School Started Today

I have been having a fantastic day. School was enjoyable and all of my classes seem awesome.

I have been holding out a good happy poem for all my readers and today is the day to let the world hear it.

Lazy Sun Day

The sun creeps slowly, over the horizon.
First, he swings his gut up over the tree line.
Each leg hefted afterwords, a stumbling accompaniment.
Yes, the morning has come. Sigh and meet the day.

Their are many things he does, in the early risen morn.
Scratch the exposed parts of his belly,
hanging beyond the edges of his shirt.
He yawns profusely and keeps little on his mind.

He consumes a strict diet of sky doughnuts.
Jelly and Bavarian filled, glazed and maple,
All in strict quantities, 80 each, kept in barrels.

He loathes his huffing trek across the sky,
through infinite blue fields of wispy clouds.
When overstuffed cloud-couches drift by he longs
to rest his calves and aching sun-shoes.

But the grunting and moaning must continue.
The sun must make his grueling trip.
For if the scents and sounds he makes,
don't jolt our senses to awake,
we will have no day to rise for.

Happy Fourth of July

I wish all of my readers a happy fourth of July and I hope you have a good time reading my poem. Also, I am sorry that I have neglected to post a poem in awhile, my life is very hectic though.

My Country Sleeps

The location of
this great Behemoth,
built by part and labor,
is lost to me.

My Elders speak
of shining stars, waving flags
and apple pie.
Their dreams and
sweat, the pavement
of these years
but here I stand
in a place otherwise.

No dreams, no pie.
Only things
to make you cry.
The dust to sting
your eyes
and clarify how
alone, how lost
we are.

Where is this
America?
Sheltering the needy
and unique.
Where are the
Dreams?

I can see them,
the shadows of
promises, wishes
all: unfulfilled.
I see fallacies
and phalluses
that rule above.

Where is my mighty home?
I do not see
Lady Liberty
her shield and sword
crafted in my father's
war.

I do not see
what we fight for.

I do not see
my America.

Prometheus

So, first let me apologize. I am very sorry that I have taken so long to post and because I have to put a pause on my composting series. Hopefully, I will throw down on the two more instrumental poems that I want to write soon.

Today though, I would like to share a new style of poem with you. In composition it is the same but, the process is different. I call these sudden poems. These are composed in a fit of emotion: joy, love, sadness, hate. They are undoubtedly the most common poems I compose.

Also, I hope to have some pictures of Beaux Arts posted for you next time.

Prometheus

There he stole my fire.
With Guile and stealth
and treachery

He called me as his friend.
We dined and laughed together;
Yet, when the flickerin' embers
And ruby gleam caught his eye
Our friendship was lost.

There he stole my fire.
The desire and love of my mind,
The greatest possession of my soul.
He took it with wanting eyes,
Where flames and Lust danced within.

Now, the heavens are dark.
Friendless, without warmth and light.
My days spent, watching and loving
An afterimage, of flame he held.

For, I cannot discard my love.

Beaux Arts Coming up

The Beaux Arts Ball, hosted by UK's College of Design, will be this Saturday and I am super duper psyched. Last year I went as Doc Holiday and Fayth went as Big Nose Kate. It was a fun time for all and a freaky time for Lexington. I only hope the same for the Beaux arts ball this year.

Speaking of this year, I have a great costume plan. I plan on being the Doritos Samurai from the Super Bowl Commercial. What can I say, I love doritos, so crunchy and tasty. YUM :)

I have the second of my musical profile poems for you today. This bit of poetry is about the Guitar. If you would like an extra bit of lyricism in your life today: try comparing the Guitar poem with the Horn poem. They are poetry written in series, they do have some correlation between them. See what you can find!

Guitar

A strum begins the battle,
One man grips the neck in one hand
And strums his fingers across the body.
With the rhythm in his grasp he
bends it to his will, no resistance.

His fingers dance across the
pressure points of melody, striking
with precise time. Each fret
and strum: a fainting blow,
each chord a slash of layered steel.
With calculated performance, he
dispatches each individual target.

He carries his Guitar, like
a rogue his blade.
With agility and stealth
it can strike you, unknowing.

Music Class Composting

I have a music history and theory class ( mus 101) every Mon, Wed and Fri morning and usually the class proceeds as a semi-boring lecture with a lot of copying and such. I have been trying to take a more active approach in appreciating the class material and over-viewing my notes and so I have been composting them into poetry.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with composting: it is the process of taking old things you have written, even the most casual and lucid things and then reintroducing them into your current 'pool of thought'. This often results in a greater understanding and analysis of a particular idea, as it has already been thought upon by yourself at least once.

This idea is central in Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down The Bones, I thoroughly suggest you purchase this book if you need guidance in writing. She does a remarkable job exploring the depths of a writer.

I have plan to pull a series of instrument profile poems from my notes. I have one written so far, more to come.


Horn

A breath begins the fight.
One man clenches chest muscles
pushing against, crushing into
emptiness: his lungs and
expelling a vicious punch of wind.

His breath surges down and strikes
through his weapon. His fingers,
stretched to a posture of rapid attack,
engage in a fury of jabs and blows to strike his foe.

His brass beast squeals out a war cry.
Galloping, Breathing, Striking,
a music formed of war.

Haiku for You

Today is an exceptionally sunny day here in Lexington. I decided to do some writing on the porch out back. Well, these little morsels of poetry are the result and they are just for you to enjoy.


Clothes heavy and limp.
They are soaked with cold river,
Koi caress my feet.


A field of Flowers,
All vying to see the sun
Solar warmth abides.


Pure snow, Undisturbed.
White, endless serenity,
Crunching underfoot.


Below me a mountain,
Rocky crags and hills form its veins,
All I see is stone.


Playful spring breezes
Alight petals into dance.
Beauty of Nature.

Sonnetize me captain

At one point I would say that I didn't like Sonnets. My perspective has broadened since then and now I share for you a sonnet I wrote for my English class.

Sonnet #195
Here in the wastes of schooltime splendor I,
The laureate of lethargy, compose
Ballad to delight my readers a sigh.
Thusly words from my fingertips now flow:

Here, keeping meter and rhyme grows weary
As the mind is tortured o’re boredoms racks.
My mouth drawn to yawn, my eyes gone teary,
I wade through conjecture and lecture facts.

Then my eyes are blinded by knowing light.
When I, my home in lazy darkness make,
Remove myself from understanding’s fight.
Now with scholar’s purpose, I my norm break.

Knee-deep in knowing, I now understand
That living a life of effort is quite grand.