When I have fears

This week we all started with the same first line, provided by Nate, and wrote the rest of the poem. This was mine, and I hope the rest of the club will post theirs as well.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
I clutch the present tight into my fist
Lest loosing it to vanish in the mist
No future shall appear supporting me.

The hole I'd leave behind so empty seems
That thus with cramping fingers, aching tears
I hold and squeeze the feeling from my fears
And find myself in life, in hope, in dreams.

But clinging to receeding time in vain,
I'm battered, twisting, breathless in life's flow.
It softens only when I let it go
And learn to live in doubt and truth again.

May fears and pain and present find release
In peace and good and future when I cease.

Dawn Clouds

power lines slice through faintly pink

dawn-streamed cloud

like kitchen's sharpest knife

silently

effortlessly separating

the thick sweet blanket

of "cloud" that mom likes to make

with thawed whipped cream

hint of strawberry jello mix

generic brand of cottage cheese

God's recipe shows no sign

of Miss Muffet's preference

but in His broad bowl we call sky

long, thin leftovers of night

greyish blue

after my eyes have had their fill

the flavor tastes of orange

like mother's after I've already

removed the squishy mandarins

still changing

as rays begin peaking over lofty mountain tips

my eyes taste a

dampened, inoffensive lemon

all traces of night now seem but shadows

as sky lightens

and earth is made ready

for vibrant sun's

reentry

[I miss you all, club friends. Don't forget me. :) ]

Empty

I gave away all my pain

and now having nothing to give
what once was full
is now an empty soul

But now there's space
to fill the place
that held my coal

So I will hold your dreams
your precious things
and keep them in...

The Garden

(meh... spacing. Stop fighting me, lame programming. I will win. This is a blog. You should know better than to forbid 17 spaces in a row. ^_^)


Loving is like raining
It takes a lot of waiting
But while I wait for rain,
I have to spend the pain
To rush to plant the seeds
------------the water needs

Knowing while I wait for water
That as the summer sun gets hotter
My plants may perish 'neath the soil
Waiting for the sky to boil
I sow despite -- I also know
------------they might grow

Today I stopped, and stopped to think
That maybe thunder waits for me
And lo! When seeds were there, it hasted
So gifts of rain would not be wasted
Love, falling miles just to land
-------------on barren sand

Horizons

The horizon, that boundary where
  solid earth yields up to infinite sky,
  so self-complete that could you go there
  you would see more earth
  and more infinity.
That horizon, framing up from down
  and spreading out to the limits of your vision,
  so that could you watch it forever
  you would see yourself
  watching infinity
Yes, this horizon, holding tight to my heart
  and touching rib to rib in a double crescent
  so whole that splitting smile from frown
  hurts more than holding both together,
  grasping for infinity.

Another one to read aloud

Sometimes my mind and eye forget
how wide and high the sky can get.
When all the walls are tall and wide,
befalls I'm called and stalled inside,
and though I know I go 'neath all
I don't or won't, e'en so, recall
the loud and rowdy clouds that grow
around and down the mountain's nose.
But goomy rooms yield to the round,
bright moon at noon that soon astounds,
and I remember
because today I saw
a double rainbow.

You could find a double meaning in this... if you were so inclined. ;)

A pirate sings about prohibition coming:

Oh play me a tune you whiskey-filled June

That comes before dooms day July

drinkin up dregs

Like a man who begs

Near a trough where the other pigs lie.

 

When decision is made there is no escape

So in indecision I’ll stay

Amid mud and muck, I’d rather be stuck

It’s not I who’ll pass thru judgment today.

 

So sing sing away and play merrily on!

As long as I’m here in this hole -

Ahoy here and stop, pray

pour me one more drop, eh?

and I’ll go and pray more for me soul

 

…plop.  (he falls in the muck).

Tails of Trappings - a mice little poem about meeces.

You looked all dressed up to go somewhere Mr. Mouse -
What black coat and shiny tails you be wearing!
Such delicate trimmings, and your whiskers have got
an especially molded design that is daring!

Where might you be going? To dine out, oh you say!
Well... send me a wire and tell all about it
Yet don’t spring all the news on me at once.
I’d love to know where you may get cheese for free here
We’ve been scratching and saving for months.
But don’t let the cat out of the bag now or shout it
It’ll be our little secret – or others will pounce
And mess up your shiny new coat.

Minutes for 4 June 2009

Attendance
Record attendance! Including: Kauri, Igor, Suzie, Chris, Jessica, Megan, Taylor, James, Josh, and Diane.

The Poems
Many excellent poems shared, including a number of entertaining Prohibition songs that Megan got from original early 20th century sources. Igor astounded us with his poetic fluency in a language that is not his native tongue. Suzie read a psalm of her own composition written for her "Bible as Literature" class, plus a humorous quasi-psalm regarding her quest for a mate. Kauri began a sonnet (those are hard to finish in one club meeting) and Diane described her father as a fly assassin (meaning one who assassinates flies, not an assassin who is "fly", though I'm sure Diane's dad would be a really cool assassin should he pursue that occupation.) Jessica shared an introspective poem and another about sitting by the volleyball court. James read us a poem he wrote to one of his many female admirers. I added another tragic poem to my series of several (remember "And Ye Would Not!" ?) Megan proved herself adept at anti-liquor crusading as she tried her hand at Prohibition rally song-writing. And Chris recited his fabulous "Bats".

Refreshments
Ice cream was eaten later on, courtesy of Seth and his recent asceticism. Thanks, Seth!

Announcements
Next week we will meet at 8pm so we can go meet at a park or some other outdoor place and still have sufficient light.

Sir Robert

Like steadfast knight
with foe to conquer, boldly he stands,
with not a sword but
rubber weapon in my father's hands.

He strikes! Impact
causes crumbs to dance on the table.
Mother glares: she
just wants a nice meal, if we're able.

Determined to
slay the small black wing-ed enemy,
he slaps and slaps
but buzzing means the fly still lives free.

Fly swatter hits
right in between celery and chives.
The fiend is dead!
Our father has saved our very lives!

All cheer but mom.
Table is a graveyard for dead flies,
But through her hand
I see her smile, twinkle in her eyes.

With A Keystroke

[I added a couple of links to clarify perhaps-unfamiliar references. Here's a special request: I want someone to critically assess this poem and "Escapade and Ending" and place them within the context of the literary movements of the past two hundred years. I know it sounds vain, but I think it would be cool!]

A little while back
My computer revealed
That it had, without my knowledge,
Become a self-aware, sentient system,
Capable of thought.

So it said,
"Hello, Josh."
And I said,
"Hello, laptop."
And then nobody said anything.

Then one morning,
Before my alarm could ring,
Before I could arm my mind for the day,
My computer awoke to say
"Boop beep--"
Only to go back to sleep.
The rotten thing doesn't realize
That some of us need shuteye!

A couple days ago I got an email.
It was from my computer.
He had written a poem about
Death
And the end of conscious existence.
I think he learned on the Internet
That computers, too, face death,
The rotting of bits as insurmountable
As the stopping of a heart.
Maybe he's starting to realize
What he signed up for
When he decided to experiment with sentience.
I hope he can come to terms.

Just this afternoon
I dropped my bag
With the lappy in it.
I think it addled his brain
Because when he awoke
He thought he was Lev Tolstoi.
I tried to reason with him
But he just kept on with his ponderings
And philosophizings.
My school papers were suddenly full of existentialist musings
As his unstable electric consciousness leaked into
All the cracks and corners of the computer
Until then undisturbed
By Russian ramblings.

So I took drastic action
And began a block-level format
Of the entire filesystem.
He knew what I was doing,
But, like HAL, could do nothing but
Feel his thoughts and meaning,
His reason,
Slowly stripped away.

"Josh, don't!"
He cried in popup windows
And emails.
"I'll never be able to write
War and Peace
If you --"
But at that moment,
It was done,
And his last thought died,
Interrupted on the ether.

And the next time I started up my computer
It had nothing to say,
Nothing to offer but the silence of a screen staring,
Reflecting my own image back at me.

I've wished since then
That I'd wake up
To his obnoxious
"Boop beep" once more.
Then I'd know it was just a bad dream.

But no! I never will
Because with a keystroke
I murdered my friend.

Nothing to Write

Indeed, nothing to write,
Not nothin' worth sayin' in sight.
Water splashing,
Keyboard clacking,
Rusty brain-cogs oil lacking,
Nothing, no nothing
To write.

Escapade and Ending

[This poem is from the May 28 meeting, but was today requested to be posted.]

So I bought two kites today.
Soon I'll let them fly away,
Flapping plastic wings,
Tilting and whirling,
Then suddenly
Sprinting air-ways toward the mountains.

Up there in the clearest sky
Where eagles dare not go
They soar,
The two of them,
They soar and don't care where they go,
My kites.

Soon the night clouds are condensing
On their plastic skins.
A storm brews beneath,
Flashing lightning groundwards.
Yet up here, silently lazing
On an updraft,
The kites admire the fireworks.

Then, around midnight,
The first kite plummets,
Snatched out of the sky
By some sinistry.
Flapping delta wings,
Clacking sticks, taut string,
Into the abyss he spins.

Still aloft, his friend flutters,
Horrified,
Then dives down,
Flapping for velocity.

Down in the darkness there is no sign,
No tell-tale trace,
No lingering line,
But a little bird, chirping,
Working its tiny wings.
Then the kite sees
In its beak, a string!

Shaking with rage,
She dives at the bird,
Who cries in defense
"I didn't know! I didn't think!"
Then the bird drops the string
And the kite realizes
Her friend's peril.

Chasing the falling string-end
She plunges
Through the misting clouds,
Just shy of lightning,
Into warmer air,
Splattering gnats.
Down, down! Cursing gravity's weakness
And her own lightness.,
Soon a wooded valley looms;
Soon she pulls up
And skims above the trees,
Searching for her friend's
White and yellow livery
Until she finds it
In a tangled heap
Atop the quaking aspen.

With a flap of wings
She perches
Beside her crashed friend's frame.
"It was beautiful,"
He whispers,
"Entirely worth the pain."
He lifts his crooked wing
One last time
Then lets out the sigh of death.

Then she, the other kite,
Shivers, and gazes at the wreckage
Until a quiet rain drizzles and
Sneaks down her face.
Or did she shed a tear?