Poetry Like That

Well. I thought about posting a poem by JRR Tolkien, "All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter," but as I was reading through Poemhunter's Top500 list, I found "Cause and Effect" by Charles Bukowski, who just might be my new favourite poet. Althoug his name is nowhere near as cool as Lew Sarett's.

the best often die by their own hand
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody
would ever want to
get away
from
them

Aw, man...Bukowski's poetry is so sad. I love it.


As I've said to a certain Fish, sad things make me happy.


Like this "Almost Made Up Poem."

I see you drinking at the foutnain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it' all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I' not jealous
because we' never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.

Ok. I'm done this blog post. I mean, what can one say after poetry like that?


I'll have to post my stuff on here sometime, so I can practice ducking rotten tomatoes.

Going to the Percentage

So. I'm sitting here, casted and hungry.

Casted because my arm (as I've mentioned before) is still swollen. Recent information suggests that it was some sort of bug bite. I don't know. All I know is, it was there, and now it's not.

Hungry because my stomach seems to have expanded in the last week and I eat like a starving wolf. I think it's the hints of spring that are bringing it out.

o.O

My arm is starting to burn.

I've written a five page poem describing my dream house.

It doesn't rhyme.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've written a free-form poem.

Let's see. I'm a little dissapointed that Fine Arts falls on an Angel Food day this year. Again.

I've just polished off four hot dogs.

I have a song on my iPod titled "Si, Madame."

By Julio Iglesias.

I love my iPod.

The snow is melting. I wish it had snowed more. Past my head!

Ha! I was watching Man vs. Wild last night, and he was talking about a tarantula that he later ate for breakfast, telling us about its "urticating hairs"... the way I remember what it was is because he said, "You can remember that, because it 'urts'."

:D

I love that show.

I love a lot of things.

But I also hate a lot of things.

Like how these blogs are pointless and who reads this, anyway?

Except for people like me.

Which is about .00375% of the population.

Ok. I go now.

April Treehouses

Oh, April.

My sister has warned everyone not mention the "A word" around me. :P

Probably because I squeal and dance every time it's mentioned. That and the number Nine.

Oh...

I just connected some dots.

Ahem.

I wrote a Cinquain today and called it just that:

Dear God,
I’m glad that You’re
everywhere and I’m not.
Tell Gabrielle I said, “Hi.” Love,
Irene.

As far as any earth-shattering thoughts, I have none.

Maybe I just like the snow. And soft, sundsy sponges.

And the gravelly, surprising voice and musical style of Vladimir Vysotsky.

Oh. And my arm has swollen up randomly two days ago. I think it's the muscles that are hurt, but I don't know.

Oh! I have some good news. My purity ring hasn't been lost for a good two weeks now. :)

Oh...no. I have to get up early tomorrow morning. -.-

And the morning two weeks from tomorrow.

I think that, in the future, everyone will live in trees in an effort to further save resources. Entire cities will be moved underground, with doors coming out of tree roots. Vacations will be taken to the place where the treetops touch the skies.

Names

If I ever have children, I'd like to have a whole passel of boys and one girl, the youngest.

Because girl names are much easier to choose.

"Why, Porkchop (Yes. I change names quicker'n a 'cougar changes stripes.)!" you may exclaim. "What names could you possibly have picked out this early in life?"

"Well, dear reader, it's much easier when you possess a baby name book."

Anyway.

For a girl, I'd like a Hebrew name. Maybe Ruth (friend, companion). Or Tirzah (pleasant). Maybe even Leah (weary), or Mara (melody). Or Abigail (father's joy)! Or Hannah (gracious). Naomi (pleasant, beautiful)... there's also an Italian name, Carina, that means "dear little one." And a French one, Jolie, that means "pretty."

Well. It might be a little hard.

There's more indecision about the boys, though.

I like these names:

Adam: earth.

Levi: joined in harmony.

Denver: green valley.

Lewis: lionlike, famos warrior.

Abel: breath.

Kane: beautiful, golden, tribute, eastern sky.

Judah: praised.

Tristan Lucas: bold light.

Christopher Slade: Christ-bearing child of the valley.

Richard: rich and powerful ruler.

Benjamin: son of my right hand.

And so on and so forth. But those are my top favourites. And I guess that picking a firstborn name will be the toughest. I like Denver, or maybe Lewis...but I don't know!

I guess I don't have to think about it now, but it is an enjoyable passtime.

Speaking of Lewis...I've discovered a new favourite poet today.

Lew Sarett.

Tell me that isn't the most amazing name you've ever heard.

In tribute to my finding, I shall post a favorite poem of his HERE.

Oh, I can hear you, God, above the cry

Of the tossing trees--

Rolling your windy tides across the sky,

And splashing your silver seas

Over the pine,

To the water-line

Of the moon.

Oh, I can hear you, God,

Above the wail of the lonely loon--

When the pine-tops pitch and nod--

Chanting your melodies

Of ghostly waterfalls and avalanches,

Washing your wind among the branches

To make them pure and white.

Wash over me, God, with your piney breeze,

And your moon's wet silver-pool;

Wash over me, God, with your wind and night,

And leave me clean and cool.

That's what I Think

Well. There is one prevalent thought in my mind--the Fish and I really need to get together and watch Band of Brothers, that most perfect and beluvered HBO mini-series. It's very influental, by the way. That series.

I'll watch (and like, more than likely) anything any actor from Band of Brothers is in...ER (Scott Grimes), Life (Damian Lewis and Michael Cudlitz), Standoff (Ron Livingston and Michael Cudlitz), that new show premiering on April 19th Southland (Michael Cudlitz), House (Ron Livingston in one episode), and many, many others. Mr. Cudlitz has even appeared in a few CSI episodes, as well as playing Chub in A River Runs Through It (one of the first DVD's my family bought) and some other minor characters in random shows...

It's very fascinating, though...Band of Brothers. The (mostly) true story of Easy Company in WWII. It's great. Really, really great. I mean, it's amazing! I could go on and on about just how amazing it is, but I'll spare you and ramble about something else...like the wonderful snow dancing outside.

Or maybe how cheese on bread washed down with Earl Grey tea is the best breakfast in the world...

Or EVEN how composing inner monologues is the most fun thing I've done in ages...writing-wise. Except for that one story I wrote as a birthday present.

Maybe I'll even mention how my favorite jeans don't fit me anymore...which could be me growing up or growing out. It's either one, anyway.

What to write, what to write...

*twiddles thumbs*

In the future, we won't attend movie theatres, or even watch TV. Holographic images will be projected around us, and we will be right there in the middle of the scene.

That's what I think.