Bus Adventures

A woman sits there, not far from me
Her face blotched, her body bloated.
Her piglike eyes look at me, unseeing,
a permanent sneer twisting fat purple lips
in an impartial grimace.
Her hair sprouts from her head, dirty dishwater brown
with scattered bits of gravel grey.
Threads are strewn
about the frame of her expression, and,
at the back,
all individual strands are lost
in a thick, matted clump;
a gourd of hair, whose tip
falls just below her neck.
It seems a cancerous
untended growth,
bloated with years of neglect
textured by an eternity of dirt
and the grime that clings to her clothes
like moss to a dead tree.

Twinkle, Twinkle

Wrote this for my poetry class last quarter, back in October. Not sure why I didn't post it then... ah, well.

The assignment was to take a nursery rhyme and make a poem out of it. I rather like how it turned out, to be honest.

Twinkle, twinkle,
the tiny stars in your eyes!
A glint of light, captured
when you look at me...
How I wonder about the light!
What could you possibly see
in my face
that could make your eyes
twinkle so, like tiny stars
under your fair brow?
You, darling, are above the world –
born to privilege, to high places.
What am I to you,
that stars alight
within your gaze
when you consider me?
You are my life,
the finest jewel in my night.
And yet how your eyes sparkle!
Such stars... reserved, for me?
Twinkle, twinkle, little stars...
how I wonder that you are!

Admittedly Not Good

This has practically been my mantra lately. Hint: Not a good thing.

Anyone can do any amount of work provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at the moment.
-- Robert Benchley

En Ti Vive

I finally have something to write.

I was reading Pablo Neruda, and wanted to write something in Spanish.

It translates rather prettily, I guess, but I have no idea what it actually sounds like in the language I composed it in. Whether or not it flows.

Here. You can have it.

En Ti Vive

en ti, viven los nombres de doscientas mañanas,
y en ti vive la esperanza de los padres.
en ti, vive el sol de cien días de verano,
y en ti vive la luna de cien noches negras.

eres el orgullo de las estrellas,
y la boca de palabras infinitas y silenciosas.
tu aliento es de las brisas del mundo,
y tu lengua toca los labios del viento.

¿quién dice que tu vida no tiene significado?
¿quién dice cual persona es más importante?

todos tocan el mismo viento,
y sus almas cantan la misma canción.
ni te desesperes, ni te quites la esperanza,
porque eres precioso a mí.

And for all those English speakers who are like "Whoa, dude, wtf?!", here's a rough translation:

In You, Live

In you live the names of two hundred tomorrows,
and in you live the hope of fathers.
In you lives the sun of hundred days of summer,
and in you lives the moon of hundred black nights.

You are the pride of the stars,
and the mouth for silent and infinite words.
Your breath is of the breezes of the world,
and your tongue touches the lips of the wind.

Who says your life has no importance?
Who says which person is the greatest?

All touch of the same wind,
and their souls sing the same song.
Do not despair, and do not give up hope,
because you are precious to me.

Shake the Dust

I haven't written for a while, and still can't.

Have this instead.


Quote from a friend:
"you know, theres a time for words and then, then theres a time for sitting back and asking yourself... wtf". - Tracy

Shockingly apt statement, I'd say.