Showing posts with label bad poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad poetry. Show all posts

Thursday, July 29, 2021

Remembering...

I've forgotten her name. 

I remember how I felt the first time I heard it. I remember the times I couldn't get it out of my head. 

I remember reading the words on the paper. Hearing his voice in my head as I read. The words he said to her. The feelings he had for her. 

But...

I've forgotten her name. 

I remember jealously guarding the phone when it would ring. Watching the caller ID. I remember hating being the type of person who jealously guards the phone watching the caller ID.

I remember counting the minutes on the clock when he was late coming home from work. Wondering if it was a meeting or her keeping him out. Was he on his way home or parked down the street clutching a cell phone to his ear? I remember the seconds ticking so slowly. 

But...

I've forgotten her name. 

I remember the times she was in my house. In my car. In my bed. Sitting between us on the couch in the counselors office. Not physically there, but taking up so much space. 

I remember wondering what she was like. What did she have that I didn't? Was she prettier? Thinner? Younger? I remember looking in the mirror wondering what she saw in hers.

But...

I've forgotten her name. 

I remember being angry with her for taking what didn't belong to her. Not him, he wasn't taken, he left. Me. I remember losing me for so long. I wasn't prepared. It wasn't fair. 

I remember me. The me I was the day before I first heard her name and the me I became the day after. Clock watching. Caller ID checking. Mirror watching. I remember being a stranger to myself.

But...

I've forgotten her name. 

I remember when I left. When I packed what was left of me and left. I remember carrying her with me when I went. Still. She haunted my dreams. 

I remember the day I didn't think about her. Then the week. Then the months. I remember the day I met you. 

And you helped me to forget her name.


Sunday, March 28, 2021

Sunday Haikus Out My Window

Hummingbird outside

Buzzing around the feeder

Wings flash in a blur



Wind is picking up

A big storm is coming soon

Feels like a warning



Tree buds are starting

Tiny green drops on branches

Hope Springs eternal



Writing on Sunday

Sometimes I cheat with Haiku

It still counts for stars

Thursday, March 25, 2021

Gold Stars



Gold Stars

Tick the box
Track the goal
Reach the summit
Grab the gold star
Celebrate you
It's okay

Tuesday, January 26, 2021

Silence...

 Silence has a weight to it.

The butterfly wings on your cheek.
The soft fur of a bunny just beyond your finger tips.

Silence has a weight to it.

The crush of a weight on your chest. 
The press of walls closing in.

Silence has a weight to it.

Laying next to the one you don't need to say a word to.
Their sigh matching yours as the sun presses against your face
Warming your body and your soul.

Silence has a weight to it.

Laying next to the one you no longer have anything to say to.
Their sigh matching yours as the heavy gray presses against you
Waiting for the oncoming storm to break.

Silence has a weight to it.

The moment the crying stops. The baby sleeps.
The quiet presses against you like a heavy blanket and you sleep. 

Silence has a weight to it.

The moment the house is still. No video games, no TV shows.
The quiet presses against you and you lay awake and worry.

Silence has a weight to it.

The held breath. Thick air pressing in. Filled with love, hope, potential.
The deep breath, then the cry, the release of sound lifting the weight of fear from those who were waiting.

Silence has a weight to it.

The machine turned off. Thick air pressing in. Filled with love and loss of hope.
The last breath, then the crying, their quiet now pressing against those who are left.

Silence has a weight to it.

Sunday, June 23, 2019

The Night You Said You Loved Me...


The night you said you loved me...
Stars shined like diamonds 
In a sky like black velvet

The night you said you loved me...
You wished upon a hundred stars
And slept wrapped in velvet darkness

The night you said you loved me...
I left you to dream of diamonds
And of soft velvet blankets

The night you said you loved me...
I knew the dark was endless
And the stars were already dead

The night you said you loved me...

Thursday, October 4, 2018

Contained...

She kept it in a box on a shelf in her living room.

It used to be on her bedside table but she found it hard to sleep with it there.

So she moved it to the living room.

The box was sturdy but attractive.

It fit her decor.

Solid metal with lovely scrollwork designs.

Windows for ventilation.

That was important.

If you didn't give it room to breath it would either die or explode.

Neither of those things would be good.

Though they would prefer it died. For her.

So she had the box made specifically for it.

And she kept it there.

In a box on a shelf in her living room.

She used to keep it closer.

With her all the time.

But it really wasn't allowed.

Not really.

Not for her.

It was too dangerous.

It might cause problems for others.

So she was told to let it die.

That that would be better.

Not to feed it.

But she didn't want to let it die.

So she moved it to the box.

She kept it there.

In the box. On the shelf. In her living room.

She watched it now.

The faint glow that had been there.

The one that would keep her up at night when it was on the bedside table.

That faint glow.

That was gone.

The box was now shining full and bright.

There on the shelf in her living room.

Not dead. Fed.

Today she would take the box off of the shelf.

Today she would open the box and take that spark out.

Today she would burn it all to the ground.

Starting with the other boxes on the other shelves in the other living rooms.

Sparks aren't meant to be contained.

No matter who tells you so.


Monday, January 22, 2018

Childish Games...

The flowers that he brought her were dying. The petals falling off one by one. Like the childhood game. He loves me, he loves me not.

The petal falls...
He loves me.
The petal falls...
He loves me not.

You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
He loves me.

You're not very smart though.
He loves me not.

I am so lucky to have you in my life.
He loves me.

You should be grateful that I stick around.
He loves me not.

We haven't seen you in a long time. You're always so busy with him.
He loves me.

What do you mean he won't let you come with us?
He loves me not.

That's a lovely necklace, when did you get it?
He loves me.

Why are you wearing long sleeves in August?
He loves me not.

I am so sorry, that will never happen again.
He loves me.

You really are a stupid bitch, you know that right?
He loves me not.

I'm the only one for you.
He loves me.

Nobody else will ever want you.
He loves me not.

It was an accident.
He loves me.

Don't make me hurt you.
He loves me not.

This is your third trip to the emergency room this year.
He loves me.

We want you to talk to a counselor.
He loves me.

We're scared for you.
He loves me.

You should leave.
He loves me.

Come with us right now.
He loves me.

He loves me.
He loves me.
He loves me.

The last petal falls.
The mound on the ground waiting to be swept away by the wind.
He will bring more the next time he visits.

He loves me not.

Saturday, August 5, 2017

Lost Poem...






I wanted to write a poem.

I chased the rhyme

I looked for the rhythm


I fought with the flow

I wanted to write a poem

I looked at the roses


I watched the clouds


I sang all the songs in my head

I wanted to write a poem

I wanted to write a poem

I wanted to write a poem

I gave up and wrote this instead


Saturday, April 30, 2016

And the years go by....(National Poetry Month #30)

First glance
Shy smile
Flirtatious wink
Casual contact
Hands held
First kiss
Hand on the back of the neck
Shiver down the spine
Tentative explorations
Learning the language
Passionate embrace
Heart racing
Breath caught in your throat
Mouth gone dry
Then wet
Shivers leading to shudders
Heart pounding
Deep breathing
Legs shaking
Fingers tracing
Deep sighs
Contented happiness
Shorthand language
Quick
Slow
Connection
Dedication
Passion
Friendship
Love
Lust
Hand holding
Knowing smiles
Deep contact
Hearts beating together
Last looks
Lifetime





Friday, April 29, 2016

Found Poem...(National Poetry Month #29)

Today's poem was a total experiment in a new form. Found poetry.

It's where you take a printed page and find a poem in the words.

I liked the idea and wanted to give it a try sometime this month. And well, since we are almost out of month I decided today would be the day.

Well then came the other challenge. What printed page? And I got the brilliant (HA!) idea of using Donald Trump's recent foreign policy speech. I mean, come on, that would be outstanding!

Except it was really hard. He repeats words. A lot. He leaves out common usage words that make things flow. And it was on foreign policy so it wasn't all too poetic to start with. But being stubborn I soldiered on. Soldiered...through the foreign policy...ha!

Then came another challenge. In a lot of found poetry people draw these great pictures or doodles around the words. Well, I am not artistic in that way. So how do I get them to stand out? I came up with something that works, I think. But that led to the next challenge.

How do I post it on this blog?

I settled for a scan of the original document and we will now see if I can get that to paste in here...


If you click the picture it will get a little larger. I also translated it here for you:

Speak to the randomness
chaos and visions
the timeless theme.
Forward...back...
Then we heed history;
after a time.
Less foolishness and arrogance
After mistakes.
Grow the idea.
Experience surprise.
Lives complete.
Vision. Purpose. Direction.
Today.

Not so great of a poem, but a really great challenge. 

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Quick! (National Poetry Month #28)

Oh Fuck (I shouldn't curse)
But I forgot to write my verse
It's 4 O'clock where to begin?
To skip a day would be a sin.
I was so focused on the sonnet
Just like a bee inside my bonnet
That when I scratched that impossible itch
I forgot three more days were in this bitch
But under the wire I will perform
Just like a rhyme tornado, a perfect storm.

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Sonnet for my Father...(National Poetry Month #27)


Don't ever confuse my meekness for mild.
Or think when I am quiet you have won.
For I will always be my father's child.
The youngest of his daughters and his sons.

I was much smaller than the rest of them
But my father never changed his firm stance
Determination, not size, brings the win.
What is your plan? You can't leave it to chance.

When he imagined a thing, he made it.
Clever hands bringing forth an invention.
Solving a problem, not throwing a fit,
See the issue, you must pay attention.

So now when the world is lost in its rage,
I pause. Stop. Then I put words on this page.


Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Small bites....(National Poetry Month #26)

I thought
 I would be a chapter
 in the story of your life;
 turns out I was just a bookmark. 

......................

Why are all the books about romance
And all of the poems about heartbreak?

We all think we want that story
But we've all written that poem.



...................


She looked in to his eyes
And saw herself
Reflected in his love
And she was beautiful


................





Monday, April 25, 2016

Monday haiku and explanation...(National Poetry Month #25)

Cold knife edge cuts deep
Ghosts of the past are restless
Winter wind chills me.

Water like clear glass
Reflecting emerald trees
Topsy turvy world.

Water falls into pools
While the tears fall down my face
Swimming with heartbreak

Okay so these three are just for a friend who felt my mathiku didn't count as true haiku. And in one way he is right. Traditional haiku is about seasons or nature. It's also 100 stanzas long and in Japanese so... But modern haiku is more fluid. A moment in time captured in verse. I don't follow many rules in anything I do. For me pseudohaiku is the best haiku. It makes me pare down a story to not much more than a thought. But here are a few that might satisfy my friend a little more.  At least the first two. They are season, then nature, the last being nature and emotion but much loser than the first two in connection.  

But my main reason for making this post is to emphasize that poetry should be yours. I know a lot of them have rules and structure and it's why I've been struggling with writing a good sonnet, or something in iambic pentameter. To first find an idea, then to find the words, then to fit it in to a prescribed form? So much work. So I generally don't do that. I play with words, with the pattern of the lines, with the shape and feel of the sounds in my head and in my mouth when I read them out loud. And what I really want you to take as you read a poem, any poem, not just my bad poetry, is to take what you want out of it. Who cares if the structure is off? Who cares if it follows no form? Who cares what the author meant when they wrote it? Who cares what it is supposed to REALLY mean? What does it mean to you? What do you take from it? Even if it's nothing more than a word you like the sound of, or an image that makes you pause, that's good. That's what it's there for. 

Or at least that is the way I think about it. So now you understand why I don't get really worked up about following a stricter format. Or a traditional pattern. I am not going to be mad at you for pointing it out. But I'm also not likely to change my ways. Expect more pseudohaiku than structured. Expect prose written in passive voice. Expect the hero to not be all that likable. And then expect me to change all of that when I think you are expecting things to go a certain way. That's the poetry of life...





Sunday, April 24, 2016

Sunday Haiku...(National Poetry Month #24)

Sunday haiku day
The last Sunday in April
Aren't you so relieved?

Counting on fingers
Trying to find a rhythm
Math poems are fun.

Thoughts on iambic
A sonnet that alludes me
Makes haiku comfort

Cobwebs cleared out
Or at least begging for prose
Poetry month win?




Saturday, April 23, 2016

Quick updated nursery rhyme...(National Poetry Month #23)

Sugar and spice

Barbie Dream House
With a die cast Chevy parked in back

Perfectly manicured toes
On muddy feet

And just a touch of vice

A welcoming smile, a comforting hug
A touch of "suck it up, sunshine"

A wave hello
A middle finger salute

Quips and tales

A warm cup of tea
A stiff shot of tequila

A 100 ways to say I love you
And as many more to say fuck off

And successes and fails

Kisses and hugs
Tears and shouts

Love deeper than an ocean
A temper hotter than the sun

This is what women are made of.




Friday, April 22, 2016

Questions...(National Poetry Month #22)

Where does your mind go when it wanders?
What do you see in the day when you dream?
If you follow your thoughts where do they lead?

Out the door?
Down a path?
To the sea?

Or maybe back to me...

What do you wish for upon that star?
When the candles are lit and the song is through?
When you cross your fingers and close your eyes?

Success and fame?
Wealth beyond measure?
Happiness for ever more?

Or maybe one more day with me...

What do you need when the world turns cold?
What do you seek when the light all runs away?
What do you crave when the darkness is too full?

Warmth?
Protection?
A light on your path?

Or maybe your hand in mine...

No matter where you wander.
No matter what your wish is for.
No matter how scared you are.

I will wander with you.
I will wish next to you.
I will stand strong with you.

Me. One day more. Your hand in mine.



Thursday, April 21, 2016

Just fine, thanks...(National Poetry Month #21)

She spent so many years

Too many years

All of those years

Trying to fix herself

Trying to get it right

Trying to be who they all said she should be

Why couldn't she just be like them?

Why did she have to be so difficult?

So challenging?

So odd?

She spent so many years trying to fix herself

Then she woke up one day and knew

Deep in her heart

Solidly in her soul

She had never been broken.


Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Totally counts...(National Poetry Month #20)

FEAR
Focused
Entirely
Against
Reason


Okay, that makes it count towards National Poetry Month. And also I am using the work of a friend at the end of this rant to double down. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's fast and loose with the rules but HELLO! I made the rules so you know they were squishy to begin with.

AND as this is a rant it's disorganized and ranty as rants are wont to be.

People are worried about silly things right now. Like where other people pee. I want to break this to you as bluntly as I can. You have already shared the bathroom with a person who is transgender. You just didn't know it. Because it wasn't a big deal. They peed. You peed. You both washed your hands (please tell me you washed your hands) and then you left. If you even noticed their face long enough for it to stick with you I would be shocked, let alone tried for a peek at their genitals.

Because we all know that trying to look at stranger's genitals isn't okay. We actually even call them privates or private parts because, well, they are private.

Now here is the other argument I keep hearing. "I'm not worried about transgender people, I'm worried about perverts who will now use this as an excuse to use the women's restroom." What? Do you even hear yourself when you talk? Why in the world would you think this would happen? Honestly? You think that there is a large contingent of people just waiting out there for an excuse to go peek in washrooms? Let me let you in on something, there aren't. You know it. If you just stop letting some fear of it drive you and look at it logically for just a moment, you know it's not true.

"Oh I am concerned about the women and girls in my family being raped or molested." Okay, well, again, this isn't going to change that. Rape and molestation are already illegal. And a bathroom bill that makes it illegal to use a women's bathroom if you are male on your birth certificate won't make anyone safer. Transgender does not equal rapist. It doesn't. They are much more likely to be victims of crime than perpetrators. Violent crimes. Like getting beaten up because some idiot is pissed that the very attractive woman has a penis. Which he wouldn't know if she was allowed to use the bathroom like every other woman.

You are giving transgender adults two options. Out themselves thereby exposing themselves to potential violence OR break the law and use the bathroom they identify with.

"If you are born a male you are a male!" Okay, well, no. And let me blow your mind again. You can actually get your birth certificate changed. So you are no longer identified as male (or female as the case may be) on any document and pee freely. Oh sweet pee freedom!

So stop and think for just a minute about all of this before you start spouting your opinion based in fear. Why are you afraid? If you say it's not that you are worried about actual transgender people but just perverts, rapist and molesters, why do you think this will change their behavior? If you are afraid that men are just waiting around to sneak in to women's restrooms ask yourself again why? Why would a man suddenly feel the need to don a dress and sneak in to a bathroom? Do you really think men are that out of control? Are you of the belief that all men should be watched extremely closely because they are just rape machines waiting for the right trigger? Or would you think that was ridiculous? Because it is.

If you are worried about the safety of those around you. Then watch them. And more importantly teach them to watch out for themselves. I'm 47 years old. The only penis I have seen in a women's restroom I brought in there myself. Which, by the way, would be illegal under these laws. I would have needed to send my 3 year old in to a men's restroom all by himself. Not going to happen. I'm 47 years old. I've never seen a stranger's genitals in a bathroom. We have stalls and doors and privacy. I'm 47 years old. I live in Portland, OR, I've traveled to a few major cities, I'm sure I've shared a restroom with a transgender woman. It's not an issue.

The only time I've ever come close to being raped was by a good Christian boy, that I happened to be dating at the time. It wasn't in a bathroom. It was in a car. If I had waited for my father or my brothers' to rescue me I wouldn't say "close" to being raped. As it was I introduced his testicles to his stomach and the contents of his stomach introduced themselves to the ground. Teach your daughters to protect themselves. Teach your sons to protect themselves. Teach your daughters and your sons that rape is wrong. When they are too little to look out for themselves look out for them. Don't pretend the boogy man is a stranger in a dress in the bathroom stall. It's your clergy. It's your coach. It's your neighbor. It's your relative. It's your friend. Those are the odds.

Stop letting fear guide you. Listen to reason. Realize that you are victimizing an entire group of people that are already victimized at a high rate. And you are not making anyone any safer by doing it.

And here is the bonus content I promised to make this really fit with National Poetry Month.


Lyrics by Malcolm Risk
To be sung to the tune of "There are Worse Things I Could Do" from the musical Grease

There are worse things I could do
Than go for a number two
Even though the bathroom bill
Implies I'm there to rape or kill
The simple fact is that's not true
And there are worse things I could do

I could hide my wealth offshore
Pay zero tax for-evermore
Strip rights from low paid employees
Squeeze them till they're on their knees
Then still refuse to pay what's due
That's a thing I'd never do

I could go out on the stump
Wave a flag for Mr Trump
Support a guy whose mind's so small
That he wants to build a wall
Cause if you're different - fuck you

I could hurt those in my care
Steal innocence while no-one's there
I don't hate, I don't abuse
But I can suffer for your views
Although, to some of you, that's news...

But to pee next door to you -
THAT'S? The worst thing? I could? Doo???

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Hoarders... (National Poetry Month #19)

Humans are not designed to let things go.

We buy houses with storage room.

To keep things we never use.

We rent out storage sheds.

To keep the things we don't need.

We take pictures of everything.

And never look at them again.

We read the book.

And put it back on the shelf.

Our bodies replace our cells.

But we keep our scars.

We literally store our dead in graveyards

Where we can go and visit them.

And figuratively put them in heaven

To always watch over us.

Humans are not designed to let things go.

But we tell ourselves we have.

We are practicing minimalism.

Keeping only things that bring us bliss.

Like this book.

On how to practice minimalism.

And this sign that reminds us about our bliss.

Humans are not designed to let things go.

And now you know,

Why goodbye was so hard.

Humans are not designed to let things go.