one about a poet,
I meant to write one using random words,
I even meant to write one about a cereal box.

I didn't intend to forget.
I didn't intend to let life barge in,
I didn't intend to drift away,
I certainly didn't mean to lose track of time.

I should get around to that.
I should get to those three poems,
I should get back into the swing of things,
I definitely should stop repeating myself over and over again.

24 July 2009

SoP 25-27: The Judge, Fiction, Lines

The Judge she comes in, how regal is she!
Against the blue lake & the sky, how she gleams!
She cuts 'cross water just like the knife
With her white and wood paneling, what a sight!
- - - - -
Some say they fall for characters,
The ones found 'tween the pages.
That's fine for them, but's not for me
I've thought this for 'vral ages

But friends! Aha! I wish I could
Meet some i find in books!
But one fair recent 'scovery
S'stronger than most, take a look:

Fairly calm, a right bright bloke
Often very witty
Rather 'venturesome he is,
Danger's regular-itty.

Hitching rides across the stars,
He and his bathrobed friend
T'the edge of the galaxy and back
And, indeed, universe's end.

I kind of wish I could jump in
And meet this guy, it's true,
And just hang out for a tiny spell
And 'scuss 'tell'gent shades of blue.
- - - - -
A line is a line,
Except when it isn't.
But when would that be?
We'll see

Lines can connect places
Link A with point B
Don't have to be straight,
As long a they meet.

But where do fit treelines?
Where's "A"? What's "B"?
And do they extend?
Where do they meet?

Streets, they are lines,
But where do they go?
Just 'round and 'round
Or they just stop.

A line is a line,
Except when it isn't
But when would that be?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~Never.
-----
Three poems in one shot. Hey, I have to catch up somehow, right?

Points for naming and/or finding the character's name in the second
poem (it's in there somewhere, I assure you).^^

22 July 2009

SoP 24: Fue la chica

pobre chico,
fuiste donde no querías ir
pero, fue esa chica.

Creo lo hiciste por la chica.


La vio, y la vi,
y luego te pidió si puedra ir.

Traté de decierti "no lo hagas,"
pero no me escuchó.

Lo hiciste,
No te gustó que hiciste, pero
lo hiciste.

Y creo que fue esa chica.
-----
Inspired by my cousin getting half-dragged onto an amusment park ride by a couple girls, one of which he'd noticed earlier that day.

100th post! As a celebratory move...

WOO!

And now, back to your irregulary scheduled blogging.

19 July 2009

SoP 23: "Big Ol' World" and Appreciation

Big Ol' World
Dusty Pas'cal

(picture quality's not that great, and my favorite version's on his CD "Home," but the video's at least got the song. That's all that matters, folks)
-----
I'm so far away from heaven I feel burning on my shoes,
An itchin for the heavenly land
Then I get to thinking, "but there's still so much to do"
"should go out'n get it while I can"


But it's like that xkcd,
The one with nature's splendor,
We're all so wired, don't you see,
We don't always 'preciate time tender.

And when I think of wires, I get all worried so,
The wires may us just one day bury
So let's just count to ten a time or two or mo'
And while we can see all that we can see.
- - - - -
(inspired by a Eloosive-spawned prompt a while back)
A singer-songwriter, xkcd, impending technological singularity/apocalypse, and philisophical wonderings, all in one poem? It can be done, my friends!

17 July 2009

SoP 22: Ode to the origami flower on my desk

Flow'r, you lay upon my desk
Soft white contrast with black
Your petals curl so luciously
Spinning round, then comin' back.

I might've folded you in pink
Or something more mundane
But in a fit o'artistic fervor
I made you crisp and plain.

Nothing more than white petals
Petals tipped with black
Comin' 'cross without much fuss
With boldness others lack.

16 July 2009

SoP 21: "Your Catfish Friend" and A Letter

Your Catfish Friend

by
Richard Brautigan
If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them."

- - - - -
letter writing is a dying art
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oldflints/3539175858/
- - - - -
To send to you a writ letter,
Oh, how I wish I could!
Sometimes writing is better
With ink and flattened wood.

Alas! The distance, she is great
Between us, you and I.
You o'er in the Great Lakes State,
I o'er in Empi-ah.

I haven't heard from you, my friend,
In far too long a spell.
We need to talk sometime again,
We've many things to tell.

Te echo de menos, mon amigo,
To see your voice again!
To see that green typing, hey nonny lo!
You! Come talk! ¡Tú! ¡Ven!

15 July 2009

SoP 20: Disbelief

Disbelief
How's this possible?
I still can't believe it...
A five on my AP exam?
Impossible...
- - - - -
...But it's true. I have no idea how, but I got a 5 on my AP US History exam. I'm excited, don't get me wrong, but I have no clue as to how that happened, considering how I felt about the essays...

14 July 2009

SoP 19: Wanted: Inspiration

I'm putting out a newsprint ad
All across the nation
What I'm advertising for
Is some inspiration.

"Wanted: Inspiration
For I completely lack.
Inspiration's nece'ary
For poetry." Oh, ack!

How frustrating is this thing
Which ails my thinkings so!
It's hard to think up versey poems
When mind's as blank as snow.

I hope it soon comes back to me
my precious inspiration,
Or I think I will just go mad
with complete frustration

SoP 18: "Problems with Hurricanes" and A State of Constant Flux

Problems with Hurricanes

Victor Hernández Cruz

A campesino looked at the air
And told me:
With hurricanes it's not the wind
or the noise or the water.
I'll tell you he said:
it's the mangoes, avocados
Green plantains and bananas
flying into town like projectiles.
How would your family
feel if they had to tell
The generations that you
got killed by a flying
Banana.
Death by drowning has honor
If the wind picked you up
and slammed you
Against a mountain boulder
This would not carry shame
But
to suffer a mango smashing
Your skull
or a plantain hitting your
Temple at 70 miles per hour
is the ultimate disgrace.
The campesino takes off his hat—
As a sign of respect
toward the fury of the wind
And says:
Don't worry about the noise
Don't worry about the water
Don't worry about the wind—
If you are going out
beware of mangoes
And all such beautiful
sweet things.
- - - - -
Cold
Snow
Shiver
Shovel

Wind
Rain
Scortch
Snow


Hot
Dry
Breezy
Heavenly

Crisp
Dry
Freezing
Begins

Take
cycle.

Now
mix
it
up.

Repeat.
- - - - -
How's that for writing devoid of any inspiration whatsoever?

13 July 2009

SoP 17: Poemage is an utter fail today

Summoning poemage
Is total fail
Not quite sure why,
this serves as my bail.

I needed something,
pref'rably with rhyme
To fill the void
Until some other time.
-----

11 July 2009

SoP 16: "The Bonny Ship the Diamond" and The Mighty Pink Daffodil

The Bonnie Ship the Diamond
Traditional Scotish folk song

- - - - -
(Just so I don't lose "points" for improper meter, I'm bolding the beats. To be sung to some generic sea-shanty type tune until I come up with something else. Inspired by Diary Entries From the Crew of the Pirate Ship the Pink Daffodil, by Eloosive et al)



Well I'll tell ye a tale of somethin' worse than blight
Hey, ho, the Pink Daffodil
Of a ship, she surely was a sight
Hey, ho, the pink daffodil

With sides and sails of a faint rose-peach
The mighty Pink Daffodil
She'll be lucky t'even make it to the beach
Hey, ho, the Pink Daffodil

Clear the ports and make a scene
For the mighty pink Daffodil;
She's nothing short of in'tresting,
Will she come to greatness? Doubt she will.

With Captain Bottoms at the front
Hey, ho, the Pink Daffodil
The way he leads is nothin' short of blunt
Hey, ho, the Pink Daffodil


He cocks his hat and yells quite a bit
On the mighty Pink Daffodil,
But he's never lost for a word or a quip
Hey, ho, the Pink Daffodil.


Clear the ports and make a scene,
Here comes the Pink Daffodil.
There're clouds of doubt to her life 'spect'ncy
But she pulls through, she always will.

-----

Yarg! Thar she is: The Pink Daffodil!



Well, an origami version, anyway. I couldn't find pink paper, so I used red, and tried to make it as pink as possible.

10 July 2009

SoP: Time

It's interesting how
when we seemingly have
MORE
time,
The more likely it is
that it
r
.u
..n
...s

~~~a
~~w
~a
y

from us.

Why is it that
in crunch time
we seem to be able
to create
MORE
time?

09 July 2009

SoP 14: Driver's Ed & Paranoia

If you live life as high as sequoias,
here's a course you might enjoy'ahs,
Good for both girls and the boy'ahs:
Driver's Ed and Paranoia.

One in the same, in both my eyes.
Don't sep'rate them, don't even try!
Just think, it'd be no fun to die
Because of th'unseen Other Guy.

On the side walks or 'hind the wheel
Always be prepared to yiel'
Don't you dare to on the road peal,
Or someone's life you just may steal.

Now, I hate paranoia, see,
But I don't wanna dee-eye-ee
Behind the wheel of a automobi'
So watch it for Other gee-why-ee.

If you live life as high as sequoias,
here's a course you might enjoy'ahs,
Good for both girls and the boy'ahs:
Driver's Ed and Paranoia.

07 July 2009

SoP 13: Limericks!

The Book of Nonsense, 10
Edward Lear
There was an Old Man in a tree,
Who was horribly bored by a Bee;
When they said, "Does it buzz?"
He replied, "Yes, it does!"
It's a regular brute of a Bee!"
-----
There once was a parrot named Bob
And he used to continually sob,
"Please notice me! Can't anyone see

That I just want corn on the cob!"
-----
Yay for off-the-cuff limericks! I haven't tackled one of these in quite some time.

06 July 2009

SoP 12: "El Paso" and Another one Re: The Admirer

El Paso
sung by Chris Thile



(Go to 52:02... that's where the song starts)



A pianist sat beneath a tree
atop a verdant hill
And passed her days writing away
letting her mind go where it will.

Now a phantom lived atop the tree
Where the pianist liked to be
And soon became smiten with what she'd written
"I think I'm in love," thought he.


But the phantom could not tell his love
Of his feelings strong
Without her sight knowing, without his face showing
Until an idea came along.

He knew she kept her writing book
Inside the olden tree
"I'll leave a not ehtere, my thoughts I will share."
He wrote, then waited to see.

The pianist she came very early next morn
And a curious sight she found:
She found her book, 'steand of in the nok
Opened up near rock on the soft ground.

She found a note scrawled on a page
"I thiink I'm in love!" it declared.
She came most suspicious. "I wonder who this is,"
For she was the only one there.

This continued for a few weeks more
Till the pianist cried, "enough!"
"If yourself you don't show, anonymity goes!"
"I'm tired of secrety stuff."

Then she wondered, "¿qué pasará?"
"Would the admirer lose the strong heart
If he couldnt stay 'non'mous? Did I sound too auton'mous?"
"No, this is right, in my heart."

Weeks later she sat in her tree
Upon a surly branch
When from up in the tree came a sight to see,
The phantom stood below with timid stance.

"Ive been your secret admirere,"
He said in a tone most shy.
"I had to profess, I tried to confess
my love for you," he sighed.

The pianist crossed her arms and smiled at him
A smile thick-laden with pity.
"You sure have some gumption. I make the assumption
YYou'd like to stay'n anonymity?"

The phantom nodded eagerly,
enamorous glint in his eye.
The pianist shook her head, and to herself she said,
"Least I know who those notes are by."
-----
I whipped this up late, I know the meter's off, but I had to write this in light of a revelation. Yes, the Admirer's finally revealed himself to me. I'm not only a technicality freak, I'm also a chiquita of my word. In "The Dangers of Loving an Imp" (SoP 7), I "threatened" (paraphrased) "Unless you give me some sort of clue to your identity, poof goes the anonymous option." So, because he i.d.'ed himself to me, I'll be nice and keep the option of anonymity for future commentage.

SoP 11

To write poetry in the dark
Is to write poetry confused

The muttled noise
The lack of light
Shrouded in darkness
Is all sight, all sound

How to make sense of
It all?
How to escape?

Like a car on the highway,
All we can do
Is sit back,
Buckle up,
And hold on.

04 July 2009

SoP 10: Star-Spangled Banner

The Star-Spangled Banner
Francis Scott Key

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming;
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of flight and the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land,
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just.
And this be our motto— "In God is our trust; "
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

- - - - -
No poem from me today... Happy Independence Day!

03 July 2009

SoP 9: Untitled Haiku

It is just my luck

We know so many people with

High awesome levels

- - - - -

I didn't have the energy to find a good poem today... ah well.

02 July 2009

SoP 8: "The Road Not Taken" and Deep Traffic


http://blogsergiofreire.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/yellow_wood.jpg
- - - - -
The Road Not Taken
~Robert Frost~

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.




- - - - -


Deep Traffic


(sung to the tune of "Deep River")

Deep traffic, my home is a-cross five lanes


Deep traffic, Lord... I want to cross over the great highway.


Oh, don't you want to cross to the other side


Of that old stretch? But no one'll move aside.


Deep traffic, my him is a-cross five lanes


Deep traffic, Lord... I want to cross over the great highway.
- - - - -
I thought of this coming home from driver's ed this morning. It's short, but I rather like it.

01 July 2009

SoP 7: "To His Coy Mistress" and The Danger of Loving an Imp

To His Coy Mistress
Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
- - - - -
The Danger of Loving an Imp
Tis dangerous to love a slyish imp,
To strangers she is quite skeptic
And when she's a skeptic, the stranger is prone
To 'ceive blows most knavish, that's typic.

Inately s'picious, she gets quite confused
About her nameless admirer.
And when she's confused, you'd better watch out
For iminent impish-like fire.

With folk she don't know, whose i.d. stay mum
Under the veil "Anon'mous,"
She smirks a sly smirk, and says to herself,
"I've 'cided to be auton'mous...

"...And possibly wield my blog-running power
By ex-naying that shadowy shroud
And so my Admirer'd have to say something,
No longer 'hind the 'nonymous cloud."

And with a poised finger she almost did press
The button to cut off the choice,
And then she did think, "But what if the guy
Loses the courage, his voice?"

The impish girl thought, then with a sigh-shrug,
"I'll give it just one more small chance."
And so, Secret One, I say to you now,
To willingly show self's last chance.
- - - - -
To be frank, if a certain somebody (you know who you are) doesn't give me some kind of clue (blogger profile link, webpage/blog link), the option of comments-in-complete-anonymity's going adios, sianara, good-day-to-you-sir. I've been good enough to inadvertantly give a certain somebody a glimpse of my soul, I think I deserve the same.
- - - - -
I apologize for neglecting to post a poem yesterday, I simply didn't have time to whip anything up. Perhaps I'll double up one of these next days.