so i had to write a poem with three blanks in the space for words... so here a little poem, inspired by a short story i wrote entitled... crazy i know, follow follow. anyways, lots of ways you can take this poem, and thats why i like it...
Follow Follow
The deep dark stench of warm keg stout beer, along with
burning Backwood’s cigars from the Quickie on Paisley, fills
the lungs with every half breath. Singing and shouting with the mates
at The Grapes Bar: We will follow Rangers!
Anywhere, Everywhere, we will follow on mate.
Donald swears to me from his barstool on my left.
Dundee, Hamilton, the Pope and Vatican!
His breath reeks of celebratory sectarian alcoholism.
My runny yellow eggs began to mesh into the wet black beans,
Soggy mushrooms, and grayish black pudding. I use two rubber pieces
of bacon and one plastic link of sausage as make-shift utensils.
The bagpipes, like the consumption of liquor, have been ongoing
since the doors opened at 6am GMT.
swings his arm around for a resounding chorus rendition.
Celtic know all about their troubles.
We will ‘til the day is done.
The blind hatred in his dizzy drunk stare is deathly strange.
For there’s not a team like the Glasgow Rangers.
No not one, and there never shall be one.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
more poetry...
sorry, but the thing is, I am in an Advanced Creative Writing Poetry Workshop... so this is where much of my writing is coming from...
Watering my Garden
It comes at four in the morning, too.
The rodent wheels
in my mind spinning.
Flashbacks of the best sex,
shared showers, and hours spent
wrapped up in each other.
Of course.
It grips at my stomach
Chan-nel-lock blue tight
and wrenches.
Sleep is impossible.
Flipping around in bed
like a landlocked fish,
uncomfortable,
In a cold sweat.
This struggling cant seem to throw
thoughts of past encounters
and conquest of the opposite sex.
Then the questioning begins,
Why am I still here? It’s not
what it used to be.
Excuses tug at my hair,
pointing my wandering eye
in another direction.
As my heart drops
at yet another lapse in faithfulness, I sit up
and decide to start my day early.
The garden will get watered at 5:20 today.
Watering my Garden
It comes at four in the morning, too.
The rodent wheels
in my mind spinning.
Flashbacks of the best sex,
shared showers, and hours spent
wrapped up in each other.
Of course.
It grips at my stomach
Chan-nel-lock blue tight
and wrenches.
Sleep is impossible.
Flipping around in bed
like a landlocked fish,
uncomfortable,
In a cold sweat.
This struggling cant seem to throw
thoughts of past encounters
and conquest of the opposite sex.
Then the questioning begins,
Why am I still here? It’s not
what it used to be.
Excuses tug at my hair,
pointing my wandering eye
in another direction.
As my heart drops
at yet another lapse in faithfulness, I sit up
and decide to start my day early.
The garden will get watered at 5:20 today.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Art Museum Response
This is a response to a piece of art work, entitled Paradise, by Philip Curtis. In was in the dreams/imagination section of the ASU Art Museum...
One Father’s Nightmare
After Philip Curtis’ Paradise
A well to do man watches
over the meager audience he gathered
with the anxious anticipation
of a house dog waiting for his owner’s return.
His eyes, a black hole
of failure, matching
the lackluster day. Sad
orange colors drench his scene,
leafless trees form a stage
for a miniature circus.
As for the audience, his family,
they are occupied more
than they are entertained.
The wife and two children follow
the miniature horse with a dwarf
on top, the parrot, the cat and the gaunt
clown, but never acknowledging
The father.
The man worked hard to make
enough to produce this day’s spectacle.
His family turn their backs
on a father who has lost the point.
One Father’s Nightmare
After Philip Curtis’ Paradise
A well to do man watches
over the meager audience he gathered
with the anxious anticipation
of a house dog waiting for his owner’s return.
His eyes, a black hole
of failure, matching
the lackluster day. Sad
orange colors drench his scene,
leafless trees form a stage
for a miniature circus.
As for the audience, his family,
they are occupied more
than they are entertained.
The wife and two children follow
the miniature horse with a dwarf
on top, the parrot, the cat and the gaunt
clown, but never acknowledging
The father.
The man worked hard to make
enough to produce this day’s spectacle.
His family turn their backs
on a father who has lost the point.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
I <3 Command and Conquor
It's true, I am a huge fan, sort of a geek, for Command and Conquer. The only thing holding me back from being a full fledged Command and Conquer nerd, is I still quit before I ever get beat by only two hard enemies. So my record(that's saved in the computer) is still flawless. I find that sexy, if having a spotless unbeaten record that's a total lie can be sexy.
I think it is all the control and commandability that the game offers to it's player. They ability to raise you own army/military/terrorist organization is just so all empowering. I feel so modern day Napoleon-esque. I can conquer all these sorry other people how ever I chose. Even when I pick the random selection scenario, and I am given a situation without knowing what I am really logging into, I still dominate and can choose from a number of ways to execute the final coup de gras. If I want to shock and awe some poor pathetic terrorist organization, I'll send multiple Particle Cannon Laser attacks matched with a fleet of A-10 attack Warthogs. If I want to display my air superiority, then I construct an Air Force that bombs the opposing sides base to high hell!
And not to sound unpatriotic, but it is kinda fun to take on the Chinese military and stick it to those fucking arrogant sons-of-bitches, America! They just stroll around thinking that they have all this technology and training and blah blah blah. I over power them with my tank divisions and incredibly overmanned infantry which overwhelms opposing armies like a colony of ants taking over a melting Popsicle in the desert heat! Believe that, and they are just so reckless with their nuclear weapons, that I just make the other literally glow.
But the biggest slap in America's face, is when I am force to dole out a nice ass whoopin' to China and America with the G.L.A. terrorist group. I do all my shit all secretive and just make paper(money) left and right and raise up a supremely powerful and overtly sick and sinister group of war-criminals who don't take any prisoners.
So sometimes, when writing just isn't doing it for me, I'll sit down for a good hour and a half, do battle with a worthy adversary, and get out some pent up aggression. It's like when a jogger says "oh I go running to clear my mind" or "relieve tension"... I sit at a computer and annihilate opposing armies one at a time...
I think it is all the control and commandability that the game offers to it's player. They ability to raise you own army/military/terrorist organization is just so all empowering. I feel so modern day Napoleon-esque. I can conquer all these sorry other people how ever I chose. Even when I pick the random selection scenario, and I am given a situation without knowing what I am really logging into, I still dominate and can choose from a number of ways to execute the final coup de gras. If I want to shock and awe some poor pathetic terrorist organization, I'll send multiple Particle Cannon Laser attacks matched with a fleet of A-10 attack Warthogs. If I want to display my air superiority, then I construct an Air Force that bombs the opposing sides base to high hell!
And not to sound unpatriotic, but it is kinda fun to take on the Chinese military and stick it to those fucking arrogant sons-of-bitches, America! They just stroll around thinking that they have all this technology and training and blah blah blah. I over power them with my tank divisions and incredibly overmanned infantry which overwhelms opposing armies like a colony of ants taking over a melting Popsicle in the desert heat! Believe that, and they are just so reckless with their nuclear weapons, that I just make the other literally glow.
But the biggest slap in America's face, is when I am force to dole out a nice ass whoopin' to China and America with the G.L.A. terrorist group. I do all my shit all secretive and just make paper(money) left and right and raise up a supremely powerful and overtly sick and sinister group of war-criminals who don't take any prisoners.
So sometimes, when writing just isn't doing it for me, I'll sit down for a good hour and a half, do battle with a worthy adversary, and get out some pent up aggression. It's like when a jogger says "oh I go running to clear my mind" or "relieve tension"... I sit at a computer and annihilate opposing armies one at a time...
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
just another poem
Making excuses for you
He wasn’t where he was supposed to be at 11:14 pm
We said goodnight at 9:15
and I wondered
why he was so tired
It was Saturday night
and 27 missed calls
tells me he isn’t sleeping
next to his phone on the charger
My stomach tightens
and twists me into contorted shapes
in my bed sheets
I visit the toilet
head first every 20 minutes.
Cinematic love scenes
starring her and my boyfriend
reel in my mind
Some other girl
clutching him close
scratching his back
leaving all the signs for me to tell
I call him
for the 28th time
in two hours
ready and willing to accept the lies
I’ve already made for him
He wasn’t where he was supposed to be at 11:14 pm
We said goodnight at 9:15
and I wondered
why he was so tired
It was Saturday night
and 27 missed calls
tells me he isn’t sleeping
next to his phone on the charger
My stomach tightens
and twists me into contorted shapes
in my bed sheets
I visit the toilet
head first every 20 minutes.
Cinematic love scenes
starring her and my boyfriend
reel in my mind
Some other girl
clutching him close
scratching his back
leaving all the signs for me to tell
I call him
for the 28th time
in two hours
ready and willing to accept the lies
I’ve already made for him
Monday, July 14, 2008
writer's block
So I'm a little stuck. Call it writer's block
or whatever, but this sucks. I couldn't write
a poem right now, even if my life
depended on it.
God forbid, some sneaky Russian
held me at gunpoint
from behind and forced me to write
a ghazal
or have my brains splattered
on the paper in front of me.
It's tough to try and be a Writer.
Like actually try, and say
hey, I'm going to be a Writer.
It's like suddenly
there is nothing to write about.
My life is uninteresting
and my new boring life
has nothing worth writing about
except the terribly dull subject
of being unable to write.
or whatever, but this sucks. I couldn't write
a poem right now, even if my life
depended on it.
God forbid, some sneaky Russian
held me at gunpoint
from behind and forced me to write
a ghazal
or have my brains splattered
on the paper in front of me.
It's tough to try and be a Writer.
Like actually try, and say
hey, I'm going to be a Writer.
It's like suddenly
there is nothing to write about.
My life is uninteresting
and my new boring life
has nothing worth writing about
except the terribly dull subject
of being unable to write.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
