Friday, July 27, 2012

We

We 
There were we looking into the lightness
The words were tumbling to my surprise
And my hands were shaking
And my thighs were shaking
I feel like I might be falling for you
Like I felt like falling
When you told me you’d fallen
You looked suddenly different
But the same dear face
I find that I can’t quite meet your eyes
For the very first time
And something seems to let go
In my stomach
Still I reach for doubts and demons
Because I do that, but they're gone
Peace given me by grace is roiling
But I want this
And there seems to be a lightness
That I hadn't seen before
But the wall I built in brashness
Of blind and foolish knowing
Is beginning to crack in the light
From the next table and
What about you? And What about you?
And I asked you if you were being funny
And I felt strange
And I felt light
Pouring from other tables, other talkers
Other graspings for love in the new
And we in our comfort are beginning here
Your words in my ear
And I can’t believe you just said that
And I can’t believe we haven’t done this before
This night of all times, in all places
I’m glad it was you
I’m glad it was me 


*for John*

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Colorado Shooting


For it is not great horror
But great grace
That every night
Is not as dark
As that night in Colorado
For in every heart
The war, the beating
The struggle against the maker
And every body the wrathful skeleton
The horror lies deeper in the garden
The grace is that the night
Is not so dark
As it seems


This is my very first ever current events poem. I don't like writing them because they always seem too soon. 

Friday, July 13, 2012

The Laziest Post

   What I'm about to do is actually quite reprehensible. I needed to post something and I have a few things in the works right now, but none to the point where I'm ok with putting them up, so I decided to take something very far from being done and posting it anyway. I actually have no intention of returning to this story, but I might because I started it in order to entertain my friend Jasmine one day. I actually wrote this strange "fairy tale" over chat and never ended up finishing it. So, Jasmine, this post (in all its laziness) is dedicated to you.



    Once upon a time there was a girl who wanted more from life. One day a magic mouse appeared to her in the late afternoon, and asked if she wanted a man
     She eagerly agreed and the mouse set off to a far off land where fairies and good men and other mythical creatures are made. Pretty soon he returned with a fine specimen.
     The girl looked him over and realized that he was perfect, but sadly he was under a spell that made him a narcoleptic.
     "There's only one cure" the magical mouse squeaked, “and it's cocoa!”
     The girl exclaimed: "Why, I have cocoa here on my desk!"
     "No no!" the mouse furiously said, "That is fake cocoa...you must get the real deal from the cocoa mines of Bora Bora"
     The girl immediately stashed the man under her desk and booked a plane ticket to Bora Bora
     Within five hours and a lot of money....she was on a plane between two rather gruff looking fat men who made her uncomfortable by snoring ALL the way to Bora Bora.
     When it was finally time to deboard she stepped lightly off the plane and asked the first person she saw, in a very loud and very slow pronunciation and furious hand gestures that one should always use in a foreign country, “WHIIIICH WAAAY TOO THE COCOA MIIINES?”
     Which in Bora Bornese actually means: How do you find your mother?
      "I find her well" the first person replied, a little confused by this stranger asking him such a personal question. Unfortunately in Bora Bornese I find her well sounds an awful lot like..."Go toward those scary looking mountains and climb them. In the cave at the top you will find a tree guarded by three hideous witches you can only kill by spitting on them. On the tree you will find a map to the cocoa mines"
     The girl smiled broadly and clapped the first person on his shoulder, “Thanks!” she said. Which in Bora Bornese means simply, Mangoes.
     The First Person gazed after the girl as she walked away wondering what sort of odd person had come to his country and what this portended for the future. As it turns out it portended absolutely nothing. The First Person went on and married a young woman from his village. Her dowry included six chickens and a basket of breadfruit. Unfortunately it also meant her aunt moved in next door and he spent the rest of his life asking her aunt’s permission to go out with the guys for beers at the local pub.

    Meanwhile the girl made her way up the scary looking mountains. She climbed a whole three weeks sustained mainly by a box of chocolates and strange tubers that grew from the side of the mountains which strangely tasted like all of her favorite foods. She climbed so long she began to think about the man under her desk and wonder if he was really worth all of this effort. Eventually, she did get to the cave at the top.
    Inside, just as the First Person had said, there was a tree guarded by three hideous witches. They were so hideous the girl couldn’t bear to look at them and thus could not describe exactly what they looked like to this author. The first witch spoke “Who goes there!” she croaked in a surprisingly high voice.
     “It’s uhhh…just a girl” the girl replied.
     The second witch spoke, “We aren’t blind, ya know.” The second witch had a curiously Minnesotan accent.
     “I’d like to see that map,” the girl ventured on
     The third witch intoned in a rather pleasant voice “Well, we can’t just give it to you.”
     There was an uncomfortable pause while the witches eyed the girl, and she eyed the ground for fear of looking at the hideous exteriors of the witches. “Well, I’m not sure where we go from here,” the girl finally said. The witches conferred with one another and finally pushed the third witch forward. “You’ve got to do three impossible tasks for us,” she intoned melodiously.
     “Look,” the girl said with not a little frustration, “I’ve got this man under my desk at work and he needs some cocoa from the cocoa mines of Bora Bora and I just need to know how to get there. I don’t like the guy enough to do impossible tasks for him.”
     Another uncomfortable pause filled the cave. Eventually the first witch croaked, “How about possible ones then?”
     “Oh I guess,” the girl assented.
     The first witch went first, which seemed numerically pleasing. “I’d like a strand of your hair,” she said.
     “And I would like you to stand on your right foot as long as you can,” the second witch said, with a hearty Midwestern chuckle.
     “And I,” said the third witch in a voice like soft velvety paws reaching up to gently bat at your face in a clawless manner, “would like you to eat this whole basket of cherries.” She set a rather large basket of cherries in front of the girl.
     The girl dutifully plucked out a strand of her hair and gave it to the first witch, who immediately swallowed it to everyone’s extreme embarrassment. Then she stood on her right food for a very long time, till she eventually fell down to everyone’s amusement. Lastly she picked up the basket of cherries and everyone settled in for a long night of stone spitting and abdominal discomfort. The girl was down to the last three cherries. "I bet I can spit out the stones of all three at once," she called in a voice that dared the three witches to bet against this statement.
     "Not possible," squealed the first witch. Only her voice was so high pitched only a dog a long way off in Saudi Arabia heard it and began jigging right there on the spot, causing his name to go down in dog history as a first class dancer and a dog of passion.
     "Oh ya know," the second witch intoned nasally, "I'm not so sure that's possible. I had a cousin who tried too and he spit 'em all the way to Cheboygan where they lodged in the eye of a wandering Michigan state fan. We just chuckled about that for ages, but it could be dangerous, ya know."
     "Prove it," the third witch fluttered in her pleasant way.
    The girl put all three cherries in her mouth, took the time to angle each stone and spit with all her might. "Pop!" Went the first stone on the second witch, which was not very numerically pleasing. And "Pop!" went the the second stone on the third witch, which was just annoying. And again "Pop!" went the last stone on the first witch, which shouldn't really come as a surprise. Too late the girl remembered the words of the First Person when he said you could kill the witches by spitting on them. Fearing for the lives of her new friends who she still couldn't look at due to their hideous persons, she ran to their sides. "Are you hurt!?" she called out?  
     "Well, it's just a stone, girl," the first witch creaked like an aged rocking chair. 
     "But the First Person said that I would kill you by spitting on you!" The girl exclaimed still a little shaken. 
     "Did he now?" the second witch chuckled, "Perhaps he was speaking Bora-Bornese, in which case he might have been telling you he found his mother well."
     The girl looked at the witch for a long time, but instead of pursuing what she considered to be a fruitless conversation, she instead said, "Might I have a look at that map? I have done your possible tasks by now."
     "Yes, I suppose you may," trilled the third witch and they all stepped aside so she could sidle up the the tree.


Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Basketball and Our Petty Jealousies


Bent with the silvered knowledge of fifteen years
Together we proclaimed the prophecy
In the swagger of our sophistication
We handed down the theory
That if gas reached three dollars a gallon
People would just stop driving
There and then; only you were so tall
Mighty in your sullenness
When all that mattered was basketball and
Our petty jealousies
I actually can’t recall a word you ever spoke
And what now when our hearts still dance
To the same distant tribal drumbeat
When indeed our poetry walks hand in hand
Despite the ponderous decade sitting between us
You are at the touch of my finger-tips
But I hesitate to fall back to the time
When all that mattered was basketball and
Our petty jealousies



    This is kind of what I think about a childhood crush (such a stupid word) now that I'm old and wise (*ahem*). Especially ones whose blog you stumble across in a strange sequence of events. Fun stuff!