Love Song to Summer

My newest poem. Prose. Thing. It's quite a bit better than the last, I think.

The blue vessel sits, solitary and neglected, downstairs
Silver spokes reflecting dimly the light of the single window 
Surrounded by so many other things neglected and forgotten -
But it is not their season. 

My soul cries out as if to some departed lover
Summer, where have you gone?
For I loved you while you remained, giving me your heat
Showing me the glorious life sheltered under your wings.

Brown-skinned and content, I played under your skies
Like a youth, forgetting
The change would come, the cycles re-turn,
As I happily rode my own cycle down lanes and avenues.

The cold fingers of winter are slowly loosening their grip
Afraid to let go, or perhaps jealous.
But I feel the promise of my lover's return in the air
In the steadily growing light, the softened grass underfoot. 

The birds fly by, sparrows singing the herald-song
Finches giving promises of budded trees and blooming flowers
Even crows, gathered in their murders, gossip -
For summer, the time for living, is coming.

And I count down the days and await through long hours
The lonely cycle haunting me between thoughts of you. 
I have grown and changed since last you saw me. 
Will you know me?

Can we be as we once were,
When your arms cradled me, surrounding me with light
Heating the earth under my feet, that I would be warm
Caressing my face with your fine daphne-scented breezes?

The other seasons courted me, but I have remained steadfast
Faithful to you, my first love. 
Return, that I may bask in your glorious days
That I may rejoice in the beauty of your nights. 

Return for the sake of the promise
That all that is left is not forgotten.

 

Falling Into Autumn

I had forgotten how beautiful the rain was.

I hadn't remembered the magic of water, pelting down from the sky, sprinkling your hair and reminding your skin that it's alive.

I had forgotten, as so many have, the wonder of accepting the fact you're going to get wet, of the release of knowing your clothes will be damp, but they'll dry out, and in the meantime you can enjoy the drops that smell so sweetly of life.

It is such fun looking up into the sky, feeling the rain on your face... such fun in the simple pleasure of knowing there is something here to enjoy, of holding your head high and walking through the downpour, when so many people scurry past, heads down, ducking from cover to cover or hiding beneath giant umbrellas, never meeting your eye, trying to escape.

There is something to learn from this, I think.

Take your time, in life, in love. If you forget your rain jacket or umbrella, accept it for the opportunity it is - the opportunity to experience something that so many people never do. Greet every moment as the chance to look around, to find something to look at, something to become interested in, rather than treating life as something that must continually amuse you.

"The cure for boredom is curiosity; and there is no cure for curiosity." (- Ellen Parr)

Live each day seeking, rather than waiting, for the things that interest you, that excite you, that bring you joy. Life is too short to wait for living to happen.

Odes and the Weather

So the weather has finally reflected the turning towards the autumnal equinox - and the very first day post-fair, too, which shows a little more taste than is usually seen on behalf of the usual Pacific Northwestern weather.

Unfortunately, that also meant that this morning I had to clothe myself in not only sweats-and-tee-shirt garb, but also don my fleece bathrobe... neither of which has made me particularly happy. So unhappy, in fact, that I deemed it appropriate to compose a poem, an ode to Summer - and had the indecency to attempt to make it rhyme as well; please forgive me. At least it is not a long poem.

Ode to Summer

O where is the fine heat of Summer?
The warmth of bright sunshine, hot on the skin,
Burning, to match the fires within.
O where is the sunshine of Summer?

O where are the blue skies of Summer?
Crystalline skies, cloudless and bright,
To make the earth seem so close to the light:
O, bring back the bright days of Summer!

O where are the soft smells of Summer?
Of quiet and shade, where breezes can play,
And flowers bloom, away from the heat of the day -
O, where are the soft places of Summer?

O where are the brisk sounds of Summer?
Of rivers and brooks, of swift-flowing streams,
Of dragonflies' flight through sunshiny beams,
O, where are the lazy energies of Summer?

O, speed the return of distant days of Summer,
That again may flow the golden heat
And that every morning we can greet
The sun, in those lovely warm days of Summer.

Hopefully by now you're not thoroughly tired of the rhyming and of the repetition of the capitalized "Summer". Though, it must be admitted, if I am sick of Washington's infamous ill-weathered winters inside a single day, I am not going to last very long this season.

Fortunately I have my sewing, crocheting, and tea to fall back on.

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!

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.

"Death and Life"

– Charles Carroll Bombaugh, Gleanings for the Curious from the Harvest-Fields of Literature, 1890

Briefly Speaking

It's strange

I'd like to sleep...
I'd love to sleep...

I'm so very tired

Tired...

But not sleepy.

I close my eyes
And rest my head
And my mind busies itself

Restlessly self-defeating
My own best intentions

My body cannot remain
Comfortable
I twist and turn
On my usually comfortable mattress

Can I yet sleep?
I am so tired...

My mind must eventually stop

My thoughts must eventually meld
Into the bizarre dreams
And strange images
Which the brink of sleep lends them.

But not yet.
Not until my mind has exhausted itself
Run itself into the ground
Never listening to my own body

Please, stop, it entreats
And my mind listens not
But runs its own course
Robbing me of rest
Of peace and of healing

Can I yet sleep?
I am so very tired.

Sextepalabras Segundos

Can't compose coherent thoughts. Too tired. Take some six-word stories instead. (Look on projectsidewalk for more community projects.)

• Flirtatious... too shallow, perhaps, for me.
• What more could I ask for?
• The steady pulsing beat expels thought.
• A hug... pause... an awkward reunion.
• Such tiredness assails me... cannot think...
• Place your hand here, in mine.
• The graceful curve of a bowl.
• Chirping crickets greet the pale moon.
• Computers, phones, players - too much technology!
• Paper holds secrets, in folds, creases...
• Curling up with books and blankets.

Today's Composition

So I had poetry class today. I like what I wrote, but I didn't fulfill the assignment (to stay away from abstract concepts and depict only representational visuals), so oh well.

Concepts: Order, War, Solitude, Peace, Hunger

A lily resting on a glassy lake
Is nothing to the placid contentment within.
Alone, I am crowded by my country -
Its turmoil palpable, its quest for justice
Irresistible; hungry as an avalanche
And twice as destructive.
But here in my solitary self, I rest
My soul ordered within me
And I am at peace.

On a completely different note, while I was walking to my Art History class, I passed a bush, and heard these strange high-pitched chirping noises. I looked through the bush and saw this tiny little hummingbird, perched on a tiny little branch, expanding its teensy tiny little red throat and squeak-chirping like I wasn't two feet away and looking right at it. It was fantastic!

Loneliness

I went with my dad to his office so that he could take the carpool lane. While waiting for him to return from his meeting, I finished my book... and so, thinking of my poetry class, wrote the following two poems.

Visit To an Office

An unknown street,
A mystery house,
An alien town.
Wandering through doorways
Down hallways, alleys,
Wandering without purpose
Without meaning
In an unknown land.
Strange pale colours,
Bizarre carpeted floor;
Strangers populate its roads.
These inhabitants do not smile.
Escape is a meaningless word,
And discourse an empty option.
These aliens do not notice the alien
Wandering in their midst,
Do not stop to ask questions -
They stare, and then move about their tasks;
And I, the alien among them,
Don't know what to do with myself.

I hope I don't get lost.

And poem the second:

The Stranded Poet

Single, solitary light -
The others flicker,
But you, faithfully, stay
Lit
A beacon to those
Wandering these halls
And to I, who sits
Pen in hand
Scribbling these thoughts.
You are the one
Who allows me to write
For you are
Both
My inspiration
And my vision;
My enabler
And my guide.
I am lost without you.

Collegiate

Here's a poem I wrote during my poetry class while the teacher rambled on about inconsequential things. I was looking around the room and wondering if I could compose an entire poem about a random object:

Projector

Fine, sleek silver box
Instrument under teacher's hand
Presenting words and images
Meant for guidance

Whirring instructional box
Your eye doesn't absorb, but reflects
For the benefit of all
Who could not learn from you?

Suspended electric box
A source of light and knowledge
Quiet and unassuming -
The projector.

But this poem is my favorite so far. Based on the writing assignment of, "Imagine someone, standing in a doorway, somewhere", I wrote it in its entirety in less than ten minutes, and was the first to finish. Still needs a title, though.

To step through the door
And freeze upon the threshold -
Frozen by the sight before your eyes.
What rare beauty, what fine garment,
What musical speech hath this girl!
Her soft laughter perfumes the air with sound,
And breaks your heart as it does your stride.
Beautiful girl! Grey, ocean-filled eyes,
Watery cascade of sand-golden hair;
She is fluid in motion as the seagull's flight,
Graceful as the lines of the wind-curved dunes.
There is no breath that does not taste
Of her sweet tang whilst she is near,
And when she is absent the mouth is flooded
With the bitter salt of sadness.
Wonderful girl! Whose talents and grace
Break like caressing waves
Upon those fortunate enough
To drown themselves... in you.

"Shapeskearean Venting"

God, you ever get to that point where you're so tired of stupid movies, and then you see a Shakespeare, and it's like water after a desert?

That's how I felt after I watched Much Ado About Nothing. It was so refreshing to see a cohesive, coherent, plausible movie, with completely solid characters, played by actors who completely understood their roles and the spirit of Shakespeare. It was just... nice.

Flash Fiction-ating

As I don't really like posting entire compositions here, I'll try something new and just give you the first few lines:

I ran down the corridor, breathing heavily. I had lost her. My chest heaved, and a sob cracked its way through my chest and up my throat. I thought furiously through the desperation that threatened to consume me. There was no way to regain her. She was too far away, they would know exactly where I went, and I would lose her again, whatever I did. They knew me too well.

... and then give you the link to the rest: My Life - Gone, With One Click.

Wrote it in a flash of inspiration based on a six-word story I wrote, now serving as the title, on projectsidewalk.com. You should go look at that, too.

Repentence

If you say you're a Christian, this slams you to the wall, lifts you up by the throat, and strikes you through the heart with a stake to keep you up there. Click for bigger view.

Great Moments

A list I composed back in June, but didn't share. I'm not sure why. But here, you can have it now.

Feeling the heat of the sun on your body
The earthy smell of ripe blackberries in summer
Having a really good picture on your driver's license
The feeling you get right after finishing a really good book
The closed-in feeling of driving down a country road in the dark
Getting enhanced nightvision right after it snows
Sliding down banisters
The word "snazzy"
Tipping a chair backwards and getting that perfect balance
Walking along a trail in the woods and realizing you're the only one there
Having whatever's in your head come out perfectly on paper
Listening to a great surround sound system
Painting your bedroom the perfect color
An entire stack of the books that you love
Figuring out all the shortcuts on your cell phone
Customizing all the shortcuts on your cell phone
The clean, abrupt smell of permanent marker
Movies that leave you breathless
People you can watch those movies with
Dangly earrings
Summer days, in February
A perfectly sharpened pencil
Old TV shows nobody remembers
Knowing your cat's body language
Watching a movie on YouTube over and over
Old radio broadcasts from the '40s and '50s
Having all your laundry clean at the same time
An equalizer preset that does exactly what you were looking for
Playing hide-and-go-seek with small children
The sight of a herd of deer in a meadow
Estate sales with huge collections of baubles
The little wiggling thing cats do before they pounce
A candle lit for the first time
Getting personal letters
Glass bottles of ink
Small silver charms
Real, old hardwood floors
Floating on a lake in the bottom of a boat
Ancient vine-covered concrete that reminds you of ruins
Having a dragonfly land on your arm
The smell of water lilies
A completed sudoku board
Old chandeliers
Getting a perfect cadence to your words
Doing something childish and not caring who disapproves
The feeling you get after completing a really long essay
The moment when you've got the inspiration, right before you create something amazing

Give it a thought. When was the last time you noticed, and enjoyed, those kinds of (almost entirely superfluous) moments in your life? No one else will enjoy them for you.

Footnote: This is my 200th post to this blog.

Motion Carried

Here. Have a poem.

The rhythm of the lines -
Steady - beat, beat.

Blue bars on a page,
Thick beats on a drum.
Versatility in motion,
In sound, in sight.

Touch the bitter colors
Taste the silken verbs
See the rhythms inside;
Hammering at the walls,
Scratching at my throat.
Dry birds, thick wingbeats,
Buzzing at my fingertips -
Beat, beat, beat...

Steady as a motor,
As a pulse in my wrist.

Hear the shift in motion.
Air thickens, movement
Hastening to keep up -
Beat, beat, beat.

Browsing

Just finished going through the archives of the Zebra Girl webcomics. It's really interesting to see the difference between the older and the newer comics - the artist has really come a long ways in terms of storytelling, layout, and detail skills. I totally approve, and look forward to seeing more from him.

I continue to like the playlist I made in this post. Listen to it on random, and it is good.

I added a new wish on the Corrupted Wish boards:

I wish I had a free wish, with no consequences but those which I dictate.

The response:

define consequences:
the physical, social, psychological or emotional effects of a behavior.

Wish granted. You make your second wish. You dictate positive consequences as one would expect. You're living the dream, and everything seems great... Then one day you develop low-self esteem and become self-mutilating. From that day on you live the most terrible and miserable life anyone has ever lived, because now, you dictate negative consequences.

I wish I could see the eye of a tornado and be untouched.

(one a side note, I think paradoxical wishes are awesome. It takes a whole lot more thought to try and corrupt a wish that seems incorruptible. I would like to know what exactly jcroxmisox would have wished for the second wish.)

My response in turn:

Wouldn't you like to know? ;P

City Life

It's so loud, here, in the city. I open my window at night, and hear the white noise of the freeway and the impatient blaring of horns. The dirt in the air, kicked up by thousands of tires daily, coats everything in dust and grime, even up to a mile away.

It's not right. I want to hear the wind through the trees, smell the pollen in the evenings. I don't want to look up at night and see the orange lights of the city reflected off the belly of the clouds, or diluting the shining arm of the Milky Way. I want to have a black night, without the grim orange haze of streetlamps at every corner, nor waking in the morning to the sounds of lawn mowers and construction. I want crickets and frogs to make my nighttime lullaby, and birds to be my morning alarm clock.

Sprouting

Well, I'm not sure how it's happened, but it seems I've grown taller lately. I should be too old for growing. It makes me happy. :)

Also it would explain my recent inexplicable habit of eating like a horse at every meal.

But it reminds me of the part in the second Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers.

Merry: Why are you taller than me?
Pippin: I've always been taller than you. What are you, three foot six? At the tallest? And I'm pushing three foot seven. *burps* Three eight!
Merry: Three foot eight...?!

It's funny, because even though they're totally excited about growing a couple of inches, they're still less than four feet tall, so no one else cares, because everyone else is five nine and up.
Yeah, I feel like that.