“You are a man not a mouse”
“But I’m so small”
“You are a man not a mouse”
“But I love cheese”
“You are a man not a mouse”
“But I fear cats”
“Perhaps you are a mouse. Look there Cheese has been laid out for you ”
(SNAP)
“I’ve been caught in a trap ”
“But you’re not dead”
“No, I’m not dead.”
“It must be better to be a man in a trap, than a dead mouse; aren’t you glad you are a man not a mouse?”
“But...”
10/30/2008
Night Fall
Nightfall
Knights fall
On fall nights
I’m a fallen knight
And I cannot fight anymore.
This metaphor spins in my mind, but I’m standing still in the midst of a dance floor wondering if there’s more to this tale. I appear to be dancing as the trance music makes those around me sway and jostle me in and out of reality. But my feet are planted. My arms are bare like branches on a banyan tree, hanging loose beside me, hopefully they’ll soon ground me. And the music beats upon my thoughts and silences my thoughts leaving me with an empty sense of joy. Or is it pain? They feel the same. The door opens as more enter the dance floor and a wave of cold air washes over me, I can’t tell if I’m refreshed and cool or a shivering fool. Perhaps it’s all the same. It’s all the same. It’s all the same to her. The nights with knights in shining armor who’ll take her away and dump her astray, never going out of their way to slay her demons. But she’ll see them. And as night falls, knights fall into fantasy with the way that maiden sings in her sleep. And on fall nights, I’m a fallen knight, and I cannot fight for her anymore. So I lose my way till day break, fake excuses and socialize with recluses until I see a familiar face. Dawn never looked so good.
(Words, Letters, Poetry Slammers freewrite.
The prompt for this was to write a poem using the idea of Night and Fall... )
Knights fall
On fall nights
I’m a fallen knight
And I cannot fight anymore.
This metaphor spins in my mind, but I’m standing still in the midst of a dance floor wondering if there’s more to this tale. I appear to be dancing as the trance music makes those around me sway and jostle me in and out of reality. But my feet are planted. My arms are bare like branches on a banyan tree, hanging loose beside me, hopefully they’ll soon ground me. And the music beats upon my thoughts and silences my thoughts leaving me with an empty sense of joy. Or is it pain? They feel the same. The door opens as more enter the dance floor and a wave of cold air washes over me, I can’t tell if I’m refreshed and cool or a shivering fool. Perhaps it’s all the same. It’s all the same. It’s all the same to her. The nights with knights in shining armor who’ll take her away and dump her astray, never going out of their way to slay her demons. But she’ll see them. And as night falls, knights fall into fantasy with the way that maiden sings in her sleep. And on fall nights, I’m a fallen knight, and I cannot fight for her anymore. So I lose my way till day break, fake excuses and socialize with recluses until I see a familiar face. Dawn never looked so good.
(Words, Letters, Poetry Slammers freewrite.
The prompt for this was to write a poem using the idea of Night and Fall... )
10/11/2008
Games With No Rules
She twists her minute hands for hours on ends.
He is a shadow in her mind and hates waiting games, but he plays along.
She turns over in bed after losing a staring contest with the wall, interrupted by his call.
He had nothing to say.
And all day long they play games with no rules, like fools in love with love and not each other.
Discovering the smoothness of paper, purity soon to be scarred with false words and worries and wonders which wait to be answered, dragging question marks behind them hoping to hook into hearts so they can capture an imagination. These love notes are open bear traps and if closed they will torture the mind caught within as the heart flutters trying to be free. They play with no rules like fools in love with love, and she knows the game they’re playing. So she twists her minute hands for hours on ends until he has shadowed her into the darkness. Disappearing like a phantom performer in an empty theatre, he turns on the ghost light, calls her from her bed and opens her mind with the dreams in his head.
He is a shadow in her mind and hates waiting games, but he plays along.
She turns over in bed after losing a staring contest with the wall, interrupted by his call.
He had nothing to say.
And all day long they play games with no rules, like fools in love with love and not each other.
Discovering the smoothness of paper, purity soon to be scarred with false words and worries and wonders which wait to be answered, dragging question marks behind them hoping to hook into hearts so they can capture an imagination. These love notes are open bear traps and if closed they will torture the mind caught within as the heart flutters trying to be free. They play with no rules like fools in love with love, and she knows the game they’re playing. So she twists her minute hands for hours on ends until he has shadowed her into the darkness. Disappearing like a phantom performer in an empty theatre, he turns on the ghost light, calls her from her bed and opens her mind with the dreams in his head.
Empty Stein
Echos of music from down the hall sound like nostalgia from a simpler time. Soulful pain gets in a groove to the tune of empty steins as they pound down on wooden bars, echoing. Dull but rich. Thick sounds you can almost taste. Bitter. Spit out those words to get the flavor out and ignore the soulful pain, else you’ll be reminded of your own. Spit out those words to get the flavor out and then savor the silence. It’s delicious. Until she splits those lips to let out another sound, she spins you around her heart through her mind and leaves you empty on a bar stool where you find you stein is empty, like your heart.
10/02/2008
equilibrium again
Equilibrium disturbed.
Conflict curved to resolution.
No immediate solution, that’d kill the narrative.
It’s imperative that there’s a story to tell,
Otherwise this movie will never sell.
Eventually we’ll see the way things can be.
If we wait until then, We’ll reach equilibrium again
Conflict curved to resolution.
No immediate solution, that’d kill the narrative.
It’s imperative that there’s a story to tell,
Otherwise this movie will never sell.
Eventually we’ll see the way things can be.
If we wait until then, We’ll reach equilibrium again
9/28/2008
Self
Overlapping emotions and the motion of my stomach swings to try to accompany them in a nauseating wave, I struggle to calm. Anxious and empty. Fully aware and solid like lead bullets flying through empty space before vanishing into hearts without a trace. Fall like autumn on unsuspecting children who’ll dance through puddles and muddle through mixed messages as their parents teach them to embrace the moment, but keep their hands to themselves. Shelve the books, shelve the dirty looks and store the emotional baggage on a plane that’s destined to be taken hostage. Lose control to the disciplined instructions of passionately ignorant and courageously stupid captors. Get lost in expectations and reflections in store windows, can you see yourself in their stereotypes? Wipe the make up off your face and vanish without a trace into an empty identity. You are the you that no one else can see, if you let yourself be this will it piss him off? Will she fail to be your friend, is it the end when you succeed independently from the Banana Republic? You don’t know yet, but you let your hair down, falling off the shoulders in waves, you grow older as you shed the winter coat in colder company. Alone, empty, strong and vulnerable - empty and aware, looking straight ahead, they all will stop to stare, and you will wonder
Why did no one look before?
Why did no one look before?
9/24/2008
No Poetic Language
Beautiful adjectives generously piled upon delicate nouns, surrounded by adverbs, with the hint of an unknown subject, overwhelmed by the weighty verbs and all about to be swept under the rug.
I do not have the patience for poetic language.
If I am to say what I mean, then I should speak with the words closest to my conscious. Those simple short phases, the briefest cliches that were easily ingrained to my childlike mind. And I’m sure if I thought long and hard I could find an acute adverb that would accurately say the same thought in a much more eloquent sounding way that people would hear and say, “I need a dictionary to understand her.” And upon finding the word in the dictionary they would understand my point so well, they would see that I had none. And not only did I not have a point, I wasted their time by saying it so beautifully that they felt the need to decipher the most eloquently coded crap. I do not have time for such deception I would much rather ramble on using the plainest of language, the lamest types of slang, and the sort of grammar that makes sense when spoken, but looks atrocious on paper. However if you read my words out loud my voice is easily recognizable in the rambling run-ons with inadvertent rhymes and the sort of questions that are a waste of time to think about.
So you may keep your eloquent prose, touch your nose with your finger, and pretend to be a sober singer. Worry about the meter and rhyme, symbolism and crime, and I shall be busy writing honest non sequiturs so simple that 4 year olds could understand them, but original enough that no one else can stand them.
I do not have the patience for poetic language.
If I am to say what I mean, then I should speak with the words closest to my conscious. Those simple short phases, the briefest cliches that were easily ingrained to my childlike mind. And I’m sure if I thought long and hard I could find an acute adverb that would accurately say the same thought in a much more eloquent sounding way that people would hear and say, “I need a dictionary to understand her.” And upon finding the word in the dictionary they would understand my point so well, they would see that I had none. And not only did I not have a point, I wasted their time by saying it so beautifully that they felt the need to decipher the most eloquently coded crap. I do not have time for such deception I would much rather ramble on using the plainest of language, the lamest types of slang, and the sort of grammar that makes sense when spoken, but looks atrocious on paper. However if you read my words out loud my voice is easily recognizable in the rambling run-ons with inadvertent rhymes and the sort of questions that are a waste of time to think about.
So you may keep your eloquent prose, touch your nose with your finger, and pretend to be a sober singer. Worry about the meter and rhyme, symbolism and crime, and I shall be busy writing honest non sequiturs so simple that 4 year olds could understand them, but original enough that no one else can stand them.
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