A reoccuring mistake?

As of late I hold my tongue
To prevent words from my lips sprung

Of vehemence for past misuses
By women and men as their mistresses

Hardly coming first in their array
Of sexual experiments cliché

With multiple partners tousled is bed
None with emotional attachment

Except for I, who each time felt dead,
Upon discovering their shenanigans.

For, that’s what is was after all,
Innocent philandering enthralled

With tricks to see exactly how I’d react
Because I kept myself abstract

From partners I’d loved yet so feared
Due to multiple broken hearts unhealed

Scarred, and vowing never to fall again
From my pedestal of numbness,

Yet I could not uphold the refrain,
You pushed it into retrogress.

And now I shrink from myself
Avoiding that emotional delve

Into how you make me feel at times
Hindering the chances of reaching our prime

Believing if I spat the vileness left behind
You’d find me not so refined

As I think you picture me in your mind
A lady with simple notions and a spirit so kind

You say you want to see the violent hate
I have let build up inside,

That I may trust you’ll never deviate
Well, it’s going to be a wild ride.

I’ll scream of a tortured pain I couldn’t resist
Like a sadist, I even used to cut my wrist

I felt like a rollercoaster out of control
Thriving on hate sex and selling my soul

For one last meaningless night
With partners who’d forget me by day light

And call me back in on a whim
Whenever they were lonely

I’d show up decked out and trim
To make them hunger and want me

Never learning my lesson
Just devouring that moment within

Myself, as proof of being needed
As proof that I succeeded

In administering a dose of their own medicine
But I was always the one to take it on the chin

Except with you, which has me confused
Into thinking this is a new game,

A more in-depth and clever rouse,
If so, you’ll win great fame

Since you have me completely fooled,
For wholeheartedly, I am in love with you.

Celebrating a windy day

Sweeping down the lane carelessly and without yield,
Comes the wind, swirling, tumbling, full of blight,
In blue-hued gusts just like Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”,
And driving the clouds on like his “Cypress and Wheatfield”.

The people on the street bend their heads down low,
Trying to protect their vulnerable skin from irritation.
But the wind doesn’t notice and continues to blow,
Bringing objects into levitation.

Newspapers, over turned cups, and wrappers to sweets
Spin round and round, slow dancing with the shoppers,
Bring even more life to the always bustling Main Street,
Overturning the static scene of prim and proper.

Ducking into stores and places to eat as a safe haven,
The refugees gather together emanating a warmth and calm.
And I remain outside standing and watching these cravens,
Sister to the wind and a slave to its balm.

I skip over the debris and frolic past the crammed shops,
Where eyes from the windows reflect chagrin stares.
I return again once I’ve reached the top,
Bringing with me the energetic, fluid air.

It delights in my reverie against convention and class,
My jovial and blithe belief in just being free,
As obvious and perplexing as Van Gogh’s “Clumps of Grass”,
Yet as beautiful as his “Blossoming Almond Tree”.

Some more haikus

Here are some more haikus I wrote in my poetry notebook yesterday. I hope you enjoy them.

1. Why our news is terrible:
RUSH! It's the buzz word
Of journalists on deadline,
Don't miss the story!

2. Going on vacation:
I detest flying,
Turbulence makes me feel sick
And deathly scares me.

3. Tiger Woods:
Why is this such news?
Men omit and cheat daily,
They just don't get caught.

4. Winter break:
Time for sleeping in,
Time for really big breakfasts,
And time for family.

5. Present:
Pink cherry blossoms
On the dining room table
With the note: From, Me.

6. Snow:
I see flakes outside
Erratically falling,
Covering roof-tops.

7. Max:
Shiny eyes, like glass
Understanding all of me,
A woman's best friend.

8. Fiance:
This ring I'm wearing
Reminds me of you each day,
I'm in love again.

At sea

O, I wish I was at sea,
On a boat bobbing peacefully
With the sun soaking my face,
Up-turned for the embrace.

O, I wish I was at sea,
Gliding along so gracefully
Without a worry to get me down,
Without an audience to make a sound.

O, I wish I was at sea,
Creating my life's own destiny,
To read if I wish, or write,
Or gaze at the starts all night.

With no clock ticking on the hour
Reminding me I'm subject to its power,
Deadlines for which I must prepare,
Clogging my schedule that I wish was bare.

O, I wish I was at sea,
Slave only to the waves' mercy
And the moon's mysterious spells,
That controll the water's placidity and swells.

To revert back to ancient instinct
That modern man believes extinct,
To worship goddesses of late
Of love, honor, truth, and fate.

And goddesses of poetry, war, famine, and death,
To my very first adventure to my very last breath.
This is the way life was meant to be,
O, how I wish I was at sea!

You love a hypocrite

I lack any willpower to reject chocolate,
Yet I complain about my weight at least once a day.
I run on the treadmill, determined to complete a 5k,
But smoke on a whim.
I cook light or fat-free when I'm in charge,
And eat fast food without criticism when I'm not.
I drink water everyday to stay thin and healthy,
Yet I down beers or glasses of wine on the weekend.
This hypocrisy broods inside of me,
And I hate it.
This is not who I am, not who I want to be.
This hypocrisy makes you laugh,
And you love it.
This is who I am, even if I don't want to be.

Visiting my grandfather

After you left I promised myself to always make time
To visit you as often as I could and remind you to be proud of me.
But I have failed in my promise and so I understand
If you're not very proud of me at all.

After you left it felt as if my world was crumbling into little pieces
And all I could to do fasten them back together
Was cry sweet tears of nostalgia into my lily linens
To create a temporary adhesive that would glue us together once again.

After you left and the hands of the clock perpetually spun,
Memories stopped being painful and my tears dried in the summer wind.
I fell in love with the man you hit on the head to rouse from a stuperous sleep
When you needed help but just couldn't bring yourself to ask for it.

After you left Dad was never the same and complacently smiled
As life buzzed around him in drunk, concentric circles,
Consistently presenting him with problems that he didn't want to face,
And instead he hid from them by laying on the couch and departing from the world.

After you left Mom had no one to defend her when Dad's words were harsh.
Instead we listened shamefacedly without a word of defense
And she listened stoicly telling herself that this was another one of her duties,
Bottling everything up inside her and setting it aside for when she was finally alone.

After you left the solidity that was our family fractured like a desert floor
And we became travelers tip-toeing over the fissures trying to find our own way out;
Our self-involvement blinding us like the noon sun, its omnipresence inescapable.
And so we continue to dumbly stumble about without you as our shepherd.

After you left I began to wonder if anyone visited you in secret,
Ducking through the wrought iron gates and dejectedly walking the winding path
Looking for where you were laid to rest as was our collectivism,
To speak to you, to ask for divine advice, or to just keep you updated on our lives.

After you left our lives have had extreme highs and extreme lows.
We have laughed and cried, bonded and fought, got together and then went our separate ways,
We've created individual packs which we stick to even on the holidays,
And we forget to include you in those packs, even on the holidays.

After you left I promised myself to always make time
To visit you as often as I could and remind you to be proud of me.
But I have failed in my promise and I have not visited in a long time,
So I understand if you're not very proud of me at all.

The war between procreator and progeny

   You clench your hand around my throat
           And SQUEEZE until my eyes roll.
   R e l e a s i n g your grip before my last breath
                    Can escape,
   Before my soul can rise above you.
Always pulling me down to your level.
   And dragging me along your path towards
       Paranoia   Anxiety   Revenge.
   What will it take for you to set me free?
             I know this question is rhetorical
       Because like a HYENA,
   You would rather E A T your young
                    Than go hungry.
You would rather destroy me to satisfy your own impulses.
    Peace of mind, for whom? You,
        While I am akin to Hamlet
              Only, my madness is U N F E I G N E D.
   For I have decided “’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,”
                            A conscience- coward,
   With eyes averted to sky,
             Full to the brim with HOPE and PRAYER,
For God’s d e c r e e on Judgment Day.
                         But that’s just who I am,
Unorthodox to you, orthodox to morality.

Running

In the morning chill I huff and puff,
My cheeks and lungs burning.
Despite inner pain, I can't get enough,
I wake up each dawn yearning.

To hear my sneakers pound the pavement,
And feel the balmly air rush past my face,
Running has become an enslavement,
That I've have welcomingly embraced.

The fire spreading throughout my frame,
The tingling in my thighs and toes,
And the wheezing without shame,
Helps me think through life's woes.

Breezing past suburban homes set behind trees,
Helps clear my mind of vexing things,
And of all of the people I simply cannot appease,
No matter what my offerings.

On the trail I release my anger to the wind,
And let it zip past my bobbing pony-tail.
Negative emotions no longer have me pinned,
Yet they try to catch up with me, to no avail.

I feel at one with my entire existence,
In this moment I am utterly stunning.
Standing on my own without assistance,
As I begin each day by running.

The silly fight

We have found ourselves in a situation,
After what started as a civil conversation,
Quickly turned into an aberration.

It must be the smoke-and-drink combination,
That has us in such heated animation,
And in such stern determination.

The room has quieted in anticipation,
For our next cunning communication,
In an attemp at final annihilation.

And, suddently I have a revelation,
On how to end this altercation,
All I need is a moment of application.

It comes after your explanation,
Of my argument's weak foundation,
And request of my confutation.

I smile in mock-admiration,
And admit my frustration,
But not before I mark your articulation,
As floccinaucinihilipilification.

Haikus

As I've said in the introduction of this blog, I would like to post poems everyday, even if they are small. Therefore, for today, I am posting several haikus, some of which were inspired by my fiance, Brian.

1. Simplicity:
I long to live in
Simplicity, I long to
Live in its beauty.

2. Thinking of the night:
Thinking of the night,
Of the jagged, inky trees,
I am awed and eased.

3. Cat:
Entwined together,
Cats' booted-feet are hidden,
In sleep, ears still pricked.

4. Dog:
Bounding down the way.
Eyes wide, prepared to play, the
Collie starts to bay.

5. Brian:
Your laugh confounds me,
Your humor is my savior,
Making me smile.


6. Brian's eyes:
Bright, cobalt mirrors
You peer from, paralyze me
And I cleave to you.

7. Our love:
Unfathomable,
Conceding, constant, candid,
Potent, and perfect.

8. Hands:
His devour mine,
With the severity of
Blanketing snowfall.

9. The slow dance:
Swirling round and round,
The lights and people obscure,
It is our moment.

10. On one knee:
Everyone is here,
The reason why isn't clear,
Until you appear. 

Silence

The room is full of sweet, dead air,
And I find solace within this lull.
All absence of sound or speech,
Is riveting, captivating, not dull.

In this noiselessness space,
My discontents can finally cease,
As voices die away,
And leave me in a well-deserved peace.

Some would be agitated,
Left alone, to their own devices.
But for I, who sacrifices her solitude,
This rare quietude suffices.

Abandoned to my wits and whims,
Without having to complete one tedious task,
I can let down my wound-up hair,
Disrobe from my illusory self, unmask.

And enjoy those eccentricities in me,
The ones others find perplexing at best,
Without fear of awkward silences,
And moments that are forced or stressed.

Instead, I can laugh at such follies,
That only I seem to adoitly get,
And consume such art,
The world perceives as a threat.

I can live inside my mind for hours,
Devoid of brutish prattle,
Until voices fill the room again,
And I must resume my battle.

What I see now

A chasm opens
And I fall into interminable blackness,
Suspended in a time
Of contestation.
Repellent forces are hard at work
Vying for my body.
I cannot choose,
I am not allowed to choose,
An unwarranted punishment,
For what?

It's lonely drowning in the sinews
Of an unrelenting void
Where I can only face myself
And dig up feelings or memories
Consigned to graves of repression
While the tension strains
And the forces stretch my skin
So thin, it's translucent and
I cannot bear it much longer.

I writhe and wish
To just be left alone,
For the chasm to spit me back onto earth
Where I will kiss the ground
And toss my head back to the sky
To yell my indebtedness to God,
So that I may exhaust the rest of my mortality
In a lavish peace and quiet calm
Only paradise could know.
But the chasm is deep
And the oculus is fading above me.

How foolish I am

"Out, damned spot; out, I say,"
I repeat of Lady Macbeth, who Shakespeare
Wrought with a paralyzing, paranoid guilt,
And I, who am angry and embarrassed
By a red spot on my blouse.

Freedom

My carapace
Of Embrace
Is wearing thin
From the outside, in.
I am beginning to reject
Anything suspect
That might disappoint
My established viewpoint.
I was never one for recusal
Let alone so full of refusal,
So what is happening to the flexibility
That distinctly defined me as me?
Perhaps I am jaded
From a world degraded
By blind hate and lies
From both the foolish and the wise,
Who will do whatever they can
To win overzealous fans
Just to further their cause,
Despite its flaws.
And, no matter who it would hurt,
They continue to reach out and convert.
Well, not me this time around,
I refuse to be weighed down.
From now on I'm flying above the din,
Fingers in ears, not listening
To anything but life's sweet tunes
And looking at nothing but Earth's great moon,
Following only the truths sown into my heart
That come from nature and come from art.

The struggle

I yearn to be a castaway
Yet am always in a crowded room
With dozens of eyes upon me
And dozens of ears listening,
As if I'm exceptional.
And every time I sneak away
I'm discovered,
Curled up in fleece with a book.
This prompts trivial conversation
And I feel obligated to respond.
Perhaps being alone is shameful
Or abhorred by autophobics,
Thus, everyone is an autophobic,
For friendship is now priority
As every space fills with bodies,
All communicating some experience
In hopes to draw others in for duration.
Individuality is the common enemy
They stand against together
So they may feel artificial, familial bonds.
But at first chance, they betray their kin
For selfish pursuits of perceived happiness,
Filling the atmosphere with dense hatred
Settling below the surface waiting to emerge,
Such a sensitive society is no place for me.
I know not the rules of the game,
And I do not show up to the field.
Instead, I continue to attempt adumbration,
Ducking behind books and
Anticipating attacks so that I may learn
How to exist autonomously.

Wedding day

White-tipped augergine faces stare seducingly up at me,
Behind embossed velvet leaves and fresh chartreuse acorns.
They wink and whisper fierily for me to cross the room,
To come closer, just enough for me to hear them,
Just close enough to tempt me into touching them,
In hopes that I may indulge my weakness and run off,
With them in hand.
And, O, how I want to!
Yet, it is still not time and so I gawk at them dumbly
And while chimerical hours pass,
A sour taste rises from my stomach to my lips,
What is this feeling glowing inside of me?
Fervency, the daintly dahlias say.
I twist the shining band around my finger.
I pace the floor,
Wring my hands,
Sit, stand, sit, and stand,
Fairies' laughter fills the room and my eyes fall again to the bouquet.
What's the rush, they ask, knowingly,
And so I do not answer them aloud.
The rush is in case he changes his mind, the uncertainty of it is lethal.
The only conviction can be when...
"He's at the altar, are you ready?"
O, sober voice, my dear friend, I am ready!
The dahlias laugh that fairy laugh,
The leaves sway in dance,
And the acorns sing,
All in rejoice,
For my wedding day.

Snowfall

The sky is dark and the air is icy
But my heart is all aflutter.
I stand outside unjacketed and dicey
And pay no attention to my shivers and shutters.
I know they'll be here in a twinkle,
With lofty descension and lightness of being
To paint the town sprinkle by sprinkle
In an ivory dust that sends me fleeing.
Their motif is magical and they leave the fields aglitter
Preserving Autumn Joys in bulwarks, perfect and chrystalline.
Urging indoors all of nature's warm-blooded critters
To gather around the fireplace both warm and serene,
Where the smell of fir and pine runs down the chase,
Transforming the livingroom into a Shakespearian pastoral
Where the signs of turmoil and chaos melt, erase,
And charming simplicity takes over in full.
Families are at peace over a hot homemade meal
Of roasts, potatoes, carrots, corn, and fresh dinner rolls
All talking wildly in this new life of surreal,
In which all that's on display are true inner-souls.
Brilliant eyes shimmer down on wide white smiles
That emanate laughter the flakes can hear from the front door,
For this they travelled south tens of thousands of miles,
To remind us that the best things are things of yore.
I wrap my arms around my chest and let my prayers linger,
The flakes only fall if the circumstances are just right,
And waiting for snowfall can be such a disappointing wringer,
So I'll cross my fingers and wear my pajamas inside out tonight.

The crows (rewrite of Baudelaire's "The owls")

Inside the aggrandized oaks
The coterie of crows crudly chatter
Like old witches; as a group of folks
Their black eyes glow. They clatter.

Busily thus they hop and skitter
Until that melancholy hour
When, with the moon's first glitter,
Nightly enemies assume their power.

From their crazed temper the wise
Will learn with terror to despise
All order, stasis, and rest;

For he who ignores every feign,
Carries the memory in his breast,
Of each brother sorrowfully slain.

Being runners with the dusk and night (A rewrite of Langston Hughes's "Being walkers with the dawn and morning")

Rewriting poetry by famous poets is a favorite exercise of mine. It helps me understand vocabulary and word-choice; by tweaking the words used I can recreate a whole new meaning to the poem. Not to mention that it's great practice for when I have writer's block or lack inspiration. Here is my Hughes rewrite:

Being runners with the dusk and night,
Runners with the moon and night,
We are quite afraid of morning,
Of days of joy,
Of brightness--
Being runners with the dusk and night.

A very sweet dream

I slipped into a midnight dream
And found myself floating upstream
On a lake of syrupy maple amber
My boat was a warm pancake camber.
The sun was smudge of bright yellow butter
And everywhere, strawberry butterflies were aflutter!
Candied almond fish, deft and spry,
Quickly zigzagged and crisscrossed on by.
Crispy bacon frogs chirped with all they had
Singing to me from their chocolate lily pads.
Clouds of cotton candy in marshmallow flavor
Filled a liquid sky poured from a Kool-Aid laver.
The liquorices grass bent towards the lake
From a gentle wind that tasted of Angel Food cake.
Oh, it was heavenly to be in such a tasty sleep
Until I was disturbed by a beep, beep, beep,
And my pancake boat sailed into dock,
As I awoke to shut off the alarm clock.

Wizard the lizard

Children's poetry has always been a favorite of mine. I am a huge fan of Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss. Trying my hand at children's poetry has helped with my rhyming. This post, and the one following are poems designed for children. Here is Wizard the lizard:

Wizard the lizard
Had a hankering for fame,
He thought he must have magic powers
If Wizard was his name!
But try as he may,
He couldn’t do any magic right.
If he tried to turn himself black,
He would come out white!
If he tried to disappear into thin air,
He could be seen from everywhere!
If he tried to saw off his sister’s limb,
His mother would scold and ground him!
And when he tried to conjure ghosts,
Was when he messed up the most!
He picked up his wand and waved it around,
He called the spirits to rise from the ground,
And up they came one by one,
Wizard thought they came to have fun.
But up and away they started to float
And one of them stole his dad’s remote!
Of the ghosts, Wizard just couldn't keep track,
So he picked up his wand to send the ghosts back.
He waved his wand to and fro, up and down
But the ghosts would not return underground.
They escaped through the chimney into the night,
Taking the remote out of sight!
Wizard tried to catch them but they were too fast,
If his dad found out, this night would be his last!
He went to the Magic Shoppe to ask for help,
He knew he could rely on his friend Mr. Kelp.
Mr. Kelp was an otter with great power,
And Wizard knew from ghosts he would not cower.
He went to the store and explained what took place,
Mr. Kelp was happy to help such a worried face!
They sett out to find the ghosts in the dark
And found them sliding down slides in the park.
They tried to ask nicely but the ghosts didn’t care,
They wanted to bring the remote back to their lair.
They never seen such a great invention
And it captivated all of their attention.
They were willing to take on Mr. Kelp’s spells,
And with one flick of his wand Mr. Kelp made them yell.
They were being chased by large vacuums in the sky
The vacuums sucked them all up by and by,
And left behind the remote for Wizard to take back to his dad,
Wizard was no longer worried, now he was glad!
He hugged Mr. Kelp and thanked him as many times as he could,
But Mr. Kelp didn’t seem to have understood,
His eyes were focused on the vacuums that continued to fly
Because they started sucking up all the clouds in the sky!

Fire

Fire eternally
Burns, engulfs monotony
Clever, yet, baneful.

A (not so) peripheral perception

Awakening;

A small, slow tumbling of sheets,

Stretching of arms, legs, and back,

Eyes not quite open.
Curtains billowing in the morning gusts,
The sun drips honey onto the floor,
Radiating heat.
Bare feet bend and flex,
A Chest expands and lungs fill,
With the frosty air.
Steam escapes from parting lips,
On a pale face,
White as a summer lily.
Around thin shoulders hair falls,
Chemically tinted and stained.
On the floor,
A knocked over vase,
Water seeping into the worn plush rug,
But the glass did not crack,
Like her heart.

Not enough

This poem was written a couple years ago. It was one of my better attempts at relocating that voice that used to yell from within me.

Not enough:

It's not enough that we don't talk,
And it hurts me so.
In my room, I pace and walk,
Where the hell did you go?
What we had was so right,
And now it's gone for good.
I loved you with all I had,
But there alone I stood.

Introduction

Once, I was ravenous when it came to poetry: devouring poetry written by others and allowing the construction of poetry to consume most of my time inside and outside of school. I was 13 years-old. Then, my life took a fatal turn and I allowed my love of poetry to fade into the background. At first, I was OK with just reading poetry and prose and analyzing it for class, and also to make sense of the world. However, as time progressed I felt as if a part of me was missing and so, once again, I picked up a pencil and began to write. I was very rusty. It has taken somewhere between one-and-a-half to two years to ALMOST find my voice again. This blog will illustrate the search for my voice through poetry. The poems I am about to post have been written previously, yet are the thirteen poems that I have carefully wrote and edited thus far. As time progresses I will post more, I hope everyday, yet I know that is a little idealistic. I hope whoever reads this blog enjoys my poetry, hears my voice, and will respond with advice. So, without further adieu, here is my blog: The Intermediate Poet.