"Being born is going blind
And bowing down a thousand times
To echoes strung
On pure temptation"
~ Townes Van Zandt
SPIN
How many times will we exclaim
Never again and again and again...
While the broken record
Spins 'round on the table
You're a fool to think you can change it
I'm spinning and spinning
Like the earth and the moon
The day and the night
The seasons
Repeat, repeat, repeat
Despite my intentions
My love and my hate
My dreams
I lie in bed, discontented
I drive my car across the moon
No matter, no difference
It's all the same view
In the zoom out lense
I spin, I spin, I spin
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Pouring one out for the ol' boy...
My dad's birthday is this Sunday, October 24th. It would be his 82nd birthday if he were alive. He passed away about six years ago, just days before I moved away from my podunk hometown to a big city that I had set foot in only a handful of times. The end of his life marked the beginning of a whole new life for me. It's strange to think about. He only witnessed my life up until I began my transition into adulthood. And since he was a ripe 55 years old when I was born, I only witnessed his life from middle-age to the end. Just as he will never know where my life has led me, I will never know exactly who he was before my life began. I have to settle for the caricature that my family's tall tales have drawn. But he is just as real and comforting in my thoughts and dreams as he ever was in real life. I love him and I miss him dearly.
The title of this poem is something my brother said that pretty much sums up life's big conundrum. For better or worse, things change every day and there is no stopping it. Life would be boring any other way.
Time Gets A Hold of Everything
For my brother
I saw a wrinkle today
Where did it come from?
Did the stork drop it off
Right between my eyes?
I'm taken by surprise
When I look at myself
Lines and lumps
Scars and bumps
Mark the spot
To the treasure yet uncovered
A different path from
My mother, father, brother
Yet the stories sound the same
I plan to take a trip
One-way to the past
One look into those baby blues
And I'll be on my daddy's knee
Not a care in my heart
And not a clue
That "time gets a hold of everything."
The title of this poem is something my brother said that pretty much sums up life's big conundrum. For better or worse, things change every day and there is no stopping it. Life would be boring any other way.
Time Gets A Hold of Everything
For my brother
I saw a wrinkle today
Where did it come from?
Did the stork drop it off
Right between my eyes?
I'm taken by surprise
When I look at myself
Lines and lumps
Scars and bumps
Mark the spot
To the treasure yet uncovered
A different path from
My mother, father, brother
Yet the stories sound the same
I plan to take a trip
One-way to the past
One look into those baby blues
And I'll be on my daddy's knee
Not a care in my heart
And not a clue
That "time gets a hold of everything."
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
More to Come!
Hello friends. I haven't posted anything here in a few days. One of these days (soon) I'm going to break into my storage unit to get a bunch of old notebooks of poems out of bondage to share here.
In the mean time, I would like to post a poem by a nineteenth century English poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It was first published on October 4, 1802. It's a little long but it is one of my favorites.
This poem evokes such strong emotions when read aloud. It's funny... I don't remember what teacher said it or in what grade I heard it, but I have these words burned into my auditory memory: All poetry is to be read aloud. I find it true that poetry can take on other shades and develop a unique, personal meaning when read aloud. I hope you try it.
Dejection: An Ode by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,
With the old moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.
I
Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Aeolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light,
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!
II
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear -
O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle wooed,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green:
And still I gaze -and with how blank an eye!
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!
III
My genial spirits fail;
And what can these avail
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze forever
On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
IV
O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the Earth -
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!
V
O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be!
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.
Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,
Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,
Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower,
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud -
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud -
We in ourselves rejoice!
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light.
VI
There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;
But oh! each visitation
Suspends what Nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man -
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
VII
Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality's dark dream!
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree,
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,
Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty poet, e'en to frenzy bold!
What tell'st thou now about?
'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds -
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!
But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,
With groans, and tremulous shudderings -all is over -
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
A tale of less affright,
And tempered with delight,
As Otway's self had framed the tender lay -
'Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way:
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.
VIII
'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayst thou ever, evermore rejoice.
In the mean time, I would like to post a poem by a nineteenth century English poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It was first published on October 4, 1802. It's a little long but it is one of my favorites.
This poem evokes such strong emotions when read aloud. It's funny... I don't remember what teacher said it or in what grade I heard it, but I have these words burned into my auditory memory: All poetry is to be read aloud. I find it true that poetry can take on other shades and develop a unique, personal meaning when read aloud. I hope you try it.
Dejection: An Ode by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,
With the old moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.
I
Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Aeolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light,
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!
II
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear -
O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle wooed,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green:
And still I gaze -and with how blank an eye!
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!
III
My genial spirits fail;
And what can these avail
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze forever
On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
IV
O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the Earth -
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!
V
O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be!
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.
Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,
Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,
Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower,
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud -
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud -
We in ourselves rejoice!
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light.
VI
There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;
But oh! each visitation
Suspends what Nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man -
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
VII
Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality's dark dream!
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree,
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,
Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty poet, e'en to frenzy bold!
What tell'st thou now about?
'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds -
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!
But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,
With groans, and tremulous shudderings -all is over -
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
A tale of less affright,
And tempered with delight,
As Otway's self had framed the tender lay -
'Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way:
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.
VIII
'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayst thou ever, evermore rejoice.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Lighter Fare
Havin' a Ball
Lazy Day, thinkin' 'bout the stars
Lazy Night, I think I'll fly to Mars
Pack all my bags
My toothbrush and razor
Head past the clouds
Straight as a laser
And when I get there
I'll do nothing at all
That's my idea of
Havin' a ball
Hot, hot summer, nearly a scandal
Hard, cold winter's too much to handle
Jump on a boat
And cruise out to Fiji
The waters are calm
The air warm and breezy
And when I get there
I'll do nothing at all
That's my idea of
Havin' a ball
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Socialization
"I'm an animal. You're an animal too." Neko Case
Socialization
Socialization
Compartmentalize
Prioritize
Never look them in the eyes
Hold it in
Never sin
Never smell
It's hard to tell
Where you end
And I begin
Wrapped up in a cotton cage
Catalogs and anti-age
Carbon copies
Crowded lobbies
Cold hard cash
Caffeine crash
Make the man
Take command
The boots
The suits
The ties
The lies
Get in it
To win it
Get out when you die
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Change with the Seasons
This poem is dedicated to the San Marcos River in San Marcos, Texas. I miss it.
Change with the Seasons
Change with the Seasons
Out comes the sun
To smile on the flesh
Of all of these kids
Half grown and half fresh
Lie on the grass
Glide on the water
Try hard to forget
The words of your fathers
Take your time in this world
It's one of a kind
When you leave this place
You leave it behind
Down falls the rain
All over the faces
Wrinkled and stained
By faraway places
Think back to the days
The world really shined
All that you wanted
Was all you could find
Change with the seasons
Save your resistance
Take pleasure in knowing
Your place in existence
Monday, October 4, 2010
I Didn't Mean It
Another super cheery poem about love!!! I'll put something happyish soon. Maybe. But probably not.
I Didn't Mean It
My knuckles turn white
When I think of you
It hurts to laugh
If one gets through
If I ever thought you should die
I really didn't mean it at all
My words fall flat
When I talk to you
You like to abuse
My point of view
If I ever told you a lie
I probably didn't mean it at all
The monkey can see
The monkey won't do
Somehow your words
Are ringing true
If I ever ignored you
I didn't want to hurt you at all
Doubled sided coin
Doubled edged sword
Any way you describe it
Love is the word
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Two Worlds
"Everybody's workin' for the weekend... Everybody's goin' off the deep end." Loverboy
------
The urgency of afternoon
Sabotage me of my time
Hurry 'fore the lights go down
My fleeting peace of mind
Everyone against the bar
Grackles on thin power lines
Sip it up but do not drown
The little light inside
You're dreaming of an ancient place
You've visited before
Lucid winds whip across
The windows and the doors
The lonely wolf howls a tune
Slows the beating of your heart
Frozen here between two worlds
A child of the dark
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Starry Eyed Rat
Here's a sing-songy piece. One of these days I'm gonna learn guitar!
The Starry Eyed Rat
Didn't smile at all today
The crescent moon was on its side
So I took a hint
And cracked a slant
But it never justified
I hid behind the dumpsters
And took the mailman on a ride
I said where's my mail
You son-of-a-gun
'Cause my mama didn't write
Fell right down that hole I dug
Like a chocolate water slide
Hit the wall
And hit rock bottom
Wound up covered up in pride
I came to in an alley
Not a soul was at my side
Except a rat
With starry eyes
"In me you must confide."
Spilled my guts to that stinker
And we rode in the tide
Looked around
And realized
I came through the other side
Thursday, September 30, 2010
First Post: Introduction
I started this blog to share some of my poetry and other forms of writing. People write for all different reasons but I mostly write for catharsis. I tend to write in flashes, writing a slew of poems in just a few days, then perhaps nothing for a while. I don't fuss over my writing much. I just let it out, then I'm done.
Often I want to share my poems but I hesitate for one reason or another. Obviously, poetry is personal. It's like revealing a part of yourself that you may not even fully understand. Also, in social situations we are mostly taught to "keep the conversation light" and not to be a "Debbie Downer" but the fact is, a lot of poetry is dark. It comes from the subconscious and, as you probably know, it's not always unicorns and rainbows in there. So I'm opening up the "caves of the things that have not happened yet" and letting it all out. (Any Neko Case fans out there?)
If you know me, you know me. I'm female. I'm 26. I'm an Aries. I'm a cat person. I live in Austin, Texas.
Here's the first poem:
Often I want to share my poems but I hesitate for one reason or another. Obviously, poetry is personal. It's like revealing a part of yourself that you may not even fully understand. Also, in social situations we are mostly taught to "keep the conversation light" and not to be a "Debbie Downer" but the fact is, a lot of poetry is dark. It comes from the subconscious and, as you probably know, it's not always unicorns and rainbows in there. So I'm opening up the "caves of the things that have not happened yet" and letting it all out. (Any Neko Case fans out there?)
If you know me, you know me. I'm female. I'm 26. I'm an Aries. I'm a cat person. I live in Austin, Texas.
Here's the first poem:
I See
The whole world, stop and listen
I can't keep pretending
(I'm ok)
With my eyes wide open
Through midnight dreams I see
The world that I envision
Doesn't look like heaven
But don't it look
Much better than this scene
I'm torn in two divisions
Two otherworld dimensions
Interwoven things
That I have never seen
Spinning in the tension
Still scenes of my religion
So pure and good
But lost on the human sea
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