A phone and rice dinner

My phone is broke...
It fell in some water (long story short)

so the lady at Verizon said I should try putting it in a bag of rice because that would draw away all of the water.

I am still skeptical.

Well, here is a poem.

Six cans of Poetry, opened on You.


A good poem can make you go
Oh.....
A good poem can make you stop and notice.
Notice, the crazy froth that flows
from betwixt your teeth.

A good poem is like and Angry principle
Detention for a week! And don't ever let me catch you doing it again!

It can rip open your chest like a kung fu, Bruce Lee, flying crane master.

It can hold out your guts.
Hold them out for you to see
just how FAT you have become.

It can show you
Just how much that THEFT hurt someone
Just how fast love goes to RAGE
Just how vile RAPE is

Stop yourself, scoundrel, or the poem police will come

and

slam

your

ass for living in the grocery store tabloid world.
Happy as can be.

No more RAPING!
No more VIOLENCE!
No more DRUGS! (except pot)
No more CRYING!
young man....rest your weary eyes.

A good poem loves you
and, at the same time, hates you
drops a nuke on you
destroys you

Original Sin, says the poem
and no thorns to be found.

Redneck Troubles and a Sad Separation

I think if I was a redneck the phrase to describe this would be "Well, Hell."


I forgot to finish the poem, I wrote it....then I got mad at it.

So I put it aside and forgot it.

but instead I have this piece of prose I wrote recently.

I call it ( I am making this name up right now)

Letter Writing 101

What is the best way to start a letter? There are several options, I guess. You could use Dear or Hey or if you were feeling a bit adventurous you could even just leave off the introduction entirely. But I think for a letter of quality an introduction is a must have. But then that brings about the question of quality, what kind of letter is it. Is it a letter to the city about how you can’t pay the bill for your new water heater? Or is it perhaps a sincere letter to your grandmother addressing her recent surgery. Or is it a gut wrenching letter that conveys your deepest feelings of love and remorse; which is undoubtedly the hardest thing you have ever had to write in your entire stint of time on this earth?

“My Dearest (CENSORED),” that is the introduction I picked, in the end. I hope it isn’t too old-timey. No, it is perfect, it expresses…something good, I don’t know what though. But it doesn’t matter that I don’t know, it just feels right and as soon as that phrase leaves my pen more phrases are in line to escape from the confusing mess that is my brain. I write pages and pages. In the end I write 28 eloquent pages to (CENSORED) about how much I love her yet, at the same time, hate her. It is terrible, to love someone and to hate that same person. Your mind is torn apart, constantly you are getting mad at the person but then forgiving them as soon as you remember the way they laughed.

Peals of laughter were my food of choice back then. I waited patiently each day for the time I got to see (CENSORED), be it gym class or lunch; my dreams or my nightmares. But regardless of the context there was always laughter. Oh, how I miss that laughter. A joyful chuckle, a harmonious giggle, a delighted squeal, picture if you can, a chorus of one thousand angels all garbed in shining white, with their wings unfurled, basking in the glow of the sun and then simultaneously they open their mouths and out flows music in the form of laughter: Crescendo, Vibrato, Legato, beauty incarnate. (CENSORED)’s laughter sounded nothing like that. I can think of no words that describe her laughter.

Actually, I don’t recall much detail about (CENSORED), at all, it has been so long sense I have seen her. Although I do remember that every time I saw her I lost my breath. She was perfect, and that is all I will say because prefect is…just perfect.

I wrote all of those pages telling her how much I love her, but then scolding her for not loving me back. She always told me she loved me but I know she didn’t. I know she didn’t, she loved me not loved me. You see, there is a fine line between love and love. It is the negative space occupied by an e and an l. “I LOVE YOU” is another whole book compared to “Love you too” or even worse, “And I you.”

So I wrote her this letter, and I told her my feelings.

I told her despite how she completes my life, every day I don’t see her I die. I told her I can’t do well in school because she is the answer to every equation. 2x+ |a+87^1/2|= (CENSORED). I told her my thoughts are a museum to the relics of our friendship. I told her every time I call or every time I text and she doesn’t respond a layer of my being is stripped away and exposed to a harsh reality. I told her I am not a stalker; I told her it is painful to write this letter. I told her I love you. I scrawled it across the last page, all alone, just out in the open. I told her…never to talk to me again.

Love is all I am.

Ladies and Gents,
Hello and Hi, Salutations and /w(s). How are you all doing? I really am quite concerned, because if you are reading my blog you are awesome++++.

I am rather sad about my lack of poetry but I do realize it is because I have a lack of free time. I have school, work, friends, recreational drugs (and by that I mean the occasional drink).
But I am rather happy about the poem I plan to write very soon, one of love. Not one of my emo sad poems ( which I hate ever-so much) but rather a poem of true finding.

In other news though I have noticed some interesting things lately.

1. Youtube has become a very...musical website. A good majority of the post are now music, which is a bit limiting. (http://youtube.com/categories_portal?c=10&e=1)

2. If you are as immature as I and you follow lots of childish cartoons October/November has been great for you. I.E. Stweie shot and killed Louis on Family Guy, but she is somehow back (http://youtube.com/watch?v=uZGL8x66qwQ). AND Cartman has finally got Kyle to "Suck his Balls" (http://allsp.com/l.php?id=e165)

WATCH THEM QUICK BEFORE COPYRIGHT KICKS IN


Poem to come later.

Apologies

I want to apologize to Lindsay Clark

I did not know she read my blog and I didn't put here in the acknowledgments last go round.

THIS IS ME SAYING SORRY.

SORRY

=)

A Tribute To A Singer pt. 1

1. I recently realized that my poetry isn't as good as I think it is :) ( there is my ego) So this is a thank you to my two readers. ( Ellen and Christine)

2. This section will be the first in a multi part series, in which I will feature a musician. The wonderful singer's name is Saya Novinger.

I actually don't know how to put audio in my blog so if anyone knows please tell me so you can hear the subtle tones of her voice. So instead I have a poem I wrote for her about a month ago that was inspired by her singing. ( The next section will have her music)


The Pipes of Lady Novinger

"Ok" said I.
"Sing until we all know you deserve this job"

And she sung, out
out from her radiant core rang the notes
each one laden with the skill of their crafter
Each note a pure testament to deliberate skill

A page of brilliant music
that glowed with a light of genius
blinding red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.

All of the colors make white, divine, perfect.

Crescendo, Legato, Vibrato
Fortísimo, Cadenza, Contralto,

Expresivo, Nocturne, Decrescendos

Hang those musicologists for trying to name this.
It is everything.
Tree, Fish, Fast, Slow, Paint, Moon,
Binder, Continent, Glass, King
Galaxy, All.

and all of the sounds made me cry
they blended together to form material soft as the sun.
is it even possible to get close to the sun
and not burn?

EXPLODE
from the presence of it.
Feel the perfect unison of hydrogen, and oxygen, and every other gas

being fused together to make perfect
perfect
perfect
perfect
measures sung with resonance of peace

I wiped the ash from my shirt. My eyebrows had been burnt away.

I wrote her a note of a piece of paper.

“Darling, never speak to me again.

I want not to hear anything new; the sounds of my foot steps are like cacophonous drums banging away,

a birds song is like a screeching storm of tweaks and twerps.

Only your voice can ever be beautiful to me.

I have removed my ears so that I can live in the moment of your song forever.“

“You got the job.”

Philosophize about Philosophy

Today I was reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" and I was at a particularly good part. The book was discussing all types of revolutionary philosophy and it made me think...I want to be a revolutionary philosophizer. So I was walking to my next class and questioning everything. Why is this that and such and such. Mostly just picking nits.

Then I stumbled across some more remarkable thoughts (at least by my standards) and if not remarkable thoughts then I would say universal truths.

So...here it goes.



Consider a window. It is made with a single purpose in mind, to provide a portal to the outside world: a place to see through or allow air to pass through. But then consider a bricked up window. Why would someone make a window and brick it up?

The frame of the window can still be pleasing to see, even if it is bricked up. But the window is no longer a window, yet it is still called a window. What would you call it otherwise? And what Purpose would the window serve?

The function of the window is irrelevant. Because it is still defined as a window. By coming to that conclusion we can determine that function is irrelevant. Rather it is function that defines usage.

Consider now the bricked window. It is a window, it functions as a window, albeit poorly; as such, its usage, which has been determined by some outside force, is minimal and primarily aesthetic.

Now consider a pine bush. It expends valuable energy to create a vibrant, beautiful berry. At one time that berry may have contained nutrients but now it is a poisonous shell for a seed, useless to all hosts of creatures. Does it not seem frivolous of nature to create a berry that serves little purpose?

The usage of the berry exceeds little more than that of the window, as an aesthetic piece, and as such is defined as a object of useless beauty. Its existence serves no greater purpose, it is purely frivolous. Through these deductions we can determine that usage indeed defines existence.

As an example: Many philosophers state that humans serve no greater purpose than that of reproduction. But what of those humans, who number a substantial percentage, that engage in no reproduction in their life. Would you qualify them as useless? Does not their existence on this earth correlate to their usage. They are not used as machines as reproductions but rather as vessels for other pursuits: arts, sciences, mathematics, philosophy. Their usage is determined thus, they serve for the betterment of mankind. They are used by the qualities of their mind, be it a sex drive or something more academic. Is it not human nature to question or are we to lie in the complacency of our lying.

We can further state that if we go as far to define something we limit its possibilities of boundless existence. Consider a Car. If we go as far to identify a car as a means of transportation, that is al it is. Can not the car exist for other purposes? Can it not serve as an assembly of parts to generate energy? Or as a residency?




whoah.....that sounded better in my head. I had trouble tying together my hierarchy of existence...but you get it yeah?

The first of september

Yay, today is the first. Of all the days, I think the first is my favorite.
I get paid on the first and....that is the only reason. Likewise the 15th is awesome.
Well, I didn't do so hot on my astronomy test I got a 40/52 which is like a 77%. WTF ZOMG NO WAY; I studied more for that test than I have any test in the history of my brain.

I have my geology test in 35 minutes.....and yes I studied more than I did for the astronomy test.


I am thinking of putting XP on my computer again. it will cost me greatly.
ALSO....I am going to go winter close shopping soon.
Wish me luck....


and now for todays poem....the last one was a bit sloppy this one is deffinitly more meditated.

Love your Chengu

Do you remember all of the fun we had?
How we talked of perfect futures
where you and I lived as neighbors
and the milk man came promptly, everyday at 7am.

Oh, how i remember such promises
and how I miss our time together.

Now I am older, as we all are.
Adorned with facial hair and common sense
and I see what is reality.

Pick some cities.
Chicago-D.C.-Seattle-New York.
Put them between our houses.
Separate us by miles and miles,
oceans and beaches.
Separate us by crappy cars
and sky-high sky travel around the world.

I will tell you a secret, we live in a crazy mixed up world
not to be clichéd but....yep. That is a good description.

For us to assume such fancies is LUNACY

"Dr.Frankenstein, you cant have his brain."
"Yes I need it."
"Why?"
"I want to play with it"

=

"Pizza, monday. k?"
"OK, cya then."
"BTW did you get teh math homework"
etc...

But their is still a friendship, a love, between us.

Our time together determined that.

When we fought, When we loved,
When we laughed, When we boozed.

Those are our memories to lack away forever.
Behind lock and key, steel and biometrics.

When I see your photo,
from the shutter's light
I am briefly sad. My sun sets
But then I remember our time. My sun rises again.

So, record me in your journal.
Store me in your heart.
Sing me in your songs and
paint me in your art.

Because I write you in my verse.

A mundane monday

I will include of my updates and current feelings in the following poem. So...read that and know me.

They say, through a haze.

They say confidence is key.
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
They say there is someone for everyone.
They say the third time is the charm.

Who are they? Some council of wizened seers,
cast in shadows and clouds of dense pipe smoke?
Each more threadbare than the other, for their mind is their only concern?
Do they gather bi-weekly to discuss the mysteries of social interaction
or gather to deliberate about the quantity of times one must try?
And I am sure they know the exact quantity of fish in the sea.

Yes, that is who they are.

But I think
there is a blip in their data
A smudge in their computations
flaws can be found in their thesis


For those optimistic things don't apply to me.
I do my best to fit into their numbers.
"1 in five" well for me it is along the lines of 542423 in 9928102843
not a very good number

Consider me, red.
Thrown in a fit against the canvas.
I am LOUD
and Annoying
jovial
excitable
ignorant
and thoughtful

So, says the person.
everyone is different. Someone likes you.
then their phone rings out the cry of a text message.

YOU, I say, YOU ALL
You are the one who has friends, receives messages and calls
for people want to spend time with you.
when is it a call for me?

GIVE ME BACK MY POT.
I WILL NO LONGER SMOKE YOU UP FOR FREE.

your all using me.

buzzz

you use me to help you. you don't care to see me

buzzz

"how are you Daniel? actually don't answer, I don't care"

buzzz

"It is a platonic love."
I LOVE YOU MORE THAN PLATO CAN DEFINE

buzzz

turn off that damn phone
and leave your calls for later

now is the time of...I don't know

Wait, What?

O.K. guys, it has been some time since I last posted a bit for you so I plan to make this one a good one with lots of stories about....me.

Let's first start with the most pressing of news. My computer is pulling the windows vista suck a lot protocol on me. Meaning it is implementing a secret Microsoft protocol of sucking and destroying my beautiful computer. Microsoft, if you are among my 5 readers, go die. So i decided to go to Best Buy and talk to the geek squad. Do you know what those jerks tried to charge me? 200 dollars for a simple re-format. WHAT THE HELL. THAT IS STEALING. IF YOU HAVE THE SYSTEM RESTORE CD THAT COMES WITH YOUR COMPUTER IT IS A INSERT CD, FOLLOW DIRECTIONS, PROCESSES. IT DOES NOT COST 200 DOLLARS. JERKS

Anyways, my computer is turning shitty and I want to re format but I never learned how so I am confused and alone with my grandparents.

On another note I am becoming quite prosperous in my friend making process. And that is good?
But I am also losing old friends by the day and that is not good.

So anyways not as many stories as I wanted to tell...because I forgot the others.

POEM!!

Nevermore Nectarine

A tree

The process of life

Traveling up from soil

Surging, vivid, electric through veins

Composing lattice patterns on wood-work boughs

Teaching a bud

How to bloom

And blossom

Bring forth bounty

Feed bees

Then burgeon

A bulb

Of fleshy beauty

Believe it can be

Brought by blowing winds

The barrage of rain

A bereavement of the skies

Can build

A bit of blackberry

Apple

Cherry

Peach

Orange

Nectarine

Eat the nectarine

Till it is nevermore

But it is never-nevermore

Procrastination?

Well here I am again sitting in another computer lab, just on a monotonous computer, pushing repetitive keys, doing regular things.

Class is not an exciting thing, don't let them fool you. Presumably college if fun, drinking,partying, class?

Well I guess it could all be fun and game is you got classes you want but when you have astronomy, geology, algebra, and innovative mathematics, NOT FUN.

But, I guess, this way I get all of the bullshit out of the way and do the coll stuff later on.

I even talked to someone today about participating in a study abroad program. Possibly, very fun.

But, on to business, todays poem is another poem in regards to Ms. Rosenfeld, I think about her to much (repressed feelings?), that I wrote during one of my enormous, between class stints.

Snake

How I long for 10:15

Oh. Uh, yeah Oh.

I love 10:15, it is the best time;

A time when words can mingle.

When the snake crawls and slides from my mouth

Each scale glistening with distinct diction.

His snake and her snake

……………….

My snake and your snake

………………

Our snake and their snake

……………..

Intertwined in a joyful snake orgy,

Just two, or just 6,000,000,000.

Scales on Scales, caressing and pressing.

Some snakes abide to many others.

Your snake abides too, many others

Of course, I love conversing with your snake.

But when will I listen to mine?

Desinging a new breed of poetry

Ok, I have a new idea for a poem; I realize that I haven't been putting out any poems right now but I am just in a crazy writers block right now. I haven't even finished a good chapter for my book in quite some time. But....here it is.


I am thinking about using a word recognition pattern in the poem and writing it about the human subconscious.

A little confused? Let me explain.

well actually I can't...... just stay tuned and you will see.

but I will give you one of my older poems for your reading pleasure!

The lighthouse and how you became it.

I had a dream that I was at your wedding.

It was on a small rocky island, with a gorgeous lighthouse;

A beautiful display of Architecture, so beautiful.

There was a single thin ribbon of land, thin yet strong.

That was the only way for me to get to you, the lighthouse was so isolated.

The festivities would have been marked as the greatest of all time.

Doves and Does, Purple and Poises, Roses and Reality.

People flocked from lands untold to view the festivities at the lighthouse.

Garbed in splendid banners of white and pearls, so beautiful

Nothing Old, Nothing New, Nothing Borrowed, Never Blue.

Just how it is supposed to be.

I cry when you walk, because I know you can’t come back.

I don’t want you to see me, I know you won’t understand.

The bridge crumbles and leaves me alone on the island.

Without a Lighthouse for me to ever gaze upon again

I sit, with my secret held close.

I can’t taste sweetness or feel the sun.

Nature has lost its beauty and the wind never visits me anymore.

Yet I can still picture the Lighthouse where I lost you.

It was such a perfect lighthouse; I have never seen one like it.

So beautiful, and what am I?

**Dedicated to Lindsay Rosenfeld**

College Cares

So, I am writing this blog from a computer lab, in a student center, in a building, on UK Campus.

I guess that is kind of cool. I have decided that I am going to do most of my posts through here, because I have this tremendous two hour break between classes, from 9-11.(Oooooh Spooky) Nothing even good to do at that time.

Nevertheless, I will come to you despite the urging of conspiracy theorists that suggest my corelation with 9-11 is a ill omen and I should stay locked in the Disaster Shelter Bathrooms, found all about UK, to ensure I am not bombed... to death.

Also, tonight is the grand opening party for Prince Hookah Lounge, my place of employment. It starts at 8 and continues to about 3 am. YAY.
So, if you happen to read this and you happen to be in close proximity to me, come on over and see me some time.
( I do realize that I have only, two or three consistent readers and also that none of them are even close to me. So that was just wasted section of writing.

Ok, one more thing, yesterday I had my first class of my once weekly seminar class, Modern Innovations through Psychology, which has nothing to do with psychology. And our professor, Phillip Kramer, being the deputy provost, decided that we didn't need the shitty basement room at the bottom of Funkhouser. So we walked about 15 minutes to a new building, where Kramer informed the woman in charge we will be having class in here. She started to say something, then stopped. We walked right past her, sat in the classroom and began. THAT IS POWER.

I think I may like this man.

Also, regarding my next poem. Would you rather hear something regarding free speech and non-conformity or something about hookah? ( I realize I probably won't even get an answer.)

A working stiff.

Well I finally got a job and it is, in fact, a good job. I WORK AT A HOOKAH BAR!!!!

As my mentor Martha Stewart would say, it is a good thing.

I start work on the 20th, I believe, and and work on Monday, Tuesday and Saturday.

So if your in the University neighborhood come by and see me some time at Prince Hookah.


and now a poem....

The Throne.

The place where I sit is amazing; it branches out on every side

Into eternal brown walls and transparent green glass,

That compose the nature of this building.

It is an old building it has been here since dinosaurs walked

And ate of its windows.

The walls are as firm as tempered aluminum

And they have veins that pump with a deliberate pulse.

They are derived of the very heart of the world

Pumping, pumping, pumping with Mother Natures Blood

It is a spectacular cathedral and as such has breath-taking stained glass

Glass that is mottled by the bites of caterpillars, who crawl too and fro, inching.

It is light and green, the wind throws it about and yet it doesn’t shatter

The light cast through it and creates images of chloroform to dance on the walls

This is my fortress of nature, I sit and observe the world

It is my bastion of venereal knowledge.

Where theories may be gray, but real life is green.

My Tree

Hookah Fabulous.

I went to try again for the hookah bar application today and success! The guy was there I got my application, and talked to him for a bit. I wonder if I made a good impression. Although...I need three professional references, and that is something I don't have.

Reference 1.

Mr. Santa Claus

Reference 2.

Mr. Al Gore (? I wonder if they would buy it)

Reference 3.

Mr. Jarflak Nasuga'besh (He lives on Jupiter! Ha, try to contact him!)



Well so in the terms of poetry. Should I give you an old one or a new one.....(Seeing as I have no new ones....)

The girl whose eye’s turn bluer.

Damn you, this is shit, damn it all; damnation

That is all I wish upon this dogmatic confine,

That is humanities time tested system of propagation.

I call this love; it is a horrid beast of demonic design.

And thoughts of doubt as you continue to, in your wisdom, to rate.

Screams of passion echo across the hollow of my heart, a cavern.

Can I resolve this thing raging in my body, this debate?

Or, can I silence them all with another 80 proof, in my cities tavern?

You, it is all your fault, you are the only one to blame.

Did you apprentice a Hunter? For surely this is a well placed snare.

I walked right into your “mutual feelings” trickery, what a game!

I must have been easy prey. Now I just sit above your mantel and glare.

I must be free of you, no, I need to be free. But it is not what I want.

For your eyes continue to be blue, and your body you continue to flaunt.

**I don't approve of sad poetry, or structured poems (Such as the above sonnet) but I think using a sonnet form really amplifies the poignancy of the poem.

A Feather and a Dead Man.

Last night I was about to go to bed and I was listening to the sultry sounds of Says Novinger (more about her later) when I saw sirens flash through my window. I looked out to see a cop car, a cop, a woman, her car and a man lying on the curb.

The police man thought the man was dead and was quite sure of it, called to more squad cars and an ambulance. Did some investigating and told the girl to go. Then as the paramedic was checking the pulse of the man he sprung up. The men jumped back and drew their guns, then put them back in the holsters.

The guy sat up and talked to the police for a bit. The paramedic was freaking out. After about 5 minutes of talking a man comes down the street in a white shirt, blue jeans and sunglasses (2 AM Sunglasses WTF). He says something to the person siting down, and the walk away.

The Police are like, Huh.

SOMEoNE IS BREEDING ZOMBIES IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD>>>>>>WHOA.

Also I went to get my application for the hookah bar today, no one was there. :( Sad .

18 year old feather.

18 years and 10 months ago. I found something

I found three feathers of fallen angels

They were tattered and torn, a bit mottled

But they were a piece of something greater;

Evidence of a presence that binds us.

I planted one under a tree

I made one into a pen

And I sealed one inside of a person.

Now the tree has grown and it is strong,

Its’ branches provide shade and its leaves stop the sun

The tree is a city where ants and moths, tweedles and dums

Go to work every day, do their thing and come home

And this tree is one of thousands, one of millions, one of infinity.

And all of them do their thing; all of them grow and go.

Their flowers bloom with an intoxicating bouquet and

Turn to fruit to feed the masses. It is something that binds us.

The pen sat on the desk of so many people.

People with beards and ears, tears and dears.

They wrote about those things or about the time Adolph met Europe.

Words flowed from the pin like water from the soft sandstone.

Twisting their way around history and up into our brains.

They spun a web of images and told a tale of neutrons.

Every word was loved and hated by the world and the masses

But certain words find certain people and bind them.

The person I gave the feather to grew to be great.

They painted a picture about a Lisa.

And they sang a song about a twist.

I once heard them serenade a crowd with the blasting of fireworks.

They went crazy and mailed their ears and their anthrax.

They even had big ears and led us to war.

Their songs, art, speeches, actions and factions

United the masses under a sense of happiness

And my feather person bound them all up.

The Tree, The Pen, The Person they all have the power to bind us

To show us something greater than ourselves,

They can bind us to reality or joy

Or faith and hope.

They can,

Can you?

Two in one DAY!!!!

yes two in one day but i recently discovered my hero and I thought the world should know.


http://i-am-bored.com/bored_link.cfm?link_id=24614


I love him.





SUCK IT

Canvas and Homeless Men.

I had to go and get my canvas backpack patched today, there were holes in the bottom corners from where books had punctured through. On the way I stopped by another Game Stop. I was very assertive in my interview/application hand in and I think things may go well this time. I am so proud of myself for being LOUD AND PROUD!!!
Well anyways on the way home I saw an old bum walking through the park and thought nothing of it. Once I ate my lunch and went to my room to read a little, Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, I saw the old man walking past my house. He stooped and smiled at me. So I wrote a poem in his honor.

This is an explanation...for the following. I am not schizophrenic. (HOLY SHIT I spelled that right on my first try)

They live in my head.

Meet Daniel and meet Dan; they both live in a side of my head.

It is quite quaint, with only two cabinets and only two beds.

They are usually perfect gentleman and never fight-that is until they speak.

Or that one time when they we on a plane flying to Mozambique.

“Out dammed spot! Get out of my char! 4c is my chair.”

“Fine then, loser, but I get the peanuts and get your bag’s strap out of my hair!”

“Loser, who are you referring to as a loser, twerp?”

“You called me a ‘Spot’ first, jerk!”

“Ha, I was merely reciting some appropriate verse.”

….But of course, this all goes on inside my head.

“Sir, what a superb use of literary prowess that was a beautiful ellipsis”

“Yeah…yeah man, yeah that is a good use of isthmus.”

Of panama.

So anyways, every day I sit in my chair and read in my books

And this strange little man comes by and gives me all sorts of looks.

“He is indeed a peculiar little man, he looks so poor, he just comes and goes.”

“Nah, peculiar is an understatement, you don’t even know.”

He always stops and stares at me, while I read in my chair.

“He is as a leaf taking a break from the relentless summer breeze.”

“Similes?!?! Gosh you are so frustrating, geeze”

I think he is a messenger of what we all want to most, he is hope for joy.

He has become a drifter and to fate he is nothing but her toy.

“He is a bee bringing us the purest honey.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with? I should have asked for more money.”

“You don’t even exist, so how can you have a salary?”

“Ignoring you! Or look a donut has a million and two calories.”

He has a comb-over and the most threadbare of clothes

But he is at peace. And leave me every day; who knows where he goes.

He has accepted himself, his life, and he can see only the beauty in trying.

He sees blue and he sees water in a river. He can sit while s standing and sigh while smiling.

“Brilliant deduction, sir, you make things so clear with your words.”

“How do you make two things into one? Worms and berries become the crap of birds?”

I hope one day he will stop in and talk to me.

Maybe we can discuss happiness over a Pepsi.

“What?”

“I get it.”

Scrabbled

I played scrabble last night, with my grandparents. I was able to make Voltage, with a triple word score. YEAH!! But at the same time it is not to exciting because I was spending my Sunday evening playing SCRABBLE with my GRANDPARENTS.

I have applied to work at a local book store and a Game Stop, neither of them have called me back :(. On Wednesday I am going downtown to pick up an application to work at a Hookah Bar. I found out though, that if they serve alcohol I have to be 21 to work there....NO!!!!

I love hookah.

Bottoms Up

That’s the way to raise a glass,

Drink it faster, he wants your ass

He wants your lips, he wants you skin

He wants to leave his seed within

That’s the way to raise a shot

Naughty girl, you’ll get caught

He feels your hand, and touches your leg

He gives you gold, simply to beg

For your body to cross his eyes

Love is always a compromise

So drop your pants

And open the doors

Find later, the rain, it pours

The above poem was mistakenly attributed to myself, it was in fact written by Joshua Johnston, a charming Half-British midget.

Well.....I have no readers

I have no readers...No one has come to read my blog. Or I guess no one has come to read my poetry. BUT!!!! I must stay happy, keep posting happy things. On a side note, I just farted and it smells like a dog fart.

Noises and the Owners

These things do as they are told to do

The raven cries COO COO CACHoOo.

Wilfred the wolf howls at the cheesy man, Bark BARk Yippe Yeha

Toads all in the pond go Ribbit and jump of the pads with a ker-plunk.

And the Humming Bird goes to work like an exhausted lawn mower --

Rinngnngng Rinnngngnng Rinngnngnng, sputtering all that gasoline fume.

These things do as they are told to do; they don’t think

Presidents will spew crap from their mouths

“WE WILL DO EVERYTHING WE SAY WE WON”T DO”

The church will yell AMEN and the reverend prays Halleluiah

All of the Idols of America will sing to the world in their quick moment

Of self-aggrandizing glory “I Am a COOOOL guy and Yeah.. BUT I’m EMO and Sad..WRISTS!!”

And the computers will continue to go

Beep Beep Whirrr chaching

These things do as they are told to do; they don’t think. Just DO

You should be the cat that goes BARK

Or the dog that MEOWS

Eating Poetry

Dining on Diction

Did you know, I like to eat odd things?
But when I say odd, I mean ODD.
Nothing like sissy worms or boogers
I eat words; lovely, tasty, inky, words.

Some words, like the word academic, have very unique tastes.
I guess you could call academic, broccoli-esque.
Damp, mushy, overcooked, green, Broccoli
I hate Academic.

But periwinkle on the other hand, is scrumptious.
It is Finger Licking Good, which surprisingly does not taste like chicken.
It is savory and sweet, yet melts in your mouth.
Not dissimilar to a hearty Christmas pudding.
I could eat periwinkle all day long.

Nothing is better than letting words play on your pallet.
Disregard all of your mother's manners
and let the juices run down your face, and stain your Sunday clothes.
Allow them to crunch away while you munch. Make all the noise you want
Then pick your teeth right in front of the company.

Did you know I like to eat odd things?
I enjoy the pleasures of eating words.
The only rule, have fun.

No coments

I realized that I have not been taging my posts right and that may have somethign to do wiht my lack of comments. So because I am kind of sad now here is a sad poem...kind of.

To be cruel

Oh, such grace. Oh, such beauty.

And lipstick and slow kissed

And happy fits and malice.

Oh darling, you know a million ways,

To be cruel.

If I could, maybe would, thought I should

Issue a formal withdraw of all my thoughts.

So many thoughts, about you smile and you guile.

No, instead I'll just go numb with another eighty proof.

Oh darling, I watch the fan spinning round

Tempting me like you then going away, then coming back.

You, you’re so awesome and wonder and trouble and perfect.

Awesome is what you are, Oh, darling.

Want to sit with me and share a juice

A drinky dinky

dinky

drinky drink.

Magic

Inspired by the nights I went clubbing in Seoul Korea.

Magic

Bump, Bump Shake yo' Dreads.

That is the first line of the enchantment

Weaved by the hypnotic master of the club.

It presides over all the dancers

Moving their bodies in ways erotic and sexual.

Forcing them to down drink after drink

And dance until the die, it is a spell.

Lights flash, as part of an incantation

Dazzling those who behold it.

Allowing them to see

only those they love and their bodies.

Once the magic is lifted, they all stumble

Falling, out of the booming club.

Their bodies weak and sweaty.

But they are left satisfied from their night.

My first post and my first blog.

This is my first ever post, in my first ever blog.
I have decided that my passion for writing poetry should be put to a more public use. Maybe someone else can enjoy my poems as much as I do.

I want to establish a couple rule though; one, I don't like very sad mopey poetry but I may, in fact, post it. So don't expect to see much here. Two, I want honest opinions, I know that is how blogs usually are, but if my stuff is so bad I need to just stop and never write again I want to be told.

With that said I will post one of my Favorite poems first, it is called The Spectacle of Nature.

The Spectacle of Nature

A Chair sits on my front porch,

It is my entrance to nature.

The chair has taken me to such things:

The slow drizzle of nature’s tears,

The violent widdershins spray of malicious droplets.

She is my master when I am in my chair

I hear the orchestra of her cacophonous clouds.

They collide and crash into each other, calling me.

When I arrive my chair is waiting, already wet from the rain.

It is a slow spatter form heaven,

If there is a god, it is in charge of this

Every drop holds the potential of infinity,

It can feed a life or destroy a dream.

Watch it propose growth to a seed ,

A sprout erupting skyward,

Sending bits of dirt tumbling towards their home.

It is the firmest foundation of the Fundamental.

It falls down onto sheets of tine

Making the sound of a beggar’s cup, ting and ping.

It dissolves and removes the molecules and regards the suffers of no science.

Red, Orange and Brown is the fate of all metal at its’ hands

A steaming black slab in a summer city,

Is surprised by the unscheduled air-born assault,

But it responds by turning each drop into steam.

The mysterious mist magically rises in the place of their fallen comrades.

They are spirits of the vaporized returning home.

I sit in my chair and feel the cascade upon me.

I smile and enjoy nature’s spectacle.