Scuba Poem

Its been a while since we've had poetry club. Heres a post from tonight though. :D


Scuba

They say it’s like breathing for the first time.
I don’t know how they’d that since they’d be too young to remember,
But I recon it’s probably so.

You feel out of place, awkward.
Big and bulbous, like a beached whale
Fins flop as you enter the water.
You take your role, don your mask, and become a fish incognito

Air fills your lungs.
The initial panic dissipates with each breath.
You take control.
You’re an acquatic Vader, dark and suited
Keeeesh Koosh
You are the master of a new universe.

With the touch of a button your suit deflates and you descend like an astronaut into the great unknown,
You lean forward and flutter forward,
What was once ugly and sluggish is now graceful and beautiful
Like a butterfly taking to the air
Your life as a caterpillar is completely forgotten

A few poems

Hope Chris had a good b-day today (well, yesterday... missed by a half hour). Hopefully other people will remember to post their poems on the blog too. The first poem is about my fish tank. Second poem is about a comment Josh made at the very beginning of poetry club. Last poem is about a comment Jackie made at the end of poetry club.


The Tank
Blue above, blue below.
There’s a whole world I can see out there.
The grand, the exotic, so green and alive,
I want to see it all.
They tell me it would take my breath away.
I would do anything to escape,
Forsake my stripes,
Get away from my fellow prisoners,
Escape their bullying and darting,
Hide from the monsters all around me.
If only I could cross these walls.

No Poetry for Joshua
You’re not allowed to write a poem tonight.
It’s forbidden.
Give up your hopes of coupling couplets, of making rhyme or reason
We won’t tolerate any of your limericks about the green plaid shirt you’re wearing
You have no permission to record your thoughts on name recognition
Mexican Holidays stanzas are illegal immigrants in Poetry Clubia
Haiku’s about ninjas? Ummmm.... No.
Say nada to sonnets about Trombones-a
The rhythm and words streaming into your mind from elsewhere cannot be put on paper.


Not a poem about Jackie
I won’t ever ever ever ever ever write a poem about Jackie
I simply won’t write a rhyme,
About how I think she’s sublime.
I won’t let myself ramble about her quantum chemistry, tree climbing, mad Frisbee catching skills.
No, I won’t remind everyone how intimidating her awesomeness can be,
Especially to the guys.
I shouldn’t sneakily slip in lines about Jackie’s sinister laughs, her well executed pranks.
I’ll stop thinking about all the stanzas I could be typing about her perfect sense of humor.
Let’s face it, her intellectual brilliance radiates like a thousand suns.
I simply won’t recite the epic victory of when she successfully ate ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I’m only allowed to pretend I’m writing a poem about how much I love her face.

No… I can’t write a poem about Jackie so I’ll write about something else.
How about cheese?!? I love cheese.
Cheese is… well, cheesy
There! Wasn’t that a great poem not about Jackie?

Greetings from Georgia

Hi everyone! I hope you have continued to poeticize in my absence. There have been far too few blog posts for your absentee members.

Since I am no longer an Altoid, I've started my own blog for my poetry and other writings. Currently I am finishing up posts of previously written poems, including those that debuted right here, but I plan to continue writing and posting poems or works in progress.

If you promise to post something here, I will let you read my blog.

-Chris

Coming Back Home

This is something I was supposed to post forever ago. Just barely found it again. This first poem is from an FHE nursery rhyme activity. The others are my own work.

The Fall of the House of Humpty

Once upon a midnight dreary
While Humpty wondered weak and weary
"Did I come before the chicken?"
At that moment he was stricken
By the raven and he plunged off the wall
wall, wall, wall, wall, wall, wall, wall.
And Great was the fall of the house of Humpty.

In a city by the sea,
So all the night tide,
He lay down by the side of
All the kings horses and all the king's men.
Who dare not put humpty together
Nevermore- for they feared the beating of the tell tale yolk
Yolk, yolk, yolk, Yolk, Yolk, Yolk, Yolk.
Put together
Nevermore



The Night

After midnight, everything is beautiful
When the world slows down just long enough for you to catch it in both hands.
Gaze at it,
Peaceful, Cool, Crisp
See clearly in the darkness
Focus on the things that matter most.
You wish you could stop the hours rolling by.
Protect the precious night
But dawn always breaks.


Coming Back Home

When I come back home
it feels like everything should be exactly the way I left it.
The way its always been.
Sheltered, protected,
Preserved like a historic brick building
An ancient monument,
Forever in a snow globe,
My memories trapped in a timeless bubble.

Yet each time I come home
I see that fragile bubble has popped.
The businesses and buildings have shifted about like pieces on a checker board
Those friendly old faces seem the same
But the people behind them aren't who they used to be.

New faces are everywhere.
They look at me as if I'm the novelty
They don't know that this is still my place.

College Apps Are A Very Serious Business

Disaster, catastrophe --
I left out an apostrophe
On my essays to Princeton and Yale!
Oh woe is me now
For I do not see how
To avoid an embarrassing tale
Of how I will miss
Out on Ivy League bliss
For my Stanford dreams ere now looked pale.
If my Harvard hopes dim
And to Berkeley seems grim,
'Fore my classmates I'll tremble and quail.
It would be a disgrace
After my S.A.T. ace
If to Davis I creep like a snail!

Palo Alto Limerick

When biking through Silicon Valley
Where redwoods and palms share an alley
Organic-grown food
Puts you right in the mood
To attend the green energy rally.

Palo Alto Snapshot

"Do you have this book in Russian?"
Asks the French mother
Of the Thai librarian
While the taciturn Korean man
Watches Jewish kids scamper
Up the eucalyptus trees.
Across the street, the tennis courts
Pound out a rhythm
For the old men playing chess
Built into the picnic tables
And the skaters acting out
A chess of their own on wheels.
It's May, but it's hot enough
For the fountain the toddlers play in.
This. Mitchell Park.

Chiasmatic Night

Dusk.
Crickets.
The thrill of social company and recreational time use enthrall me.
A light appears -- a star? Nay, a planet. Very bright, large, bluish; must be Venus.
I settle into that mode where at last I know I want to sleep, but it's not too difficult to keep active as long as I am occupied.
Clouds obscure the wonders of the firmament.
Somewhere in the deepness, if I am careful to note it, there is a contemplative moment of communion with the Creator, when he finds my exhausted mental state transparent to his missives.
Now the stars and galaxies shine clear in the silence.
My brain is ... Uh ... Sorry, what was I saying? No, I'm awake ... I think ...
Beneath the stars, the landscape sits dark and silent, through the hours most of humanity dares not to broach.
I am past the hardest part. Though I am dull of wit, my body surges with a new effort.
Birds pierce the silence.
Dawn.

Chemistry for the Non-Chemist

Ode to OChem
Oh the glassware, shiny clean,
Even better found, when with benzene.
KBr plates, scratched and dull,
Solids, nujol, in mull.
How the tranquil sodium sulfate doth lay,
To form the decahydrate, it's known to play.
But forget not, into a flask bestowing,
How else can we know, if it's free-flowing?
Now watch yourself, for Mrs. Hinshaws shout,
The times run down, we're done, get out!

pH Strips
The unknown awaits me,
I haven't a clue!
Will this small orange papers life
End in red, yellow, or blue?
Approaching, ever nearing,
The drip --- it has dropped.
Ah, alas, it is the undoing
Of suspension and fear
I now can determine,
From acid or base need I steer clear!

Distractions
There lies the table, clean with no mess,
Waiting for books, homework, possibly some stress.
calmly seated, pencil ready, my brain is almost there,
The solutions are within my reaching, each compound drawn with care.

Then comes in my bench partner, named Jacob, full of news and life,
Fifteen minutes I must wait, as he relays some trivial strife
Then it's over, his earplugs in, I'm ready to begin,
The pencils down, the thought it's there... then someone new comes in.

His major it is physics, his mouth it moves quite fast,
A friend met on my mission, with15 minutes to pass.
But then he's gone, some task to complete,
And I am left once more, left to some OChem feat.

I've managed one molecule, benzene, it's almost done,
But alas, a wardly friend, looking for some fun.
I am not rude, I answer back,
And for some time conversation doesn't lack.

By now my hour has run out, into the second I'm now moving,
And after all this time, one fact, I feel like proving.
The study area, Fishbowl- its name we can deduce,
If ever homework I feel like doing, It needs be I become a recluse!

Thirsty?
A beaker is simply a cup.
It holds liquids, it holds ions,
From it surely one may sup.
But one must be wary, one must be sure,
Of the contents held within, of the contents, are they pure?

The liquid could be acid,
Halogenated it might be,
A carcinogen hypothetically,
Some sort of base possibly?

Will it tear you inside out, will it make you scream?
Will it cause you much bleeding, will it produce many steams?
For as a beaker is simply, is surely, only a cup.
You can never be too sure if death,
Lies on the other side, as you sup.

A Popping
I strode across the room and to myself said:
"Why do ears pop?"

they are not part
of a percussion band.

Ears are not full
Of fizz in a can.

Even small sugary rocks
do not involve ears in their making.

Nor are they a father figure.
or a grandfather for the taking

The truth is this:
A Eustachian tube

The pressures are off,
And so it moves.

Adjusts if you will
To the many air tides

And makes you quite normal,
From the ears to insides.

What are Your Questions?
The questions they come, the questions they go,
Some are quite clever, others quite low.
But the best of all, the ones up on top,
Are the ones that make laughter, and even breath stop.

Poetry from the last few months.

Yay!! I'm finally on the blog! This is kinda long so... uh, sorry.

The Only Reasonable Explanation
I dedicate this poem to Josh for finally getting me on the blog.

He's been kidnapped by pirates!!
Swarthy, stinking, seaworthy, swashbuckling pirates.
Its the only reasonable explanation
He was minding his own business when they ambushed his apartment on the third floor.
Glass shattered as a peg leg kicked in the window.
His roommates heard the rustling and rumbling,
Shouting and Parrot's squawking,
Heave Ho's and Avasts!!
However, by the time they got out to the living room they had cleaned up,
Cleared out,
Sailed off.
Not a shard of glass was left behind.

Soon he stood aboard a magnificent vessel charging across the ocean blue!
(You may wonder how the pirates and their kidnappee got out to the ocean.
I don't know.
I'm just stating the facts here.)
The ocean waves crashed and sprayed as the bonny sea breeze filled the majestic sails.
The Jolly Roger smiled as the sounds of Yo ho hos and Shiber me timbers filled the salty sea air.
However, all he could hear was his knees knocking, heart racing,
The thumping of boots
The captain approached his new prisoner.
Hush filled the deck as the ruffions watched in awe.
He glowers down and with a sneer bellows,
"Off the plank with him!!"

As he stood at the edge of the plank,
staring at his soon to be watery grave below,
He remembered how he ought to be at poetry night.
This wouldn't have happened if he'd been there
Too late was his lesson learned,
that you should be at the right place at the right time.
And most of all.
All those who skip poetry night become shark fodder.


The Refrigerator Door

I set the milk on the counter and shut the refrigerator door.
I notice they're staring at me.
Well, some of them.
Others are gazing into each others' eyes, lost in their own little world.
Holding hands, whispering sweet nothings into their sweetheart's ear.
All of them smiling. Always smiling.
Knowing their reality is better than their dreams
Their lives are full of magic, all is beautiful.
Their perfect joy captured in a photo,
Like the dozens of photos that greet me each morning
As I drown my frosted mini-spooners...
And I'm out of milk... ::sigh::

Petrogliffs

The best way to chop the emense charcoaled log was to throw it off a thirty foot sandstone cliff.
At least thats the way it appeared.
The two lumbered slowly to the highest peak
Shifting and skidding with sand filled shoes
With log raised high
And a mighty warrior's cry
The blakened timber flew threw the air
Soared, spiraled, and...
The stump didn't so much as splinter
Leaving not but a sooty mark on the rusty rocks.
At that moement savegery struck.
Darkened hands donned the signs of warriors
Ebony stripes crossed heathen cheeks
Crumbling chuncks of cedar create
Epic battles, lightning strikes,
Swirling smoke round a roaring fire
Beating, thundering, bursting from the stone.
A petrogliff is worth a thousand words.


Laundry Day

There it is.
A horrendous mountain.
A smelly eyesore by your bedside.
You've tried to ignore it
Pretend you don't want to wear your favorite blouse.
Pretend that you're not down to two pairs of socks.
However, you can pretend no longer
It has to go.

You awkwardly amble down the stairs,
Hoping all the good machines aren't taken.
Dark side versus light side.
Thick bloo goo that smells like an Irish spring globs to the bottom of the washer.
A dollar later tha machine is working its magic.

Sudsing and swirling in a vicious vortex of towels, t-shirts, and jeans
Later you aid a soggy migration to a warmer climate.
The rumbling, tumbling, tossing, and turning lightens until at last you unload.

Hot, steamy, fresh, delicious.
It makes you think of warm blankets on a stormy night,
The crisp clean air of a summer rain,
Teddy bears in creepy commercials?...

Pressed, folded, stowed away.
All is in order.
For two weeks, anyways.



Death of the Coulter 750

I love you my dear robots
You greet me every night
And like a choir of R2D2s
Sing me sweet lullabies

pSHHH... errr, tsh tsh tsh, clicka clicka clicka, beep
Tap, snap, chunka, thump,
whir, purr, hum, rumble, ERRK, GRIND, EEEEE!

I rouse from my night dream
Like a mother stirring to aid her howling infant
Wondering whats wrong this time

I lift your cover, open your mechanic soul, and gaze deep within.
Wires and tubing
Gears and slides,
They usually dance in a seamless waltz.
They now lay still in a pool of blood.

Precious analyzer, you're too beautiful to die.
May I be your Dr. Frankenstein and bring you back to life?
No... I must face the dawn alone.



ICA

The first step to overcoming an addiction is admitting you have a problem.
Hello everyone. I'm Jill Schuler and I'm addicted to ice cream.
Can you blame me?
So cool and creamy like...
NO! No more!

I tell myself I shall overcome this.
I tell myself I won't buy any, not this week.
And then I glance down the frozen food isle.
Its like a party down there.
Everyone is laughing and smiling.
I glance side to side to ensure I'm not caught...
Not that it matters, I'll only be looking.
It can't hurt to look.

I notice the vanilla, chocolate, Neapolitan.
I can resist. I don't need them.
But suddenly I notice the moose tracks.
The moose is a very majestic creature.
Its as if its guarding the Caramels praline.
A worthy cause. It does look particularly valuable in all its golden splendor.
Rocky Road, the pathway to bliss.
Peanut Brittle, brittle like my will to resist.
Macadamia Crunch, Fudge swirl, Cookie Dough,
EVERYTHING BUT THE!!!

Its as if a light from heaven shines upon each pint.
That might just be the light from the freezer...
Meh, same diff.
Well.... I guess I'll be better next week.


The Cell: A Biological Prison

Blast! A Blast!! A lymphoblast to be precise.
You are hereby declared to be a juvenille delinquent of the blood stream.
You are hereby sentenced to be trapped forever in the prison
To spend the rest of your life surrounded by cells.

The cells are everywhere
Nucleus lobed in ugly blebs
Cytoplasm so blue that no smile could ever cheer it again.
Basophils with granules as black as its soul

How alone a lymphoblast must feel, so young.
Its nucleus still smooth
Its nuclei still clean and fresh.
It should still be back in the marrow
Where life was safe and calm.

Why did it rush into the fast lane.
Endopoies into the turbulence of the arteries and veins.
Up through a needle, smeared on a slide.
Stained and illuminated.



Snakes

As I sat upon the shore
To view lake, rocks, and sky
An old sunbathing serpent
Happened to cross my eye.

Many a time before
I've come across a snake.
Sneaking, slithering, startling,
They made me squeal and shake.

But spying this simple reptile
Before he spotted me
Made me really wonder
Why I each time did flee.

His head no bigger than a nut
Would crunch beneath my heel
If I but took a faulty step.
How would that make him feel?

Many a snake may cross our path
May make us dread and fear
But our fear could be overcome
If we'd learn, think, see, and hear


Interrupted Dreams

Draped across the couch in the soft silky darkness
I let a smooth summer breeze of cool dreams waft over me.
Sweet, refreshing, delicious.

A sudden blaring erupts the still
Delirium strikes
I flail like a fish on a line
Searching frantically to stop it all.

I mutter into the phone and let their words sweep over me.
Sentences form from their words,
Soothing my racing heart.
The fog over my mind seems to thin as I realize whats happening.
They're trying to tell me something.
I can feel it.

But sleep starts to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
Becons with promises of calm, peaceful loveliness
Its words are more clear than the prattling of whoever this is.

I mumble and mutter until they finally release me.
I collapse in a weary relief.
Sweet sleep, let me return to your embrace.


That's probably enough poetry for one evening... Back to work with me!

Snakes

Our most recent club night theme was snakes, and these were my contributions:

Hiss
Sibilance of slither:
Sunlight playing on his scales
Shining chords of light.

Dust

On thy belly, pressed as close to earth as skin can be,

a forced embrace of thy mortality

Licking dust until the day to dust thou shalt return,

Tasting ev'ry day the death that comes

And does the bitter venom of this fate

squeeze out the life still nascent in thy birth?

And as thy path twists serpentine away,

dost thou take warmth or coldness from the earth?

Wrath

There is a writhing in your eyes,

coiled deep inside those constricted pupils,

that no tail of snake can match,

and I freeze in fear for the strike.

Desert Snake

Shed this skin, so dry--you're itching to be free

and feel the green caress of grass.

Wind 'round rocks and sit, silent, scale on stone;

raise your head and taste the thirsty air.

Touch

without wings, free of fingers, snake senses all

Ripe

I do not like the way a metaphor smells

   when it has sat around on the counter

   so long that the meaning begins to puddle

   in the bottom of the bag, and the form of it

   begins to grow fuzzy with green

   or orange mildew.

But before that, when it has been around

   just long enough to go a bit sour

   and has the tang of grapes turning

   to wine on the stems; when the skin

   loosens and the juicy fruitness trickles easily

   down your throat, with only a little

   mushy bite —

those are the metaphors that speak

   of warm days in summer,

   and watermelon on the table

   and the phone sitting silent for hours or weeks

   when you wish it wouldn't.

Those are the metaphors that give you

   an uncomfortable feeling

   in your stomach, but only just enough

   that you notice

   and remember it afterwards.

Figments

This week our theme was based on the poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay First Fig and Second Fig. I hope everyone posts theirs! We got quite a variety. My contributions are below.

Next week come prepared with something related to The Love-Hat Relationship by Aaron Belz.

Third Fig

"Reap what you sow," it's said, and "Love

your neighbor as yourself."

Or you can reap his crop instead

for free food on your shelf.

Fourth Fig

From goals delayed anticipate

more joy eventually;

from chances taken now, instead,

you get great memories.

Zeroth Fig

A falling fig, obedient

to force Newtonian,

will travel down until it lands

and not go up again.

Lady Time

She is too grand, too swift to see
in honest gazing, Lady Time.
At her hand we rise, decline,
and the flowing instants flee.

We try our best to euphemize,
to call her by a host of names:
by years, by weeks, by hours, by days;
pretend to conquer a smaller size.

Sitting in her wrinkled presence
frightens me with thoughts of life
that fades into a dimming twilight--
senility in slow senescence.

But Lady Time has gentle hands,
though strong and forceful they may be.
She watches, listens patiently,
and hour by hour she understands.

Pizzicato popcorn

Plink plink plink plunk

Plink plunk plink plunk

Pop! Plink plink plunk

Pop! Plink plunk plink

TWANG!

Ether (Unfinished)

In the days of Coriantumr
The land was full of violence
But one man, faithful,
Stood strong against he wave
And he dwelt
In the cavity
Of a rock.

The preachings of the prophet
Fell unheeded
On dead ears and leaden hearts
Like Noah's warning
Before the rains came.

Like pearls
The prophet's prophesyings fell,
A vision of a better world --
A house for man
Prepared by the Lord
For those who pass
The trial of faith.
But the people saw no vision
And they did not believe
Because they did not see.

Cast out, the prophet was,

Cast back no more to prophesy

But only to haunt again

The cavity of a rock

Wherein to dwell,

Whereat to write

The history of his people.

In those days

There arose one Shiz

Whose terror like a fire flew

From cowering heart to quaking lip --

The plague of fear pandemic.

Twenty-One Ways of Looking at an Eye

I.

II.

Bright light reflecting on retina

Dots dance before

And glaucoma waits

For another day

III.

A circle of black ink

In a field of white

Looks back at me

IV.

So close your eyelash catches mine

So close the veins wind like a maze

Surrounding your eyes

With fitting mystery

V.

The plate slides,

Revealing a hole

Through which photons pour

Like sand down an hourglass

And the silver halide crystals

Remember forever

VI.

Substitute eyes

He promised he’d bring us his eyes in a box.

All 30 of them rolling and clanking into each other as he walked around the classroom.

Worse than having eyes in the back of his head. I felt sorry for him.

VII.

Make up

Pulling, curling, darkening, lining,

Covering, sort-of lying eying

VIII.

Feet

Tired sunburned working man

Life as purposeful as a crow,

and traces of pain in his Eyes.

IX.

The optometrist lights up my eye

And I behold the network

Feeding my vision

My flowing blood

X.

His pupils narrowed in the light

And his ears laid back

As he saw the glassy cat's eyes

Shine to him

Calling him to fight

XI.

A man and a woman are one

A woman and a man with wandering eyes

Soon two

XII.

In my mind I wait for spinning thoughts

To alight on this paper

Each one a decision

And Megan in my peripheral vision.

XIII.

Little hearts of brown

Sprout green when it's time to plant

The potato's eyes.

XIV.

Green as summer,

Green as glass,

Your eyes warm my world

And tint everything I see

Into green

XV.

Glass marbles

Rolling in a glass of water

On top of the piano

Of a blind musician.

Her students grimace, but play on

XVI.

Something about gravity

Weighs down these eyes

And pulls them earthward.

Strain! Lift!

Look up and see the world

XVII.

Glinting in the night,

A predator looks back

From behind the eyes

Of every cat.

XVIII.

Cross my heart and hope to die,

Stick a finger in my eye;

Cross my eyes and poke my heart

I swear that we will never part.

XIX.

Darting back and forth

Twinkling

Unstable as an untrue heart

XX.

Open, close, open, close

I don't know which to prefer

XXI.

My eyes water

Not with feeling

Sad and happy emotions

Are nothing to the potency

Of an onion

The Nurse

Her scrubs are three shades lighter
    than inky midnight blue
prepared for an all-nighter
    in a bold and helpful hue.
This evening her breakfast was
    a cold-cut club on rye,
courage for the next lost cause,
    and a sip of questions "Why?"
And in the bleary weary noon
    she smiles and laughs and prays
before a shift that comes too soon
    where she will do the same.

Poem in your Pocket

April 29 is national Poem in your Pocket day!
(and just in time for our thursday meetings, too.)
Take a copy of a poem with you to have, read, and share.

Yellow Blossoms

Narcissus blooms bow to themselves,
  those beauties by the pond,
radiantly rippling
  a lovely watery song.

Daffodils in hosts and crowds
  all nod the elegance
of flowers smiling all around
  and all together dance.

The sunflower looks up instead,
  gazing at the sky
and following the glory of
  the sun as she glides by.

Drawings On Our Fridge (by Sarai)

Erupty Volcano Girl vs. Bumbly Bee

La la la la la

I'm prancing to the park

Where beneath a storming stormcloud

A daisy has the gall to grow

I am Volcanic Dancing Girl

Fresh off the plane from Reykjavik

I love my polka-dotted skirt-slash-cone

I love erupting from its tip

Along the way I spy a bee

Whose stripes and stinger anger me

So that I spew lava right at it --

It flees, and though floods and ash and doom

And clouds of blackness o'er him loom

The bee escapes

Bumbling victoriously away

From me

The supposedly-mighty volcano

The Tale of Princess Dragonbreath

Young Princess D, a little waif,
wandered off where it's not safe.
She chased a kitten, with giggling laughter,
into a cellar where from the rafters
strings and strings of garlic hung.
She blinked at them, then tasted one.
Before you could have blinked once more
she'd eaten clove seventy-four.
Where e're she went the castle knew it
'cause she carried garlic with her--to chew it.
The smell knocked out the Queen's prize goat
and would not wash off in the moat.
The courtiers fainted, the knights were mad
and took her to the King (her dad)
with clothespins clamped about their noses.
The sentence, just as you suppose, is
Princess D must hitch a wagon
and drive to live out with the dragons.
Their breath is just as bad as hers,
or in some cases even worse.
This fate, a life of dread and horror,
had passed on garlic-eaters before her,
and was a law throughout the land
for any whose breath you couldn't stand.
But Princess D, whom I admire,
found that it was not her desire
to trundle off, like so much meat, and
find the dragons, then be eaten.
"I shall not be a meal," she reasoned,
"for dragons, though I am well-seasoned."
She ran away, and before they caught her
she'd found a stream of running water
with which she scrubbed and rinsed and wrung
the garlic smell from off her tongue.
Her sentence was commuted then,
and none were sent to the dragons again,
for the law was changed that very day.
The kingdom's favorite tale, they say,
is this of Princess Dragonbreath
who brushed her teeth and cheated death.

Subtitles

Why doesn't the world come with labels?

They would tell you in convenient closed caption:

"Here is a pinecone,"and

"This is your dog Charlie,"and

"North is that way."

Door hinges would <creak>,

hinting of [ominous music]

to warn of the unexplored, whispering,

"Here there be dragons."

Metadeath

The scriptures say
Death once had a sting
Before Christ banished that pain
To mortal memory.
Exiled as it is
To short-term attacks,
Death looks with envy on what it lacks,
Ever taking away from the brave and bold,

But never gaining, only growing old

Until some day, as the poet once dared cry,

We all will shout, "Death, thou shalt die!"

On that first morning lonely Death,

In the graveyard of forgotten ills,

Will look upon his withered self,

His hands he'll madly wring,

Asking, "Oh where is my old victory?

What happened to my sting?"

And there, with nothing but a memory

Of the ones he killed

Rising from the once-mighty shroud

To the glorious, eternal, and undying now,

Death will die.

Forgiveness

sometimes the world

is full of ugly flaws

and imperfections.

but i forgive you.

Little Lotta?

La Little Lotta Leghead

walked wincing with Woroons,

precisely pocket picking

this thief tried to treblu,

and animals anduvious

saw serious Saltyroons

marauding mini mallots

by bighead Bascaroons

La Little Lotta Leghead

cried crummy cookies coo

envious enter Egghead

wall waiting wonking woo

La Little Lotta Leghead

pushed past perennial Poons

"Be broken bully baxter,

Little Leghead lies lecoor!"

Poetry Prize!

I couldn't wait to share the good news I just learned.

This month is National Poetry Month!  Yay!

And, since it's National Poetry Month, the BYU bookstore will be offering a drawing.  Just go to the General Book desk or the Children's Books desk and recite a poem and you will be entered in a drawing for a free poetry book!

Also, in honor of National Poetry Month, the bookstore will be having an Open Mic Poetry Reading night on April 6th and April 13th from 6:30-7:30pm.  I think this would be a fun event for our poetry club to attend!

Finally, the bookstore is offering poetry books at reduced prices this month.  So, if you want a poetry book, now is the time to get one!

(And no, this is NOT an April Fools Joke.  Check out the link above if you don't believe me.)

Writer's Block

(I actually wrote this poem last summer, forgot about it, and rediscovered it on my computer today.  I think it sums up the end of a semester pretty well.)

My brain is fried

My thoughts are limp

Like noodles overcooked

and left to drip into the drain

I cannot sit another hour

My thoughts will not behave

they wriggle and wiggle and

slither right off of the page

I will never get finished

I’ll stay here forever

My eyes will cloud over

My rear will harden

I’ll be stuck in a chair

Full of despair

And everyone walking by

Simply will stare

At the statue before them

A struggling girl

Stuck with her brain

in a never-ending whirl

Oh the cramps!

The misery!

The endless agony

The . . .

I’ve got it!

An idea for my paper!

Here goes!

Nursery Rap

I had help from my FHE sisters both in composing and performing this one

Yo! Didizzle, didizzle,

Da alley cat be jammin' on da fidizzle.

Da heifer she jumpin' so high, so high,

She jump right over da moon, da sky!

Snoop dog be laughin', say "gimme a what what"

He laughin' so hard he almost bust a gut.

Da dish be pickin' up what da spoon be layin' down,

So peace out wi' dis nursery rap P-town!

Don't Worry About Me!

It was a good and fast week. A little bit crazy, but generally good.

As you can tell from my emails, Silvano Contreras is always on our minds and we´ve been focusing on him for months now. He was progressing quite a bit and even had a baptisimal date with Sofia for March 20, but even with everything we try he´s still having a hard time giving up his alcohol, and every time his family and we lose a little bit of our faith. One day this week during companionship study, after I shared what I had studied, and how I had thought of Silvano, Hermana Figueroa asked if I had studied for our other investigators. Ashamed, I said no, and neither had she. We repented and are trying to focus on all, because we don´t know what will happen, it´s in the Lord´s hands.

However, we´ve been happy to see the progress in a sweet 30 year old that we´re teaching named Tania. She has a 10 year old son Alberto and lives with her parents Juan and Olga Zamora. Juan believes in Evolution and doesn´t believe in God, and Olga has Christian views. We have befriended them and invited them to activities etc, and have faith that someday and hopefully soon they will come. Anyway, Tania is very receptive and I enjoy teaching her. We practice English sometimes and she has tried to ... what is the word?... convince us to marry one of her three brothers who live in the States someday. Funny story, this week we were eating dinner with them and Olga asked us how many children we wanted to have someday. Hna. Figueroa said 6 and I said 5. She expressed her disappointment... she only wants 3 grandchildren. So I suppose we are saved from the betrothal (that´s the word I wanted!)

This week we were inviting some young men, James, Edward, Omar, Carlos, to an activity we had (we watched the movie The Testaments in the court outside the church) and suddenly we saw a moving lump in Omar´s shirt. Out came a big white rat and Hermana Figueroa screamed ¨Raton!¨ and ran from the room. It´s an adventure to be serving with her and in this crazy but wonderful place. = )

It´s fun to teach Hermana Figueroa english. We have postit notes on all the devices around the apartment with English and Spanish words, and we work on basic phrases together. Who would´ve thought the word ¨dance¨ would be so hard to pronounce? I´m hoping to have the opportunity to teach an English class in my mission, perhaps in my next area (Pres. Merren, our Branch Pres. is hesitant with the idea because he wants the class to be weekly and if I get transferred and another North American doesn´t replace me, the enthusiasm will fall rapidly). But it´s good to get some practice in teaching now, as I help my companion. And she is always teaching me new words and patiently helping me with Spanish all day, every day.

I realize that last week I wrote that she wasn´t super obedient and that frustrated me. But really, I need to just be better at communicating my wishes and the reasons for them, because for her it wasn´t a big deal to miss a week in writing her family but for me it was. I could´ve suggested that we left to go to the internet cafe earlier. I´m happy to have the opportunity to learn how to work in a spirit of unity with others and bring the good news of the gospel to all in Honduras. I´ve already experienced some changes and I hope the Lord will continue to help me change to become who He would have me be.

This week I read from the Liahona a devotional address from Jeffrey R. Holland, ¨ The best is yet to be¨. It seemed to be directed right at me, because sometimes I have worry when it´s unnecessary or live in the past. I´m grateful that the Lord answers prayers and truly speaks to us personally. I know He knows and loves each of those that I´m teaching, each missionary, and each and every one of you. Thank you for your constant support and for loving and caring about me.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxox, Hermana Francis

Blinking Together

The difference between a wink
and a blink
is a matter of arithmetic:
a single blink is a double wink,
or rather,
one wink is only half the other.

One eye alone can't blink, you see
but longs to.
So it winks away its halfway blinks
until eventually it spies
another eye
that winks back, and two become one.

The Brief Rime of Gail and Aden

[Note: This poem was commissioned by Kendall as part of the ward service auction. I consciously modeled it after Alexander Pushkin's "Eugene Onegin", which is a famous Russian novel-in-verse. Much of the mood and style of what I wrote resembles (or tries to resemble) parts of that work. This also probably explains why the protagonist's roommate has the Russian name of Vasia. As with "Eugene Onegin", this poem is written as a series of sonnet-like stanzas of 14 lines, although my meter and rhyme are far looser than that of "Eugene Onegin" or the translation that I have. The poem is strange and maybe not the most romantic thing, but I like it and hope you will find much to relate to in it. Happy Valentine's Day, I guess!]

I

Aden Alecanteson

Slumped deep into a gloomy chair,

Slapped a hand across his anguished face

And wept in total despair.

His sniffs and sputters sadly sounded

Across the library's vast expanses

Though in reality great were the chances

That none cared for his sincere sorrow.

Sitting back and wiping tears from face,

Ruffling blondish hair, he sighed

Then thought of her enchanting look –

And with renewed vigor, broke down and cried.

When ever did love deep and profound

Give up and die without complaint or sound?

And so, dear Aden with his heart fresh broke

There and then a quiet prayer outspoke:

“Oh that I might never feel again

Merciful numbness I beg Thee lend,

My God, who let this catastrophe

Of love grind my poor heart!

Take from my sight all beauty, all grace.

Kill affection before it can start!”

Again he wept with fiery tears,

His hopeless prayer ascended to Heaven,

And drowsily but in earnest he muttered,

“Never again, no never, never again.”

And Heaven listening with purpose fixed

Carefully considered the broken man's wish.

He flung himself, upon reaching home,

On his bed, and made his sorrows known

Pounding his fists on his miserable pillow

And wailing and writhing and letting himself go.

Into the room burst his apartment-mate

Who with righteous anger roared to his side

And slapped him up, knocked some sense right in.

“Cease this slobbering at once!” with wrath he cried.

Caught red-eyed in disgraceful mid-snivel

Like a shamefaced child Aden sat upright.

Tears ceased at once, and all but one stray sniffle

Went silent. He looked beat down by the fight.

The roommate – Vasia – sat down by his side.

“Look man, you disgrace, pick yourself up, take some pride!”

Vasia's words bit with truth's harshness.

Aden, shocked into uprightness

Listened as his friend infused him

With hope, and vigor, and vim.

Though it was winter's bleakest darkness without

Within his heart awoke new spring.

Aden jumped brightly to his feet

And very nearly started to sing.

“My good Vasia, I am newly resolved.

A different feeling within my heart has evolved.

No more the depths of despair to contemplate,

I determine here and now – to get a date!”

Vasia thought he felt the apartment building shake,

Saying, “That tends to happen when a man confronts his fate.”

II

Her name was Gail, and there she lived

In the house around the corner

Where she and four friends, plus their cat,

Lived fourteen lives of ardor.

She had no need for love nor men.

She had loved before, but ne'er again

Would she stake her heart on something so hard to win –

She thus was Cupid's perfect victim!

But not wholly resigned to single abandon

As yet, she threw a great party

A grande fête for friends and foes alike

At her place, at nine o'clock starting,

To show the world that she had turned out right

And could succeed without being any man's wife.

That night the neighborhood in uproar

Flocked to the party, flocked to the table

Of feminine hospitality offered elegantly.

All laughed and stayed as long as able.

Aden amongst these was not least eager

To meet these ladies of such renown.

With Vasia he'd arrived with a flourish,

Though their coming was ignored all around.

Yet feast and flirt, amuse, acquaint, enjoy,

With skill and style they carried out their task

And with the hour chiming midnight

Aden met the hostess at long last.

When they spoke he felt he already knew her,

And saw, of course, that he'd have to woo her.

The next day, with Vasia keeping time,

He called her up, got her on the line,

Then asked her out, waited as she thought.

Sweet Gail replied, “Absolutely not!”

With abrupt click their conversation ended,

Aden's heart for pain now freshly rended.

Vasia urged his roommate to be strong,

Citing parables of fish and ponds.

“I won't despair!” declared quavering Aden.

“Haven't I made a firm commitment

To get a date? No such punishment

will dissuade or make me jaded.”

Thus roused once more he called twenty ladies,

Getting three nos, one yes, and sixteen maybes.

He and the one who had accepted

Went out a-courting on the cheap.

Amongst the others that he dated

It was she who brought him loss of sleep.

In time things took a turn towards serious

And he found himself in need of flowers.

So he stood in line for two whole hours

To procure his girl a fine bouquet.

As he stood he got a tingling in his side –

'Twas just his phone. A call from Gail vibrated

And against his will he felt a pang.

He reached, but hesitated as it rang,

Then picked it up (which stopped its ringing)

Though not quite sure what he was thinking.

III

What had she contemplated to thus call him?

She wondered. What would he do, or say, or think?

How could she explain to him whom she'd spurned?

How dared she hope, or wish, or dream?

Aden answered, and Gail asked her question,

Told of her pain and of her past,

Explained the change that had transformed her

And made her importune at last.

She heard his certain indecision,

His most decided incertitude.

She heard his thanks, even contrition

And disclaimers for being rude.

At last she heard his firm refusal.

She cried and vowed endless recusal.

Her heart in loneliness had wandered

For some years, though she had not realized

With what pain, until Aden's call made her ponder.

It was then that affection materialized.

Seeing him softened her old hardness further,

Seeing his smile and laughter in the neighborhood.

Though plain were his clothes and old was his auto

She thought his way seemed somehow noble and good.

She had summoned a great store of courage to ask him

If they might not give it a shot after all

But by that same prerogative by which she'd refused him

Aden unilaterally rejected the aim of her call.

Now bitter rejection from her past came returning

And brought to the spurner her own sweet dose of spurning.

Unmoored once more her heart went a-drifting.

For weeks her life passed like the sands in their shifting,

With former hopes breaking and bending and rifting,

Her heart depressed, her spirits not lifting.

It was strange to mope over someone so distant

Whom she'd hardly met – it seemed downright stupid

Yet there she was with her tears and her ice cream,

“Return to Me” replacing yet one more failed dream.

Though she had no Vasia to keep her in line –

Indeed very few with which she shared her mind –

Gail knew she was stuck, needed to get unblocked,

So off with the movie, out the front door she walked,

Only to see with unexpected surprise

Aden, and a girl who had tears in her eyes.

IV

He had told her no, Gail whom he fell for.

He had turned her down cold sans explanation

As he stood there to buy a bouquet for another,

Yet all this was not done without hesitation.

Still he had tried to court that lady

Whose enchantment deprived him of rest every night,

But the memory of Gail grew, with a gnaw and a fest'ring,

A worry that he had not chosen aright.

He loved the girl that he bought the bouquet for,

Nonetheless he began writing out many rain checks

On affection and kindness that should have been hers then.

Soon their relationship was, bona fide, a train wreck,

And he moved that they as a couple should end.

Her tears were merely the trough of a longer-term trend.

Gail saw the tears as she stepped out her front door

But quickly turned round, refusing to spy more.

She secretly struggled, shied from inward enjoyment.

Nonetheless to her roommates her voice seemed ebullient.

Then she cried one more time

And set to wait and to hope,

Kept busy each day with her work, but felt tense,

As if living her life way up high on a tightrope.

Aden tried hard not to dance on the relationship's casket

Concerning the one for whom he bought the bouquet,

But his motive could not remain forever secret

And Vasia urged him more strongly with each passing day

Not to wait and not to unwisely refrain.

Saying “If it's good then you can choose without shame.”

And so one fine and cheerful spring morning

With two cones of ice cream in hand

Aden knocked at Gail's door with a laugh and then waited

Not caring how long he might have to stand.

Had it really been three months

Since he'd met Gail, that fine beauty?

Did he have it in him to do what it would take?

He wagered that he could live up to the duty.

When Gail emerged they both smiled simply.

Aden proffered a cone with chocolate and swirl

And they sat there and talked for five blessed hours,

One happy guy and one happy girl.

So with gladness they set to that endless adventure

Of living their two lives as one life together.

Short Takes

As Winter Wind Sings

As winter wind sings
They hunch against the wild sky:
snow-heavy branches.


Talking

We sit at the bus stop.
It's been two hours
and I don't care.


Silicon Paper

Trees sigh in the wind--
I stare at the glowing screen
while the hard disk whirs.


One Day

We'll stop counting
on tomorrow
to fix our mistakes.

after the valentines

Slightly wilted roses, thorns still on the stems,

in water colored like the midday fog above the Thames,

look out the kitchen window--where they can best be seen--

beside the spot she puts her ring when dishes must be cleaned.

Three chocolates are hidden on the upper pantry shelf

so the children will not find the few she saved out for herself.

It's two weeks since the holiday. He's mowing the front lawn;

she's driving from the dentist and knows that before long

they'll be reading bedtime stories, vacuuming the car,

paying bills and mopping spills before they drip too far.

The hearts and gifts of Valentines fade dully to the past,

reminders that this love and home are built of things that last.

Morning

The sky yawns wide in the bleary predawn grey,

and a wind tumbles out, showering the earth with scents and nonsense songs

and scattering the last few drops of dew.

Fingers of sunlight comb through the mountain pines

and brush out the trailing wisps of cloud,

while the emerging light dresses everything in confident colors.

Then the egg-yolk sun rises over cinnamon crumb peaks,

and it is time to step out into a brand new day.

Blog Policy: Tagging

Hey guys, I think we should follow Chris's lead in tagging each of our poems with our name. Otherwise there seems to be no way to make a listing of all posts by a certain person, as primitive as such a capability might seem. So please add your first name to the list of tags ("labels" as Blogger calls them) below your posts.

Poemesis on George Starbuck

Spiggle.

Speetzle.

A-spic, a-spac.

Wa handen nufter

Ka ziggen zak!

Na linbern nortern

Kwu caften cofeten.

Inga wistle.

Inga win!

Spiggle.

Speetzle.

A-spic. A-spac.

Rifnon rafbin

Wa nella hibba hap.

Wa nella nibba lap.

Ka nella --

Ka nibba --

Lap.

La mer d'Aral est mort!

One night

At poetry club

I could think of nothing

But to write

About how I had

Nothing to write.

And then I thought,

"The Aral Sea,

Victim of lack of socialist foresight,

Is dead,

Drought and dessication

Taking its place.

Once there were islands,

Once there were cities on the sea

And railways elevated

Above the waves.

Once there were fish and fishermen

And schools and children.

Now, sands and salt

Sift sullenly

In the winds of artificial desert."

Thus were my thoughts

About the death of seas.

Do you ever feel

That your headwaters

As well have been diverted

To grow cotton in Uzbekistan?

And that the sea of your life

Is shrinking and drying,

The fishes dying,

Villagers fleeing,

Drought o'ertaking,

Workmen leaving,

Hot winds raking

The salts and sands

That are all that's left

Of an ocean of ended dreams?

I hope not.
I hope you have

No idea

What that's supposed to mean.

The Future

Well,

It's begun.

Time

Marches on

And the call

Of the future

Is drifting

In on the wind

Of the present.

So

How 'bout now?

Our days

Don't know how

To bore us --

That's the trouble.

But maybe coming 'round the bend

There's some ho-hum gonna begin.

For now it's

Every day a battle

Every day pitting our all

Against all the world

Throws at us.

Of course

We must have our wits

About us

No slack on the line

Is gonna save us

In that moment

When the ready are ready

And everyone else wonders

What hit 'em.

Still,

We wait

And see

The tunnel's terminal light

Glow brighter,

Pressing on

Though long

The distance untraveled,

Fighting on

Though few

The virtues untrammeled.

Yes

It's begun.

Indeed,

Time marches on

With the call

Of the future

An inescapable summons

Of death

Of life.

And the only answer

Is either

To live

Or die.

Can you hear it?

Do you hear it?

Will you hear it?

Live!

Club Business

We actually had a "meta" moment tonight and talked about the club itself. It was agreed that increasing our membership is a worthwhile objective as this would bring a greater diversity of poetic voices into our circle, so we brainstormed ways this could be brought about. The following are the ideas brainstormed:

• Have events
• Make fliers (e.g. readings for the public)
• Write in the "Notes" section of people's directories
• Food
• Poster of a poem
• Booklets in apartments (including the poems we've put on the blog, perhaps)
• Valentine poem deliveries on request
• Fundraiser (since clubs have fundraisers): custom poem delivery or something
• Read a poem at ward prayer
• Shirts
• Altoids (actual Altoids mints at our meetings)
• Make the club a part of the culture

There was also a suggestion to do a sort of collaborative poetry, in which lines are written by two authors alternately.

Next week Jhon is going to bring a prompt in the form of a photograph, which we will all respond to. Maybe we could put the photo up here for those following along at home?

Assignment #1: think about all of the ideas above and decide which ones are most deserving of implementation.

Assignment #2: come next week

Assignment #3: bring a friend

Parted

I see you

across the room,

and your smile curls

purring

around my thoughts.

You are as beautiful

as trees and sky

on a warm morning in April.

The kind of morning you wake up to

before sunrise

just to be sure

you won't miss it.

The kind of morning that smiles

at the whole world

and glows

with the promise of summer.

I say nothing.

Because your glowing smile

is not for me.

And I close my eyes.

Because I miss you more

when we are together.

Sorry, but I won't be at many of the Thursday meetings for a while. I'll try to contribute to the blog, and hopefully some will be more upbeat than this breakup poem. Make sure you post your poems from the meetings so I can read them!