My $0.02 or They Call it Being "Well Off"

Ka-¢hing Ka-¢hing Ka-¢hing

Catching the disease

$pending $pending $pending

Until your house they seize


1 day you'll be happy

2 much you've had to lose

3 more breaths and you'll think

be-

4 you have to choose


between your life and living
between passion and a job
between a real or forced smile
between a tear or sob

living life is not free
but can you pay the cost?
is it worth the payment,
years of your life lost?

is there no other answer?
no way to simply be?
some way to "pay the piper"
and still escape the fee?

why can't we just be happy
living as we are?
resist the diamond bracelet
and brand-new sporty car

what world made "things" important
and made us care so much
about the things we purchase
objects we see and touch

intangible are love and lust
(i can't touch sympathy)
but surely it is possible
to feel philanthropy

i can hold opinions dear
and i can buy some time
some things are worth so very much
don't focus on the dime

don't care about the dollar
or yen or british pound
just let yourself get lost
and soon you'll find you're found

release yourself from rubies
divorce your diamonds too
there's definitely more to life
than buying old and new

don't focus on your income
and other revenue
the dollar signs are blinding
and soon your "things" own you

what is the price of happiness?
how much for just one smile?
will money get you closer?
or will it just beguile?

let go and give yourself a break
it's going to be ok
there's more to life than buying
and waiting for pay day

just breathe and try to realize
you have so many things
assess what is important
and give your dreams some wings

What is the sound of two hearts beating?

The poetry of your mouth
Makes music on my cheek
And fills my heart and head with words
I'm unable to speak

Fill my face with wonder
As your lips press on mine
More words upon my heart are felt
As with your hands you sign

The languages they sweetly blur
(So soft) you speak to me
The droplets of your raining words
Fill up my heart (an endless sea)

Your breath tells me of life
Your tongue of living free
And when I'm right beside you
I close my eyes and see

I'm pressed to you - a flower
Between the pages of our love
Preserved for all eternity
Like stars in skies above

You tell me with your eyes
That I'm the one for you
Your arms and teeth and knees
They tell me that it's true

Tell me dear, forever,
(in wordless ways so fine)
That I am all your lover
And you are always mine.

I hate moving

Even when stationary, we're moving. Like bodies of water that are "still", under the surface we're teeming with life and constantly going going going.

The blood in our veins, the air in our lungs, the molecules and atoms and electrons. (What is smaller than an electron? It's probably moving too.)

We're always moving. So it's no wonder I'm so damn tired. Do we rest when we're dead?

We're not just moving, we're rushing. What are we rushing towards? Where is it that we need to get to so quickly? What is the purpose of deadlines and due dates? What happens if we don't get it all done? Does life stop? Does everything fall apart?

What would happen if it all fell apart for you? Would you finally be free to do as you like? Or would you be trapped, trapped within this world that revolves around time and appointments and goal-setting and goal-attainment and fixed periods of time for everything from gestation to graduation?

It's no wonder that books and movies like Fight Club are popular - our greatest fantasy is to give it up all up and start over. To live with "nothing". To live with as little as we can. Imagine not working towards buying new things. Imagine buying only what you need. Imagine feeling. Imagine care less, and caring more. What would that mean for you?

But no. You need this job. You need it so you can buy ___, and you need ___ so that you can be happy/healthy/look good/feel good/keep up with the Jones'. Or is it Joneses?

I think one day I'll have to find out what it's like. But first I just have to achieve some fixed-time-period goals, and buy a few things.

Just let go

Whirling twirling almost hurling

throw yourself into my arms -

Spend your time exploring/learning

time to face our dear world's harms.


Don't hide or shield yourself from wonder

it's all within your reach, my sweet.

Just let your guard down once again

and I'll fall at your feet.


Love life - love me - love it all,

this is the only shot you get...

Be as curious as can be

my lovely little pet.


We'll run and then we'll scamper

and frolic in the night

I know that this is scary

But also it's so right.

"Can I help you find anything, or are you just browsing?"

Maybe we can't figure out what to do with our lives because we already have everything. If you're reading this, it means you're literate and have access to the internet. I think it's safe to assume that you have many or all of life's "basic necessities". (Who coined that phrase anyways?)

We are so completely materialistic ("we" being the affluent western world and a few other select areas on the globe). Our daily lives revolve around what we're going to buy next. Do you go to work to pay for your house? Do you go to school to get a job so that one day you can pay for a house? Even if you own your house, you can buy stuff for it (decor/furnishings/etc.) Is it your kids you buy for? It would be awful if they missed out on growing up with the incessant need to want and "need".

Let me be clear: want ≠ need. What constitutes need? Do we need a house? (Could you live without one?) Do we need a car or shoes? There are people that do without. Do you need a bathroom when you "have" to "go"? (Technically, no.) Do we need 5-20 pairs of pants? Seriously. Things are getting out of hand. We've forgotten the difference between want and need and everything is getting confused and SOMEBODY out there is making a buck and that's good, because they have a house to pay for, you know. And that's going to make them "happy".

It gets worse.

We have commercialized emotion. We have commercialized LOVE. We have. In one breathe we declare love as "sacred" and in the next we configure ways to prove this with objects. The idea of "marriage" is lost somewhere in the shadow of "weddings", and this materialistic gesture is forever immortalized by (often) insanely expensive rings. With the rise of capitalism (or some form of it) came the institution of marking your love by precious metals and accompanying stones. We've heard the questions: "Well what what you DO if he proposed but you hated the ring???!" and despite insisting that we'd marry them anyways, a small voice inside of us confesses that we'd have to do something about that ring and get it changed or what have you.

Because it matters. (But why?)

You've probably also answered the question, "If your house was on fire and you could only save one thing, what would it be?" For some people, it's photos. For others, "valuable" items or sentimental objects. It varies, but there are things we hold near and dear and seek to keep forever. As though holding on to a picture frame would give us some sense of purpose, being, or happiness as we stare at the rubble that once functioned as shelter.

We are so completely attached to stuff. It's undeniable. I'm not exempt from this widespread disease. I save my money for things and spend my money on stuff and it makes me "happier". I work hard in school and "achieve" so that one day I can get a nice fancy job and make MORE money so that I can do things that make me "happy". I'm not trying to suggest that this is completely wrong, and that the direction my life is going in is downhill. I'm merely recognizing that I'm a part of the problem, and I'm not sure what the solution is.

Maybe only when we have nothing do we have a chance to figure out what we need. Maybe having so much, so little real need, has caused us to lose our way. What makes you happy? Is it your car? Your ipod? Your couch? I'm ignoring the fact that there are most likely living-breathing-organisms that are extremely important to you. I'm focusing on the fact that we think of STUFF/OBJECTS/THINGS as the gateway to happiness. I just need that dress. I just need the iphone4. And it'll make me happy, or at least happier.

This stuff breaks. It deteriorates. It gets lost. It burns in a metaphorical fire. And then what? What do we have then when everything that makes us "happy" goes up in smoke?

Is it the people around us? Moms, dads, girlfriends, boyfriends, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, children, neighbours, aunts, uncles, grandmothers, grandfathers, teachers, friends, mentors, librarians, mistresses, step-children, foster children, step-parents, foster parents, and the strangers we don't even know but do feel empathy for? Is this what truly matters? Is this what's left?

I would like to say yes. I would like to say that love is the thing. In fact, sometimes I even believe it. But we know too well that love can break. And love can break us. It can take us up to heights so high that when it drops us, smashing us into bits, we don't know how to put the pieces back together again, and suddenly that house you live in is also no longer a source of happiness.

This calls for clarification. The aforementioned love relies upon other people. It is inter-personal, and not fully within your control (as much as you may like it to be.) Perhaps it is other forms of love that cannot be taken from us (as long as we don't allow them to be silenced by our "needs").

Some sensations are not readily apparent to us. Have you ever "loved" air? Probably not (unless you're a yogi, in which case you probably understand why yoga has been practiced for thousands of years). But if it (air) were taken away, if you needed it (more than you needed that new toaster oven), I'm fairly certain you would love it were you able to obtain it again. Have you ever loved the colour of the sky, the fact that you could see, or the way you thought to look up at all? Have you given yourself that much credit? Have you thanked and loved yourself for ever facet of your being?

Children allegedly laugh 80 times more than adults. Children generally have no money, and until a certain age do not know the concept of "buying" or "owning". Most likely their young life is comprised of discovering and viewing the world with wonder and awe with a penchant for hilarity. Sure, kids "need" - they need food and cleanliness, social interaction and other healthy things. That, I don't think I could argue against. In fact, this is not a perfect example so much as it is a model for being.

Learn. Laugh. LIVE your life. Enjoy it. Don't wish it away. LOVE yourself, wholly and completely. Without make-up, without hesitation. There are few things that cannot be taken away from us, and if we establish some form of self-love and a wonder and appreciation for the world around us (whatever form it may take), perhaps then we may find happiness. Perhaps then we'll stop pursuing it with the rabid tenacity of a starving dog.


---------------------------------------------


Wow, but I digress.

If one achieves self-love & world-wonder, then what? What do you do with yourself if you are perfectly content with yourself and your life situation? I think part of the reason we create so many projects for ourselves (renovate the kitchen, lose 10 lbs, obtain a degree, etc.) is an effort to defeat the possibility of boredom. Maybe we create feelings of inadequacy in order to have something to "fix" and AHA! A project is born.

That is pathetic.

There should be only one answer: do what you are passionate about. If you love making music or solving math equations or talking to old people - DO THAT. Do what fills you with joy, intensity, or calm, or whatever you consider a manifestation of your passion. You can have more than one. You can change your mind. But do what stokes that fire within you, DO what contributes to your zest for life.

If you are creative and imaginative enough, you won't have to sacrifice your passion for some dull career you're not interested in but need to pay the bills. If you work at your passion and give 100% effort and think outside the box and do whatever it takes, you will find a way to make it happen. And if you've come to love yourself and be at peace with the workings of the world, your path will be that much easier.

What fills you with that fire? A difficult question, I am sure. What fills you with desire and longing that is not a tangible object? Think hard, think very very hard. And then find a way to make it happen. If the creativity switch in your brain has been switched to "off" for far too long, enlist the aid of others. Get them to help you come up with a solution, an opportunity, anything.

Maybe you want to be a mail man, a nurse, or a nuclear biologist. Maybe you don't want a "job" and you want to create and wander and profess - it doesn't matter - the point is that if you put 100% towards it (have you ever put 100% effort towards any goal?) the only possible outcome is success - it will be achievable (if you don't reach your goal, you haven't tried hard enough or exhausted all options). We are trained and we train ourselves to believe that there are certain things we can't achieve - but this is simply not true. You can achieve ANYTHING, but you have to want it badly enough and devise ways to get there.

And if you do what you're passionate about while accepting yourself and your decision to follow this path, you will be happy.

And that can't be taken away without your say-so.

_________________________________________________

Pause for thought

Is it enough to do things on a micro level, or do we need to do them on a macro level to truly effect change?

Does changing the lives of many people you don't know matter more than changing the life of a person that you do?

How close can we really get to anybody, if we can never be inside their head?

What is the purpose of a "career"?

Why has money become so necessary?

What could we accomplish if we created something more powerful than caffeine and less harmful than speed?

What do you want to do with your life, and why aren't you doing it?

Superman

You say it’s so important:
The saving of the world.
But what if she were in it
and compliments you hurled -

And then you kept on going
running far away,
because she was too special
you knew you couldn’t stay.

What happens if you slow down
and let in someone new?
Have you ever thought that this could be
something you would do?

I know you have your goals and dreams,
she does, too, I know -
don’t you see that you could have
your dreams and still not go?

You could love her and be free -
I’ve heard it can be done.
Just take a chance and try it!
Who knows? It might be fun.

To love it is to flourish,
and still let things fly free;
but next time that you run so far
please leave your heart with me.

Letter to some guy

It's like when you told me I was "quite a dancer". It's a compliment on the good days, but sometimes I think you're just another douchebag that wasn't quite sure what to say.

So here you are telling me that you like me because I'm "somethin' else". Your eloquence knows no bounds. You're a regular William fuckin' Shakespeare.

Sometimes I wish you words were flowers, and each petal that fell delicately out of your mouth was an effort to describe to me how truly, despairingly, quintessentially fantastic I am. I wish your words were candies, sweet little nuggets that I could roll around on my tongue while the happy centers in my brain light up before the sweetness dissolves.

But that's not your way. You love me with your eyes, with your arm around my shoulders. Words have always been my medium of expression - I'm a regular bulimic when it comes to word vomit. You're about as talkative as a fence post (but just as good a listener).

I think you know what I'd like from you - I'd like to hear it just once. But you'll never say it, will you?

Does that make it less true?

Love Song

Play for me a song of love
your fingers know the notes...
Softly like a turtle dove
my love for you - it floats.

Catch it 'fore it flies away
Hold on to it you must -
When my fierce love leaves you one day
who'll satisfy your lust?

And like a drop of water
That could quench thirst (I guess)
The sound can make you hotter
'Till you burn up - a mess.

So choose to drink and keep and touch
My love for you is real.
Our entanglement is marked as such
that I must break the seal.

Too real too good I cannot stay
Entangled here with you -
a rope with knots is fun for play
at least until I'm through.

Senseless though you think I am
The truth is deeply there -
the saddest part about this sham
is that you're unaware.

An oldie, but a goodie

Oh the travesty of age
and the corresponding rage

that rises up inside
as your hips 'come ever wide -

you cannot help but find,
that you have lost your mind

(memory is faulty
and your speech becomes quite halty)

and lines deep in your face
(impossible t'erase)

mar your youthful look,
(you're caught upon the hook)

death is pulling upon you
it shows in all you do

he reels you in quite slow
but the aging, it does show

The incessant decay
that happens every day

Will haunt you all your life
and like the sharpest knife

will take your life away
so be upset you may

but really you should just
enjoy your sagging bust

enjoy and don't despair
the losing of your hair

love your wrinkly skin
and the fact that you aren't thin

because a corpse will be
not half as much pretty

so deal with it my dear
i know that you can't hear

but death comes for us all
so smile, wait for his call.

How to Change Your Life

1. Stop buying things that are new. Also, buy quality things to last.
2. Never (this will take practice) do anything unkind, directly, or indirectly, to others. Go out of your way to be considerate and nice.
3. Stop buying things that produce garbage or contribute to landfill.
4. Take 5 minutes out of every day to sit, breathe, and think.
5. Make a point of looking at nature, whether it's a leaf or a mountain.
6. Experience uncomfortable situations and accept them for what they are.
7. But also realize that you're free to leave all and any situations you choose to.
8. Eat foods that your body will recognize. (Hint: your body does not know what the fuck a Doritto is. Eat fruits, veges, dairy, and protein. Even just one vegetable a day can make a difference.)
9. Be the light in someone's day. Get creative about it.


Ask yourself what you'd be doing if you could do anything you wanted.

10. Do that.

Ode to Pelops

- In voice of an unknown, ancient Grecian male speaker


I saw you, one day, in the Baths,
And hoped that we would soon cross paths.

Dear Aphrodite1 made it be –
One day you quite bumped into me.

(I sacrificed2 a goat for her,
In thanks for making my heart stir.)

Pelops3 was this young man’s name,
And deep into my life he came.

Most days, we two, spent side by side –
But by the rules4, we did abide.

I had consent, I had his love;
Never did I push or shove.

My love for him, I did not hide,
To know him was a source of pride.

His golden hair and ivory shoulder5,
For him, I would move any boulder.

For his sweet lips I’d go so far
As to fight a minotaur6.

I would cross the Aegean Sea7,
To have my Pelops near to me.

He is a Ganymede8 to me,
No greater beauty could I see.

Great Demeter9, I love her too,
For she did eat a part of you.

Pelops, son of Tantalus10,
I love how you and I is “us”.

My Pelops, dearest one to me!
My favourite, he will always be.

If, before I did, he died,
A thousand tears I would have cried.

My love, he must always be alive!
Or rivers I would cross – all five. 11

A katabasis12 would occur,
For I would make things as they were.

I’d battle Cerberus13 for you,
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do.

From Hades14 I would bring you back
To Earth, despite a sure attack,

From the mighty gods above,
Who don’t always understand love.

I’ll love you ‘till the end of days,
And when I’m gone, still you, they’ll praise.

A God, to me, you’ve always been,
Great things for you I have foreseen:

At Olympia, your shrine15,
You are with those that are divine.

An island, it will have your name,
“Peloponnesus16” will have fame.

The Olympic Games17 one day,
In your honour, they will play.

Admittedly, they play for Zeus,
But I know there are many truths.

They’ll play for you as well as he,
Games founded by your brilliancy.

I’ll worship you for all my life,
And although I have a wife18,

No love could match my love for you,
Devoted to thee in all that I do,

I will give you all my heart,
In hopes that we shall never part.

For a life without my dear Pelops,
Is to me a life that stops.






Citations

1. Aphrodite – Goddess of love, sex, and beauty. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/a/aphrodite.html)

2. Sacrifices – Offerings to the gods. (Pg. 6, Ancient Greek Religion)

3. Pelops – A beautiful man, son of Tantalus and grandson of Zeus. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html, Pg. 426 Sexuality in Ancient Greece)

4. Rules – As shown by the following excerpts, it is important that the speaker had Pelops’ consent as well as love, and that he never used force. It is also relevant that the speaker was proud of the relationship.

“…it was considered a violation of duty by the man, if he did not draw one younger to him, and a disgrace to the boy if he was not honoured by the friendship of a man.” – (418, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)

“…intentional violation of his body… at that time was an offence punishable by banishment and confiscation of property” (438, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)

“…the state expected that every man should choose a youth as his favourite, and, further, while a boy was blamed if he failed to find an older friend and lover…” (439, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)

5. Ivory Shoulder – When the chopped up Pelops was restored by the Gods to his original form, they replaced his shoulder with ivory because Demeter had eaten it. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html)

6. Minotaur – A monster with the head and tail of a bull, but the body of a man. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/m/minotaur.html)

7. Aegean Sea – Between Greece and Asian Minor. (http://encarta.msn.com/encnet/refpages/RefArticle.aspx?refid=761553371)

8. Ganymede – Standard of beauty: if someone is “…even more beautiful than Ganymede,” they are incredibly beautiful, as well as coveted by Zeus. (466, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)

9. Demeter – Demeter inadvertently ate Pelops’ shoulder in a stew made by Tantalus. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html) (191, Ancient Greek Religion)

10. Tantalus – Father of Pelops. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/t/tantalus.html)

11. There five rivers in Hades, separating Hades from the outside world – Acheron - the river of woe; Cocytus - the river of lamentation; Phlegethon - the river of fire; Lethe - the river of forgetfulness; Styx - the river of hate. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/s/styx_river.html)
12. Katabasis – Epic hero’s excursion into the underworld. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katabasis#Trip_into_the_underworld)

13. Cerberus – A three-headed dog that guards the entrance to Hades. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/c/cerberus.html)

14. Hades – The Underworld or “Hell” of Greek Religion. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/h/hades.html)

15. Shrine at Olympia – There is a “…large heroon of Pelops inside Zeus’ sanctuary.” (Pg. 47 Ancient Greek Religion)

16. Peloponnesus – “Pelops subdued the area of Greece which became known as the Peloponnesus.” (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html)

17. The Olympic Games - “…the famous Olympic Games may have been originally held in honour of the hero Pelops.” (Pg. 47 Ancient Greek Religion) (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/o/olympic_games.html)

18. Wife – Greek men, although they often took male lovers, generally still had wives.

Note: While this poem is not in traditional Greek format, (which does not rhyme) (http://ancienthistory.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ/Ya&sdn=ancienthistory&cdn=education&tm=9&f=10&tt=14&bt=0&bts=0&zu=http%3A//www.aoidoi.org/articles/meter/intro.php) I thought it would be more interesting and fun to write a rhyming poem. Also, while many of my citations are found to have come from various sources, much of my knowledge was first introduced to me in CLST 333, but I didn’t know exactly how to cite that.

hominy hominy HUM

if only ewe new
what eye would surely dew
if i could sea true

/then we wood bee fare/

i halve to be boulder
butt i knead two bee dun.

Value vs. Worth vs. Cost

Shoving handfuls of paper bills into your pockets you yelled at me to hurry up. Scrambling in my room, picking things up and putting them down again drowning in indecision, unable to decide what I truly needed - I hated you for making me rush. Do I bring the stuffed elephant from my mother or the rugby trophy from 2003? Maybe just my toothbrush. It's hard to decide what's truly important when your life gets turned upside down.

You were a ball of fire, perspiring and running around destroying everything you touched in your hurry. Your speed made me want to stop, slow down, as though you were sucking your velocity out of me and thus rendering me absolutely completely stationary.

I didn't want to leave. I didn't care. But you dragged me out, despite my pleas and tears you dragged me as gently as you could (but forcefully) and took me into the beat-up van you bought from Mr. Thindley down the road. I sat in the passenger seat (you buckled me up) bawling into my hands as you got in front of the wheel and eased the ugly vehicle onto the road.

Three hours later I was silent. Not numb but buzzing and still. My mouth was dry and there was no point to words anyways. The mental inventory in my head (things I could've, should've, would've taken) was driving me absolutely crazy. Clutching the side of the car gave me the illusion that I was holding on to something, that I had kept something after all.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I couldn't leave, you know I couldn't. You tried to make it work, to help us to a new life, but you were so blind - the money never mattered to me like it did to you. Going 150 down the highway I glanced at you briefly before swiftly unbuckling, wrenching the door open, and vaulting myself out of the van.

It's funny how often we lose sight of what's important.

NSFW

fornicate | genitalia | copulate

wimp | vagina | cat

rooster | penis | erect or tilted position

Hamlet Hilarity

A Summary of Deaths in Hamlet

**SPOILER ALERT**

Hamlet Senior, in his ear,
Is poisoned by his brother dear.

Hamlet aims to kill himself,
But puts his dagger on the shelf.

Ophelia finds her heart so sick
That she must drown her sorrows quick.

Polonius hides - but to be found,
And he dies too, with little sound.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
An unseen death those two did earn.

And good ol’ Gertie drinks the drink
That makes her never have to think.

Laertes seems to get the point,
His sister’s fate and his is joint.

Claudius is stabbed upfront,
(the sword, though used, is not yet blunt).

And Hamlet, from both sword and drink,
Into the world of death does sink.

And so we see the games they play,
A player’s life not always gay,
Bound to die night after night,
Each night to stab and feel contrite.
And will it end, Act 5 scene 2?
Or does the onus fall on you?
Will you fight against the hate,
Or let it grow, perpetuate?
Take an eyeball for an eye?
Make a liar always die?
One death, it often births some more,
So if you wish your soul to soar,
Give up your vengeance and your pain,
And let your mercy be your gain.

Quotidian Vernacular

Id.
Spackle.
Phlegm. Quixotic.
Stewardesses. Diaphragm.
Scintillate. Akimbo. Askew. Conglomerate.
Flummoxed. Congeal. Exacerbate. Panacea. Impermeable.
Basin. Vivifying. Churlish. Pharmakos. Ajar.
Arboreal. Copulate. Cipher. Abhorrence.
Incessant. Buoyant. Myopia.
Schadenfreude. Agog.
Glib. Brevity.
Awl.

Facile

it's hard to know, what is real
(so much of life can feel surreal)

and sometimes when you're feeling lost
you do forget there is a cost

to living blindly and alone
avoiding people on the phone

staying deep inside your room
enjoying darkness doom and gloom

being happy in your cave
having money that you save

your company is only you
your bestest friend is yourself too

the world is wrong and so you hide
pretending that you're on the ride

of your life it's super fun
but somehow you're the only one

that sees life this way.

you don't play the stupid games
have no desire to learn the names

of people, places all out there
you'd much rather stay aware

of you, your room and your thoughts
like plants inside their little pots

you want to grow but well contained
your happiness is clearly feigned

open up and break the pot
let the soil disperse and rot

explore connect and be with us
see a show and take the bus

or maybe dream and then wake up
get in touch and fill your cup

fill it with words and faces too
one person is just much too few

eat and sleep and dream some more
but do it with your friends next door

shut them out if you dare
but truly you should be aware

this is your shot to see the world
contained in people then unfurled

discover explore experience
tear down your well-constructed fence

and let yourself be touched by some.

Untitled

If all’s fair in love and war,
How can my wretched heart be sore?

My mind is numb, holds but one thought,
I think of him – the love he wrought.

I close my eyes and see you near,
I open and you disappear.

Inaudible words, invisible touch,
My love for him’s become too much.

Rejection is the ultimate curse,
Seeing you just makes it worse.

My heart is heavy and filled with grief,
Our love affair was much too brief.

Console me now, I wish you would,
Do things only a love could.

Make this madness go away,
I fear the love is here to stay.

With plastic smiles, disguise the pain,
Make him think you’re truly sane.

Sequester my desire, oh please,
I’m begging you; I’m on my knees.

Free me from your death-like grip,
I’m not some slave that you can whip.

Inflicted pain, you are so cruel,
I’ve turned myself into the fool.

I want to feel but don’t know how,
Untimely death seems welcome now.

I need to feel the pain of lust,
Destroy my body now – I must.

I clench my teeth, shed crimson tears,
I scream inside but no one hears.

The cuts run deep, I hardly feel,
I close my eyes, pretend you’re real.

I’m broken, like a china doll,
My heart, my soul, you took it all.

EARTH

The place on which humanity stands,
We can hold it, in our hands.

We clutch at strands of grass that’s green,
And wonder at concrete we’ve seen.

Styrofoam and plastic too,
Their purpose - to corrupt our view.

And surely you don’t have a care,
About the quality of air?

Convenience defines our days,
But it will add to our sky’s haze.

So many can collect for war,
But what about a cause that’s more?

Forgo “to-go” and save our land,
It’s time to lend a helping hand.

Ride a bike, reject your car,
You know that place is not so far.

Relieve our planet of it’s pain,
Reduce, reuse, recycle – again!

Love Letter (over)

The Church of Scientology and Turkish Gynecology don't have that much in common, it's true.

But like you (and me), they ring with slightly similar bells.
I hear an echo of one in the chime of the other.

You're a new word. And like words you say over and over (and over and over and over) they start to sound funny. They lose meaning or transform. You're like that too - a word in my mouth that I've heard so many times that the original meaning is gone - transformed - and I'm not quite sure what's left... but it's something different than I've known.

Touching you is playing an instrument that doesn't exist, my fingers somehow knowing which notes to play. Before you life was a cappella.

Bells ring in my head and my vernacular is ever complicated with the absence of definitions. On you I learn new chords and harmonize with the symphony of familiarity produced in my mind.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that you're the reason rain is grand.

To Tennyson, regarding “In Memoriam”

This post has been removed.

Fill in the blanks

Women As Trees

1) make a home (give birth to a house)

2) leaky

3) named after men

4) easily exploited; raw for the taking, people ask “How can I use it? What can I get out of it?”

5) trees and women are essential for colonization

Please keep your hands and arms inside the box.

Life.

And so it goes. I find it interesting that I’ve somehow got it into my head that if I can find the perfect mug, my life will be a little bit better. Or infinitely better. It sort of depends on how perfect the mug really is. And why do I need a mug at all, you might wonder? I don’t even drink coffee. Tea though, I do drink tea. Anyways, I need a mug because it is more sustainable, and owning such a thing would not only make me feel like I’m on O.K. terms with the planet, I would look like a tree-hugger earth-lover. And mugs just keep the contents warmer longer. I should clarify, what I need is a “to-go” mug. This means it would have a lid. With a suitable drinking contraption area thing. And a handle. A handle would be ideal. Then, this cannot be any old handled to-go mug. It must be steel, because plastic may or may not one day kill me (#7 plastic, beware of it) and steel is sturdier and superior to plastic… but not as pretty. My cup must also say something about me, and because steel is not especially attractive in its normal state, it would be my greatest hope that the manufacturer would have punched it up a little by tinting it pink or giving it an emblem of some sort.

If I were to own this mug, my life would be greatly improved. But I don’t think it exists. (But searching for it, continuously, obsessively, does give my life a little more purpose to it.)


Hygiene.

Ever go into a public bathroom and wonder to yourself which stall has been the least used? I am horribly unable to “hover” above the toilet seat – thus, I am obviously in search of the seat least contaminated by human bum germs. I walk into the public restroom, and analyze the stalls: front, middle – always a poor choice. It is the easy access stall probably most used for purposes of expediency/dire need. I also think that the very end stalls, on the left or the right, are greatly used as well, for the simple reason that people like me that are concerned with over-used stalls would probably aim for the supposedly least used stall (hence, the furthest away, hardest to get to). This means that the stalls in between the middle stall(s) and the end stall(s) are probably (hopefully) the least used because of the aforementioned reasons.

This suggests that there are no people as obsessively identical in my thought-processes, and that they do not aim for the middle-left or middle-right stalls. Sadly, I eventually come to the conclusion that in large public places thousands of people will use the stalls in their entirety, and there is really no safe way to avoid bum-germs. So I wipe the seat with toilet paper and assuage my fears that way.


Compliments.

Maybe I over-think things, or maybe I’m just really insightful. I haven’t figured that out yet. Regardless, I hate complimenting people. Well actually, I love complimenting people. When I’m at work serving fifty billion nice customers all I want to do is compliment every single one of them. But if I were to do that, if I were to mention to each individual their greatest attribute, feature, or quality – it would lose its weight as a great event. It would be, “Oh. The girl that compliments everyone just paid me a compliment.” The individual would not feel as special, and I would not feel as satisfied.

There are more problems with compliments. There is the chance that they will not take you seriously. To the man who was washing the walls at the hotel, I said (in my head), “You’re doing a really good job with that!” I wished to tell him that in order to encourage him, or make him hate his job less. Because really, how much fun could it be to wash the walls? I myself have had to wash walls, and it sucks. I wanted to sympathize with him. But probably he would’ve taken the comment as facetious and hated me for it. So I refrain.

There’s also the worry that your compliment will not be fully accepted. A friend shows me a work of art and I tell them it’s beautiful, wonderful, inspired! But since I’m their friend and not an impartial stranger, there is no way my compliment will really sink in unless I find a unique and meaningful way of expressing it. This puts a lot of pressure on me. Similar to the pressure one suffers with while trying to express gratitude after receiving a thoughtful gift. With gift-giving, it’s all about the reaction.

I don’t give compliments anymore.


Technology.

I hate my phone. And facebook. And the TV. I hate all technology because it takes me further and further away from the real-life wonders that we could experience if we weren’t too wrapped up in our gameboy, our ipod, our PVR. But I’m addicted. I have to check my e-mail, just in case a professor, a love-interest, or something else equally important shows up.

And I bet you do too.

Nineteen

Have you been, nine-teen?

Have you felt the liquor drop
Deep into you and then stop?

Have you diced away your life
Caring not for kids or wife?

Have you been with older men
No longer destined for the pen?

I have not, for I’m eighteen,
These places I have never been.

Nor will I.

ODE TO THAO THAO

Thao, she was a girl of fire,
The object of all boys’ desire.

She loved all things and liked to hollah,
She knew the value of a dollah.

(Despite what her dear mom will say,
Thao knew how to save mun-ay.)

Thao loved all her roomies quite,
And hugged them all with fearsome might.

Although she loved Alexis most,
Catherine does make better toast.

Oh life in 13A was grand,
And Thao would lend a helping hand,

With dishes and bowls, forks and knives.
The girls having the time of their lives:

Watching movies and making posters,
(Drinks were never placed on coasters.)

13A is where it’s at,
And Thao herself is one cool cat.

Without her 13A is naught,
With her 13A is HAWT!

The Love Triangle Between Two Squares and an Hourglass

There is mathy formula that struggles to define,
The way my heart is twain and isn’t truly mine.

A triangle, the experts say, has three vertices,
And I am like some honey, attracting many bees.

Two bees I have attracted, it is one bee too much,
One is gently stroking, the other is fierce touch.

A heart is not a triangle, it only has one point,
To one too many boys, my tender heart is joint.

My heart is 33.3, 1/3 is but my own,
I cannot bear to leave one boy - my love for two has grown.

Christopher, a sweet sweet boy is such a joy to see,
Someday, somehow, perhaps his wife I’d be.

Although, I fear, he is too dear, obsessed he has become,
His neediness surrounds me, I dread meeting his mum.

Jason is a different sort, but to me much the same,
Sometimes it seems we differ just by gender and by name.

He laughs – and me, I hear it, resound within my soul,
His scent is overwhelming, to inhale him is my goal.

A triangle is not a heart, my organs are all wrong,
My brain it seems, is also strange, but also very strong.

I strive to guarantee a place within my heart for one,
But hanging out with two hot boys is actually more fun.

Perhaps one day I shall divine which boy I do prefer,
But until November 1st this conundrum I defer.

It was a little bit odd

It was a little bit odd, the way they met. Emily was a cashier at the Safeway, and David was a regular customer. She could tell that he was a bachelor by the food that he bought: honey roasted peanuts, bacon, milk, eggs, and a few fruits and vegetables. Not enough for two people to exist on, much less a whole family. She was surprised he hadn’t settled down; judging by his salt-and-peppered hair he’d had plenty of time to look for a mate.

Since the first day she had served him Emily put more effort into her look. She now fixed her hair with a few sparkly pins, and made sure to wear ALL of her makeup – not just lipstick and mascara. She wasn’t exactly a spring chicken, but she was still young enough to turn a few heads.

Gradually, a connection between the two was made. It’s hard to make conversation with someone you don’t know when you only have a few minutes. Luckily, the attraction between Emily and David was mutual, and when two people work together towards an end, it’s really not so hard after all.

After three weeks David finally asked her out.

“I don’t eat out much, but I heard of a good place down the street.”

“Really? What’s it called?”

“O’Malley’s Pizzeria, an Italian restaurant… any chance you’d like to go with me after work?”

And it was simple as that. David and Emily soon became a pair, and they regaled their coupled friends with their quaint story of meeting and subsequent flirtation.

One year later, David and Emily were shopping in the grocery store she used to work at. Because David was a lawyer, when Emily moved in with him there was no need for her to keep her job. She kept house instead. He came home every day to a nice hot meal and a kiss from his middle-aged girlfriend. Things were going well.

As they were shopping in her old grocery store, approaching the candy aisle, David turned to Emily and got down on one knee.

“Emmy, I wanted to do this the place that we met. Hon, you’re a helluva girl and I won’t let you get away from me. Would you do me the honour of being mine?”

Emily twittered with excitement, her thin blonde pony tail bouncing up and down as she acquiesced to his request. They were married just three months later.

Instead of a honeymoon, they re-did David’s kitchen. White “egg-shell” coloured walls, with a marble island and fantastic lighting, new knives, new appliances, a great place to cook. Well worth the money. A great way to start their new life together.

Shortly after their marriage, Emily was musing about how lucky she was to have snatched up David, and why on earth hadn’t anyone else have been so clever? David got a strange look in his eye, and took Emily’s hand.

“Em, I didn’t want to tell you this straight-aways, but I’m actually a widower. I was married 8 years ago, and Lil passed on… oh, 6 years ago. I didn’t want our life together to be about her and my past, I wanted it to be about us. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner!”

Emily was a little shocked to have this information revealed to her so late in the game, but attempted to take it in stride. It was obviously a tough subject for David to talk about, she really couldn’t blame him for not wanting to bring it up.

Things went on as usual, “Em and Dave” as they were known to their friends, were a loving couple with lots of money. Things were good. Being only 34 and 36 respectively, the idea of children came up from time to time. Emily was desperate to be a mother, and David was only a little reluctant to become a dad.

After a careful look at their assets, and a check-up of their overall health, they decided that they would become parents after all. This happy decision prompted another surprise for Emily.

One night at dinner David brought up the subject of children. Emily’s face glowed as she prattled on about how many they would have, names, the colour of their rooms – David smiled and listened patiently until he interjected with a story:

“Em, you know I love you. But I also cared a great deal for Lily. Her and I, like you and I, had big plans for children. We wanted a boy, Thomas, and a girl, Samantha. Unfortunately, it was found that Lil wasn’t as fertile as we might’ve hoped. We tried in vitro a few times, and it hadn’t really worked out. When she got sick with the cancer, she told me that she hoped that some day I would still have her children – we had many of her eggs frozen, you see. So Em, I’m hoping that you’d consider being implanted with her eggs.”

Emily was shocked. Her husband was a lawyer, a tennis player, a fairly regular guy. What he was suggesting to her was ridiculous! For a few moments, she was struck dumb with speechlessness. David calmly gave her time to mull it over.

“David… you can’t be serious…”

He steadfastly assured her that he was very serious, and had already spoken to the appropriate doctors about the procedure. Emily stood there, and with her eyes wide she saw herself becoming nothing but a vessel for a woman she had never met. A container for the offspring he had always wanted.

The Second Coming

Just as God once sent his son to earth in order to aid mankind, Mother Nature, too, sent her child. Her daughter, Diana, was an ethereal yet natural beauty. Her golden hair was a mass of glossy waves that appeared to be suspended in mid-air they were so voluminous and curly. Her tan skin was freckled, and at the bottom of her gossamer gown peeked bare feet.

Her mother had bestowed upon her the gift of basic knowledge; because of this she was able to recognize many things that she had never encountered before, such as umbrellas or libraries. Her wisdom and goodness manifested itself as a sort of… intuitive generosity. While walking down a decrepit street in New Ark she came across a myriad of children – all ages, in varying states of disarray. The smallest stuck out their hands in the classic beggar’s gesture, while the older formed the words “Spare change, miss?” with practiced ease.


She knelt down to peer at them, eye to eye, as the hem of her dress met the garbage and filth around her. Seeing the earnest faces of these starving children deeply touched her, and she opened her arms wide until coins started pouring out of her sleeves. Coinage of all types skipped out of her sleeve onto the street, the children shrieking with joy and clamoring all about the new-found wealth. The smallest were pushed to the outside, unintentionally; but this carelessness was remedied as the older children brought piles of the fortune to the feet and laps of the little ones.

Her heart warmed as she heard the children squeal and thank her. It was not the gratitude that she most enjoyed – it was the thought of a warm dinner finding place in their protruding malnourished bellies. She was startled then, when a man came up behind her and rigorously grabbed her arm.

“What are you DOING?” he growled at her.

The sinewy man was dressed in a fine silk suit, entirely black. It served as a stark contrast to his albino skin. His hair, free of pigment and a few inches past his shoulders, was frightening and bluntly cut. His red eyes looked as though they would jump out of his head if they could, but some indescribable force was somehow locking them in. His appearance so disarmingly unusual had prevented Diana from responding.

“I said… WHAT are you doing? Where did you get that money?” he asked her again, in a more agitated state. “I gave it to the children, because they are hungry. I helped them.” Her reply was simply, and to her, conclusive and obvious. She was patient with the angry man.

“NO! You have not helped those children, you have single-handedly DESTROYED the economy! You have given no thought to the ramifications of your actions, you have underhandedly attempted to ruin me! You wretch, you witch-sorceress, I will make you pay!”

And so he held fast to her arm and summoned his driver to collect him. He and the hostage went into the car – Diana rather peacefully acquiescing to his rather absurd capture of herself. While her powers were great, they were limited – she could only use them for the aid of others. Thus, she calmly stayed next to this mad mad little man because she saw little reason – or opportunity - to do otherwise.

They had driven to the edge of the city, the very outskirts of civilization. They approached a large building with a long gravel driveway, strangely situated at the mouth of a great woodland. Up towards the house they went, the man not saying a single word to her.

As the car approached the house, the man finally ordered “OUT” to which Diana readily obeyed. He took her into the house, up the stairs, and finally flung her into an empty room slamming and locking the door behind her. “You shall rot in here, I can’t have you out and muddling about! That’ll teach you to mess with things you don’t understand!”

Bemused, Diana sat in the little room for a few moments before standing up and going to the barred window. She wondered why her mother hadn’t given her enough information to understand such a strange man and his actions. Some time passed and she could see a sliver of moon in the sky.

Weary of her confinement, frustrated at the prospect of being eternally trapped, the daughter of Mother Nature began to weep. Her tears fell to the hard cement floor, making a barely discernable sound that only the smallest of creatures could have heard.

While Diana was unable to help herself, the earth and its clever inhabitants were not beyond aiding their fair sister. When the creatures of the world heard her other-worldly tears fall, they devised a scheme to rescue her. Hundreds upon hundreds of termites rushed to the building in which she was imprisoned, and scurried up the wall towards her window. Unable to eat through the window’s bars, they instead attacked the wall, using their astounding multitude as an efficient force.

Soon the window fell out of the wall. Wish a crash it reached the ground, and Diana rushed to look out. He face still tear-streaked she soon heard the rush of many little wings approach her. A throng of butterflies in orange and black splendor rushed towards her. Their little feet grasped her delicate gown and with the cumulative strength of their number the little Lepidoptera managed to lift their dear sister out of her confinement down to the ground below. With haste she thanked both the butterflies and the termites, then ran towards the forest directly behind the house.

She could hear footsteps behind her, and prayed that she would maintain speed despite the rawness of her naked feet. Reaching the woods, it was only moments until she felt a toad underneath each foot, as well as a crow grabbing hold to each shoulder of her dress. In this way she increased her speed in a ridiculous but rather functional manner.

Mr. Charleston was not a man to be eluded. As the distance between himself and his prey lengthened, he ceased running and drew out an arrow to fit his bow. Grabbing his lighter from his pocket, he lit the end of the arrow and proceeded to release it into the air, in the sure and unfortunate direction of Diana.

Diana, unaware of her transformation from fleeing woman to targeted prey, was stunned by the sudden piercing that penetrated her left side. Falling forwards, off of the toads, out of the crow’s clutches, she hit the ground with hardly a sound. The fire that had engulfed the arrow now burned at her heart, and as Mr. Charleston slowly walked up to her he could remove the arrow with ease.

In doing so, her shish-ka-bobbed heart was plucked out and remained on the arrow like a large charred marshmallow. As her body somewhat repaired itself, Diana was able to turn and rise. Mr. Charleston was able to see the fire in her eyes fade and smolder and it was then that he knew he could offer her a job at his bank. After garnering her acceptance, he marched off back towards his house while the girl slowly trailed behind.

School for the Blind

Joe approached the island slowly, as he didn’t want the boat to hit the dock too harshly. The small dingy was a good method of transportation when he needed to get to the little house. The helicopter worked well in urgent situations, but he usually preferred calmly approaching the house via waves.

After securing the little boat to the dock, he walked up to the small chunk of land. It could barely be called an island – it was hardly big enough to hold the house that sat upon it. Still, by definition it was an island, and it was here that Lea resided.

Carrying a small duffel bag, he approached the house. Reaching the door he stuck a rough and calloused hand into his pocket, and took out a set of keys. Holding the bag in one hand, he carefully maneuvered the correct key into the slot and unlocked the house. After turning the knob, he opened the door slowly and called out, “Lea, it’s me” so she wouldn’t be alarmed.

It was dark – so Joe turned on a light. Once illuminated, the room was revealed to be rather dingy; and because of its close proximity to the water, it was somewhat dank. Carefully he tip-toed over clay and plasticine and various other supplies that were scattered about on the ground. He walked around the one-legged ballerina and stopped to admire the stork giving birth to an egg – orally, as the egg pushed wide open its beak. “Lea, are ya hungry?” She said nothing, but he approached her with an apple. Putting it in her hand, she looked his direction and muttered something that was probably an expression of thanks.

He was always surprised by the madness surrounding masters of art. Van Gogh cut off his own ear, for example. Crazy business. But he wasn’t afraid of Lea; her madness seemed contained, quarantined within herself, finding expression only in her art. She crunched into the apple, and let herself obsess over its shape and texture. So smooth, but then wet with ragged flesh.

Mostly he just talked to himself while he was there. Her responses were not incessant and he no longer relied upon them. “So Lea,” he said to her, “I like these new ones you’ve made. Mr. Matthews will be real glad about ‘em I bet’cha. I brought you some new stuff ta’ work with. I’ll leave it in the corner by the door.”

He placed the duffel bag by the door and took out a slab of fresh clay and a special treat – malleable gold. It’s a shame she can’t appreciate the sheen, thought Joe. He hoped the texture would be different at least. “I’ve got ur dinner at the foot of your bed, kay? I hope ya like it; it’s a chicken pot pie with some potatoes too.”

She whirled around in the direction of his voice and asked him rather pointedly – “Some watermelon. Can I get some watermelon?”

A request was so rare from her that he felt sure it would be granted. “Of course Lea, I’ll let Mr. Matthews know and maybe I can bring it out tomorrow.”

“Good.” She replied. Lea wasn’t one to waste words, as though they were precious commodities that weren’t worth wasting.

“Well, see ya soon Lea. Mind ya work hard eh?” Joe carefully picked up her most recent structures and put them in his bag. He then left the room, turned off the light, opened, closed, and locked the door. He returned to his dingy in hopes of reaching the mainland before it got dark.

Lea, when sure that he was gone, crept over to the foot of her bed and found her distasteful dinner. The half-apple discarded, she picked at the pot pie and sucked a finger coated in mashed potatoes before dismissing the dinner altogether. Now that Joe was gone and her dinner investigated, she was free from disruption. Going to the door she found her new supplies, and with excitement she sunk her hands into the blob of gold. She was unsure of what this new substance was, but she somehow felt its great importance.

It was moments like this that kept her sane, or at least alive.

The gold moved freely in the grasp of her fingers. She remembered what her father used to say, that power, like soap, was fleeting to those who grasped it too tightly. It was a funny thing he would say in a big bold joking voice while she was washing her hands before supper – but it stayed with her, all the same. She delicately played with the gold, aware that the power she held over it would only remain if she was gentle. [Things] don’t like to be forced into what they are, they like to find it, be guided into it, and softly led. She wondered what this one would be.

She was in her artistic state, a state of “flow” she had heard some call it. She was marvelously oblivious of time and its passing. The gold had begun to take shape; it was a giraffe, with a very long neck – a neck that was bent at a right angle. The neck, after jutting out sideways, curved like a hill and a small car had been perched upon it, a car that was driving towards the ridiculous giraffe head. She never questioned her sculptures; they were what they were and she was powerless to change them. Besides, Mr. Matthews never complained.

It was lonely in the house. The only human interaction she received was the brief visits from Joe, and rarely, an inspection by Mr. Matthews. Her art sustained her, more than the bland meals brought for her, but she was still wasting away – if not in body, then in spirit.

Lea crawled to her bed, and pulled the big scratchy blanket over her frail little frame. Had God molded her into this wisp of a body? Or does man create flesh and God just the soul? With no art to distract her, fatigue settled in and she was able to succumb to a dreamless sleep.

The next day she woke to the sound of Joe at the door, wiggling the key in the lock. “Mornin’ Lea. Ah, I see ya’ve gotten up to some work. That’s good, good. Mr. Matthew’s’ll be pleased. I brought ya that watermelon ya wished for. I’ve brought a knife so ya can cut it when ur ready for it, think you can manage alright?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied, Joe put down the watermelon, along with a few granola bars and the knife, and told her he’d be back tomorrow with some more food and clay. He took the gold giraffe with him and left in his usual manner.

Lea felt exhilarated. She went over to the door, and found the watermelon and the knife. She cut the watermelon in half, then half again. Taking the quarter of melon she sunk her teeth into the watery fruit and proceeded to it with her mouth. With one hand she held the melon, with the other she caught the seeds she was spitting out. With a furious velocity she was soon done the piece of melon and had collected a small handful of seeds. Putting the seeds into a careful pile she then found her remaining clay and smeared it on her face. It was difficult, getting the smooth clay to stay on her smooth skin but with trouble she finally managed to get a thin layer to hang on to her delicate features. Then picking up the seeds, she meticulously stuck them into her mask in teardrop formation – starting from her inner eye down towards her jaw line. When finished, she had given herself two streams of seed-tears; one on each side of her face.

Taking the half melon that remained; she shoved her hands into its core and scooped out its vitals. Lying down, and applying the watermelon mush to her breastbone, she felt about for the knife. Finding it, she then slid it into her bosom with a final thought of triumph.

Let him cover her in varnish; she would be his final masterpiece, and she would be her own.

Dying, blood seeped out of her frail little corpse and mixed with her mangled fruit. The seeds held fast to the clay on her face, and it was a strange sight for Joe to behold when he came again the next morning.

Walking through the door with his usual cheerful efficiency he nearly stepped on her. He gave an involuntary gasped, and then slowly backed out of the room. Using his cell phone to call Mr. Matthews, Joe left a message with his secretary. Then, getting back into his little dingy Joe started up the motor and set off to visit the next little island, knowing that Jenny would be getting extra rations today.

Elegy for a Dead Man

A poem for George Herbert

The days I waste inside my bed,
Are only rivaled by what’s said

Inside my weary sickened mind:
Thoughts that shake and thoughts that bind.

Will God save me? Is there time?
Up to heaven, may I climb?

A pastor’s life is justly done,
But can He forgive the sins of one?

Oh Magdalen, my mother dear,
Will soon your glowing face be near?

I am a seed sown in the earth,
Do I have inherent worth?

Will I grow towards my God,
Or will I fester in my pod?

With my maker I place my trust,
And as my body turns to dust,

May my spirit rise above,
And join Him in the fields of love.

Young Love

What love is this? That fills me so,
With boundless things that grow and grow.

Feelings explode, heartbeats flutter,
Nervousness can make me stutter.

The sky is bluer, the grass so green,
It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen.

Sounds are sharper, sensations strong,
A love like this could not be wrong.

Eternal lust, imagined love,
The angels sing from up above.

I walk on air, head over heels,
I glide along as if on wheels.

I’m on Cloud Nine, my life complete,
I never imagined he would cheat.

Another girl, she isn’t me,
I was so blinded, couldn’t see.

The rules of love are never broken,
Until those fateful words are spoken:

“It’s over.” he says, and shuffles his feet,
My heart seems to have skipped a beat.

Fall from the cloud with visions blurred,
I hardly believe what I have heard.

“It’s over.” Forever I’ll be alone,
Love is messy, I should’ve known.

Remember

Music: “Unforgettable” by Andrew Lloyd Webber

1. Can you remember
How it was,
We can’t forget because,
Of the reasons
That they died for.

2. Can you remember
How they cried,
For all the boys that died,
Too soon before their time.

CHORUS: They are the reason for this day,
They reason that we pray,
The reason we have peace.

They are the reason we are free,
The reason we can be,
The reason we remember.

3. Can you remember
Lost loved ones,
The sound of firing guns,
All in the name of peace.

4. Can you remember
How they were,
Fighting still after,
The odds were quite against them.

CHORUS: They are the reason for this day,
They reason that we pray,
The reason we have peace.

They are the reason we are free,
The reason we can be,
The reason we remember.

RE-MEMBER!

Conditional Love

A trade
Love for hate

Naïve
I took the bait

Punch
He wounds my heart

Fool
“I’ll stop” means start

Sorry
Empty words

Trapped
Like flightless birds

We Two are One or We Too are Won or 2=1

I hope our meeting pleased you
As it did much to me.
We two - we were twin souls today,
Our bondage made us free.

And if our current happenstance
Continues in such states
Of ecstasy and brilliant joy,
We'll blame it on the fates.

It is their wish for us to be
Two stars within the map
Of heaven in the sky above,
f'rever fixed within god's trap.

In life and death we shall remain
Enamoured with the sound,
Of one another's heartbeat,
How eternally they pound.

I love you like the moon loves night
Without you I am naught.
Combine our souls forever,
Our existence then is wrought.

Our meeting - darkness meets the moon,
Was joyous and so right;
Though opposites they do belong -
Dark black an' brilliant white.

Alone they lose their splendor
And romantic dignity,
But when they are united
A spectacle you'll see.

You and I - we are the stars -
The night and moon as well.
I cast my eyes upon your soul
And deep in love I fell.

The day upon our meeting
Was the day of my life's start.
I love you, I adore you,
and to you I give my heart.

The TEA

The floral landscape was quite marred by boy and girl in a backyard.


Girl:
Do you think it’s prudent dear,
For you and I to be so near?

Boy:
Who shall gasp if us they see?
We are just two, having tea.

Girl:
I feel I must Sir, ask you why,
You have your hand on my sweet thigh.

Boy:
My dearest, I see nothing ill
In maintaining my grip still.

I merely seek to keep you warm,
And so I hold your lovely form.

Girl:
Well, [removes hand] that might be as you say
But it’s quite warm and hot today.

I’ll thank-you to keep your hand from me,
I fear that my mother should see.

Boy:
And if she did, what would she know?
Only that my love I show.

But if you’re shy, I’ll let you be –
‘Tis enough to share your tea.

Girl:
Thank-you sir, that sounds quite fine.
(It seems somehow I’ll make him mine.)

Boy:
A tea-cake dear? To fill you up?
Or maybe tea inside your cup?

Girl:
No, I wish for us to walk.
Along that path [gestures] we two shall talk.

Boy:
A splendid thought, a grand ol’ plan.
For walking paths, I’m your man!

[she grabs his arm – they walk the path]

Girl:
My these bushes are so high,
I feel they reach up to the sky.

Boy:
My dear I must agree with you,
They quite obscure our view it’s true.

Girl:
What’s more is that they block the sun,
I’m getting cold, this isn’t fun.

Boy:
Why, I may be of help to you!
I know exactly what to do!

Her hat cast off, the ground they meet,
The lovers quite swept off their feet.

A strong embrace, a girlish squeal,
These nymphs make love sound quite ideal.

Alas, those shrubs were four feet tall,
And mummy dearest saw them fall.

Like a hare she hopped right over,
But did not stop to eat the clover.

No! She marched up to the path,
Prepared to release rage and wrath!

Mother:
My flowers! You have crushed them all!
You blindly squashed them with your fall!

The lovers, shocked out of their mind,
Were deeply saddened then to find,
That little posies they had stomped,
Unbeknownst to they that romped.

The girl mom grabbed quite by the ear,
The boy she smartly kicked his rear.

Mother:

My flowers! I just planted these,
And now they’re dead – and with such ease!

You two scoundrels, must now part!
[To him] Never shall you have her heart!

The lovers hung their heads in shame,
Regretful of deserved blame.

But in their minds they truly knew,
On other paths they’d surely woo.

Love is fine, love is grand,
Just be careful of where you stand.

A Christmas Rich with Love

All I want for Christmas is anything but you,
I don’t want your heart, although you say your love is true.

You left me like a broken toy and now you want me back;
If you want me for Christmas better look in Santa’s sack!

I’ll buy myself to happiness, it shouldn’t be too hard,
It’s easy with some help from your visa credit card.

Christmas is a time for love; this year I’m lovin’ me,
I’m finding out more ways than one that happiness ain’t free.

I bought a car in flashy red and sparkling diamonds too,
This year I’ll never have to spend “quality” time with you.

I bought some sterling picture frames, replace the ones I smashed,
And in my nooks and crannies Belgium chocolate I have stashed.

Those chocolates in a little box, they cost ten bucks a pound,
That little plastic happy-card’s the best thing I have found.

I bought a dress in dazzling black, a day trip to the spa,
This year instead of “Ho-ho-ho” I’ll utter “Ha, ha, ha!”

I’ll get you back for all you did, I’ll really make you pay,
Be payin’ for your big mistake until your dying day.

I got bath bombs and luscious treats like chocolate covered nuts,
If you come crawlin’ back to me I guess you’ve got some guts.

You broke my fragile loving heart, our small love boat – it sank.
But I just got you back for that – I broke your piggy bank.

A Prada purse and faux fur coat, those precious things for me,
I’m better off without you now, one day you’ll surely see.

You may think I’m selfish and my money-schemes unkind,
But buying stuff is healthy, it cures lovesickness you’ll find.

A wide-screen television set, so I can watch my soaps.
“I’ll never let you be with me!” *Ka-ching* I crush your hopes.

A sound system and new CD’s will make Christmas complete,
I’ll drown out your pathetic voice with every second beat.

Those sunglasses, they’re from Milan, they cost a pretty dime,
I’ve booked a cruise to Mexico, I’ll have a lovely time.

Santa probably thinks I’m bad, I’ll get a lump of coal,
But all the stuff I’ve bought myself will fill my heart’s deep hole.

I’ve bought a Starbucks franchise, it’s the biggest I have seen,
From now on I’ll be wide awake – via my caffeine.

“Money can’t buy happiness” was said by someone poor,
They never had nice furnishings or jewelry galore.

You think you’ve seen the last of me, wait ‘till you get the mail!
The bill should be monstrously big – the coffin’s final nail.

So keep in mind your back account next time you “Need a break”,
I’ll steal your cash and claim your pride, your dignity I’ll take!

Die a Little

Ever had the fleeting notion,
That you’re dying in slow motion?

A minute passed warrants no thought,
But lifetimes lost can’t be forgot.


So slowly do we die each day,
That when death comes we plead to stay.

Aged Trees and Young Saplings

Free of old marriage he wishes to be,
His wand’rin’ eyes have spotted another,
His eyes, he finds, are too stubborn to see,
A quiet beauty – his children’s mother.

His wife has become his full crescent moon,
Her beauty waxing and waning so fast,
A new wife would sing a lovelier tune,
A new wife – her beauty, would always last.

A younger wife owns a beautiful face,
Pale skin, blue eyes, and full red lips,
His own wife’s skin and thickening waist,
Cannot compare to that girl’s thin hips.

And yet when he looks into his wife’s eyes,
He does not care ‘bout the size of her thighs.

Love Bubbles

A love poem.


You know I love you, yes it’s true,
There’s many things I’d do for you.

I’d give you every part of me,
In fact, I did, as you will see.

That burning desire you feel for me,
Is actually an S-T-D.

I gave you my heart, but what’s more,
I gave you reason to be sore.

You won’t die from this disease,
But pretty soon, you’ll say “God PLEASE!”

“End for me this endless pain,
Slowly I’m going insane!”

Herpes ain’t no fun and games,
You won’t get far with other dames.

Hard to hide and hard to live with,
Disappearance is just a myth.

Now we have so much in common,
I really wish you’d worn a condom.

(I bet you wish the same thing too.
Was it good for me? It was for you!)

I don’t feel half bad for this;
The pain that you feel when you piss

Will help you know what next to do
When some girl wants to sleep with you

In your next life, ‘cause this one’s done for
You should’ve ran, down to the store

And worn protection late that day,
And then I wouldn’t have to say:

Today’s the day that you found out,
Now do not cry and do not pout,

You have herpes, now, for life,
Good luck telling your dear wife.