| You keep goin', I keep comin', what you know about it? |
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| 11:16am 11/10/2008 |
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mood:  Impatient music: "Hometown Glory" ADELE
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Two new poems. It's kinda hard to write when you're content with your life as I am now. haha - No anguish that just HAS to be put on the page before it poisons you from inside. But my life, happy as it may be, is not without moments of doubt, fear, and pain, so here are a couple poems that I wrote recently when in such an emotion. Now, if only I could figure out how to make the positive emotions glisten on the page...
I’m not Mary
I’m not Mary
Some dark berry
With the sweetest, sweetest juice
No, I’m not Mary
Though contrary
With most everything you do
But I’m not Mary
I can carry
My own weight. I’ll let you choose
See, I’m not Mary
I will parry
Each attack. I will not lose
No, I’m not Mary
I won’t get wary
Or snuff out a sizzling fuse
‘Cause I’m not Mary
I’m just very
Much still hung up on you
Though I thanked Mary
Bloody Mary
Who let me bleed after my prayer
I still blame Mary
Holy Mary
Who said you’d always be there
I can’t be Mary
Anna Mary
On a pedestal so fair
I’m not that Mary
Virgin Mary
With a purity so rare
So take your Mary
Lamb-like Mary
I’ll wait in my lion’s lair
And leave you Mary
Maiden Mary
Who halved the truth and doubled the dare
* * *
Four (title subject to change cause I don't really like it)
Have you ever awaken with stockings on
And your stomach feeling 3 kinds of wrong
To realize that it is the middle of the night
And you just spent it waiting for that call from that guy?
And yes, he said he would and then he didn’t call
But you are the one who believed it all.
So tell me, just who truly is to blame
When you fall into another stupid game?
And the worst part is, you’ve been here before
Except then it was 3 a.m. and now it is four
And then you cried cause the feelings were new
But by now you’ve learned that it’s something you get used to. |
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| Mr. Sunshine in the morning light, won't you come down from the ceiling, won't you stay the night? |
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| 04:01pm 03/09/2008 |
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mood:  thoughtful music: "Sunshine" Regina Spektor
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I hate writers block. I think I've been unable to write a poem from a while because I've been so happy with my life. Much as I hate to admit it, writing comes more easily when I am heartbroken and frustrated. It's a good tool to let out emotion that will kill me if they stay inside me too long. So what is a well-adjusted happy girl to do? The past few months have been just lovely. I've been truly moving on from heartache and discovering the beauty of life again. I should feel inspired by all this. And I do feel inspired. It's just that the urgency isn't there. These emotions don't threaten my existence. They don't need to be written in the same way that pain needs to be written. Nevertheless, I have been feeling mighty inspired by a certain amazing someone and I wanted to write about him. I just needed to right hook. What symbol would perfectly represent all that he means to me. When I finally latched on to the idea of writing about his eyes, a poem came very quickly. Here it is:
Tom Cat Eyes
August 20, 2008
I thought I was a fool for blue-eyed kings
But then I met your Tom Cat eyes
The most captivating eyes I’ve ever seen
And they are brown as mud pies
Dark brown, deep brown
And they go so deep
Like two knots in a tree
And I don’t think
I’ll ever see the end of them
And they peer so deep
Right into me
And I don’t think
They’ll ever let me down
Sometimes I catch your eyes
Looking at me with sentiment
When while kissing you
I open mine for just an instant
Like a curious child
Peeking during prayer
And then those deep brown eyes
Catch me peeking. They’re right there
Just a breath away from mine
Holding me in your sight line
Like you won’t let me go
I look away so often
My flighty green eyes
Run and hide
But each and every time
They peek out to see
There you are
Still gazing at me
And when you climb on top
Press against me tight
My nervous eyes prepare for flight
They close or dart or shift around
But you don’t let them find the ground
You take my face
One hand on each side
And then I’m lost
In eyes so wide
They swallow me up
Devour me whole
You’ve snuck right in
Through the windows of my soul
------------------
I'm staying with my family in Austin this week, so I got a little inspired by the change of atmosphere. I truly do love this city.
Real Life
September 2, 2008
In this ‘91 Nissan Sentra
Stick shift
With a sticky clutch
And stiff seatbelts
Missing sun visors
Open windows
(Rolled, not automatic)
With a to-go bag of tacos
Tacos for the whole family
In the passenger seat
And a tamarind agua fresca
Tucked next to the parking break
(No cup holders)
As I pulled across three lanes
Of northbound traffic
Headed for downtown Austin
Into the leftmost lane
Of southbound traffic
Headed toward San Antonio
And beyond… to Mexico
Somewhere between the curb
And the painted yellow median
It hit me
That this is a real car
In a real city
That this is my real life
In a real country
That this is the real time
To get real busy
That the sun beats down on these
Hot late-summer Texas days
A little less each day
That my life is really
Flying past
With all the speed
Of a ’91 Nissan Sentra
On Lamar Blvd, southbound
And that as I hang a right onto Barton Skwy
Down shifting to make the careful turn
It is a choice I make
With each and every breath
To stop, to turn back
Or to keep on driving |
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| How Fucking Romantic |
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| 12:46am 29/07/2008 |
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mood:  excited music: "Volcano Girls" Veruca Salt
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Because we often take our selves to seriously, here's a slightly tongue in cheek (though also honest) poem just for fun:
Sin Buffet
It’s true that I have tasted sin
The sweetest fruit of the forbidden tree
But given the chance, I’d taste it again
I don’t believe, no, sin doesn’t scare me
It’s true that I have tasted lust
For passion’s call is hard to ignore
And as our fierce desire rushed
We stopped shy of the bed and made love on the floor
It’s true that I have tasted gluttony
For my closet overflows with piles of clothes
And I take my tea with too much honey
And buy too many books I suppose
It’s true that I have tasted greed
I never shared my toys
And now I’m just the same indeed
Possessive of my boy
It’s true that I have tasted sloth
Hard work is for the saps
Slack off, get by, and when you can
Take afternoons off for naps
It’s true that I have tasted wrath
I’ve yelled, and screamed, and hit
I’m sorry if you’ve crossed my path
When I was having a fit
It’s true that I have tasted envy
Of this sin I am the worst
I want most everything I see
And cannot quench my thirst
It’s true that I have tasted pride
I was the kid who raised her hand in class
And all precociousness aside
Perhaps I was just being a smartass
It’s true that I have tasted sin
The sweetest fruit of the forbidden tree
But given the chance, I’d taste it again
I don’t believe, no, sin doesn’t scare me
---
And also a Dear John Letter to a poet we've all attempted a relationship with at some point:
Dear Walt Whitman,
I apologize
For everything
For the fact that I have poked fun of you
On so many occasions
Like the time Sally suggested we come
“Dressed as a poet”
And I said I would come dressed as you
Or all the times I referred to you as “Uncle Walt”
As if you were someone I knew
When the truth is
I never gave you a chance
No, please, let me finish
I never gave you a chance, Mr. Whitman
Remember how I always loved those lyrics
From Erin McKeown’s “Love in 2 Parts”
Where she sings,
“Oh there’s hope in poetry, comfort in Fiction
Like the voice of Walt Whitman for example”
Why did I love those lyrics? I didn’t know you,
Mr. Whitman. I pretended I knew you
Like my minister who went to high school
With Barack Obama, but never talked to him
Because he was just some freshman called Barry
Mr. Whitman, oh that’s kind of you,
But I’m afraid I don’t think I can call you “Walt”
Well, I suppose, if you insist, Walt, I must confess
That one night I went to Jo-Beth
Dead-set on reading your work
Oh I was going to do it this time
But Walt, your poems are so long
And my attention span is so short
And, well, how can I put this delicately?
You’re… err…
You’re eloquent and… um… intellectual phrasing
May have gone over my naïve head
And I left with Mary Oliver and Charles Bukowski instead
Oh, Walt, I’m sorry
I’m sure you’re a great guy
It’s not you; it’s me
I’m just not that into you
---
And if you're still in a humorous mood, here's a fun song I'm writing. I've got three verses so far but I'm a little stuck on where to go with it next:
Three of Us in the Bed
My man said “Babe, you’re really sexy
And you know what would be hot
We should have a 3sum
Name the time and the spot
You can even pick the girl
Pick a stranger or a friend
But just to get you started
Here’s a few I’d recommend
“Your friend Rachel’s pretty sexy
Pretty hot for a blonde
I usually like brunettes
But she’s got it going on
And Sarah sort of seems
Like she’d be up for that kind of thing
But if she’s taken, better not
‘Cause I don’t want to swing
“I want three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do
Three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do
Three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do
Three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do”
I said “I really want to please you
And I’m up for being wild
But when it comes to my fantasies
This is of by a mile
I don’t want to touch a girl
And I don’t her to touch you
And intimacy is most intimate
When it’s just between us two
“I will try to come around
Maybe I just need some time
But another girl won’t make me feel
As if you are just mine
And you know that I’m yours
And you like it that way
But I guess you’re not okay
With just getting laid
“You want three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do
Three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do
Three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do
Three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do”
He said, “Come on, it’s me
You’ll do it for me”
He said, “Baby, Baby please!”
He was practically down on his knees
He looked me right in the eyes
As he took my hand
And said, “Won’t you please make me
The world’s luckiest man?”
He said, “Don’t I make you happy?
Don’t I kiss away your tears
Don’t I fuck you till you scream so loud
That your neighbors can all hear
I go down on you in spades
And I let you cum first
And second and third
So won’t you please quench this thirst?
“I want three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do
Three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do
Three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do
Three of us in the bed!
Do do do - Do do do do” |
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| Making a Break |
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| 04:35pm 08/05/2008 |
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mood:  anxious music: "Rain" Breaking Benjamin
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Grrrr I hate posting things out of order, but I realized that there are a few poems I've written since I started this blog that I forgot to post here. So, in the interest of being thorough (if not chronological) here they are:
Writing the Nothingness
March 17th (St. Patrick's Day), 2008
If there is nothing to write, write the nothingness
I think I’ve heard this somewhere
Or perhaps I made it up just now
As I sit at my blank page and stare
If I could, I would write of true love
That, after faltering so many times
Has finally come back to me
In a grand gesture of romantic rhyme
But my lover, it seems, still falters
And, while I doubt that any love can be false
A love that is true still does not always prove
Romantic enough for poetry at all
If I could, I would write of the heartbreak
That tore through my window one silent night
And ripped at my bed sheets, to awaken a dreaming me
And pull her back into cold harsh reality and fright
But my heartbreak, it seems, has become my norm
No longer the violent wind that ripped at my bed sheets
But instead the eggshell beige that sits permanently on my walls
And plagues my life with it’s dull downbeat
So if I must, I will write the nothingness
Write of how the texts have become empty
And the conversations have become public
And the kisses have become just a memory
Write of how even loss feels like nothing
How pain has transpired to feeling numb
How the memories feel like the dreams of a stranger
How prayers, wishes, and hopes just feel dumb
The passion is now history
Both the pleasure and the pain
There’s nothing to make into poetry
Just beige, and beige, and more of the same
and another:
Some Kinda Love
March 29, 2008
I’ve known some kinda love
I’ve known both late night
Secret lurkin’
And daylight
Public hand holdin ‘
Kinda love
I’ve know desperate misguided
One-sided
Hold on to your faith ‘til he believes
Kinda love
And makin’ love
Prayin’
We don’t conceive
Kinda love
I’ve known wish you were dead
Get out of my head
When I see you I melt into a puddle of sludge
Kinda love
And comforting – kiss to make it better
Umbrella in the rain
Granddaddy’s fudge
Kinda love
I’ve known love bites and love bruises
Soared to new heights of love confusion
I’ve know sure love and love delusion
Seen love that wins and love that looses
I’ve known passion
To lead to laughter
And even friendships that never made it
To happily ever after
I’ve know skip the oil change
To have lunch last minute with me before he
Drives up the Michigan kinda love
And so bored I start
Chattin’ up my ex
‘Cause I’m missin’ him kinda love
I’ve known beet red
Carry me to the bed
We’ve got clothes to shed
Kinda love
And giddy – my heart jumps at the sound of my phone
Giggling and joking as I reach for your bone
Here in your bed, I am finally home
Kinda love
I’ve know some kinda love
and this last one is actually a song:
This Song is Called "Rompe"
April 16, 2008
I was a wild horse; you broke me
No, not tamed me, but you taught me
Broke my every expectation
Brought me joy and trepidation
Yes, you broke my concentration
That’s the price of infatuation
Marked by the broken blood vessels
That you kissed till I was purple
(Chorus)
Break it down, break it down
‘Cause I don’t understand it
Break it up, break it up
‘Cause, Babe, we’re getting stagnate
The night we lay in your bed
And I was broken by your bone
You said you think with your head
But not the one I think I know
You said, “This song is called ‘Rompe’
It’s a double entendre,”
You said, “Break it down, break it down,”
You said, “Break her, break her”
(Chorus)
We lived our days of coffee breaks
We lived our nights of broken curfews
I said, “Babe, give me a break”
You said I’d broken into you
And we tried to break the circle
Knew we couldn’t just ignore it
But when we tried to break the pattern
You just made a break for it
(Chorus)
You broke my heart like a vandal
I broke my nails and went through candles
Like I was Amish, but broken promise
I was just praying for you
There was the night you broke my hymen
I saw God and you saw red
And the night of the broken condom
And all those nights I thought we’d break the bed
(Chorus)
We broke all of our own records
Again, again, again
And like a broken record
We’d repeat, repeat, and then
We broke up, we broke up
And I broke down, I broke down
We may not ever fix what’s broken
But we won’t ever loose what we’ve found
(Chorus) |
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| The Return Flight of Icarus |
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| 06:00pm 07/05/2008 |
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mood:  determined music: "The Flowers" Regina Spektor
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At work last night I was the telephone operator/fitting room attendant, so naturally I spent the evening scribbling poetry lines on the post-its that I'm supposed to use to take telephone messages or mark items as defective. Here is the poem I came up with...
*******************
The Icarus Girl’s Question
By Célèste Brott
May 6, 2008
Lying mangled on the ground,
I am sunburned and heartbroken.
And so begins another round
Of heartwhispers left unspoken.
And he says, “That’s what you get
For flying so near the sun, Kid.
Life’s a game we play to win,
But games aren’t always fun, Kid.”
And I have no excuse
And perhaps should have known better.
But I was so inspired
By the soft turn in the weather.
And Apollo loved to tempt me,
Bathing our faces in blinding light.
But summer’s promises are empty
As every day must turn to night.
It is a foolish hand
That reaches for the tempting rose,
Assuming thorns will yield to it,
Surprised at the blood that flows.
And yet it is a greater fool
Who shields her hand from thorns and sun,
And never knows the sweet smell of a rose
Or gives her heart to anyone.
“So, what--” I ask, still lying mangled
In a puddle of melted wax wings,
“What choice does the wise man make
When faced with the pain that heartbreak brings?
“Is it wise or is it foolish
To make an attempt at flight again?
Is it wise or is it foolish
To give up, give up on him?
“At what point, tell me, when
Do I know that I have lost?
At what point, tell me, when
Is it still worth the cost?
“Shall I fasten new wings?
Fly again toward the sun?
Is it wise, is it brave
To hold on rather than run?”
This is when he smoothes my hair, saying
“Sweet Icarus Girl, hold on.
Holding on is what to do with love
And the choice to love is never wrong.” |
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| Unapologetic Apologies |
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| 11:30pm 22/04/2008 |
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mood:  happy music: "I Will Possess Your Heart" Death Cab For Cutie
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Today I listened to This American Life (episode:"Mistakes Were Made") on my iPhone between classes. And they talked about the poem "This Is Just To Say" by William Carlos Williams and all the many spoofs of it that have been written. So, I became infatuated with the idea of the multitude of spoofs that could be written, and wrote three at work tonight. First, here is the original by William Carlos Williams:
I have eaten the plums
that were in the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
* * * * * * *
And now for my three spoofs: (though I'm not quite sure spoof is the write word, since they are less mocking of and more inspired by. Nevertheless...)
...
Josh, this is just to say
I have written the details
of our love affair in poems
which I have read in public
and am looking to publish
the details which
you were probably
saving
to take to your grave
for your pleas to St. Peter
to tell how someone good once loved you
Forgive me
our love was beautiful and epic
so sweet
and so cold
Ben, this is just to say
I have wrecked the station wagon
which you so generously lent me
and which
you were probably
saving
to sell for cash
Forgive me
I am not much for being aware of things around me
and the car in front of me stopped
so suddenly
and I was on my cell
Mum and Pop, this is just to say
I have lost my virginity
which I was born of your womb
to cherish and preserve
and which
I probably should have been
saving
for a boy you approved of
or at least didn’t despise
Forgive me
it was AMAZING
so perfect
so there! |
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| Fashion Doll on the Wall |
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| 01:05am 10/03/2008 |
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mood: contemplative music: "Dirt Gardener" Erin McKeown
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Poem I wrote today, but I'm not sure I'm entirely satisfied with it...
Child’s Play
No, I’m not ready
I’m certainly not set
And I wont let go
Close your eyes
And count to 10
100, infinity… real slow
Ready or not
Here you come
Over and over, we’re far from done
Tag, you’re it, Hun
I mean it
You’re the one
Red Rover
Red Rover
I don’t want this to be over
Red light
Green light
Sick of this yellow light
If loving you
Is wrong
I don’t want to be right
You are rubber
And I am glue
Whatever you say, I’m still stuck on you
Duck, duck, duck
Waiting for the goose
You twist your own world, think you’re Dr. Suess
I know you are
But what am I?
If you jumped off a bridge, would I follow and fly?
It’s child’s play
It’s silly games
It’s merry-go-rounds and more of the same
So let’s stay here
My sweet, Peter Pan
Never grow up, you won’t have to be a man
We can just play
And I won’t have to know better
Just alphabet songs and no more goodbye letters
***
Poem I wrote last week that I do like a lot...
Fading
Your heart is made of penny candy
And you bough it for a dime
And I’ll rot in jail forever
If loving you is a crime
Yes, I’m guilty, guilty, guilty
But no jury would convict
A girl whose only fault is being
Just a tad lovesick
Thoughts of you have infected
My mind, my heart, my soul
And my body longs to have you
When you’re gone I don’t feel whole
But you’re fading, fading, fading
I can see it in your face
I can hear it in your words
And I’m tired of the chase
And I tried to rise above it
But I’m only skin and bone
And my bones are filled with marrow
And I’m heavy as a stone
How I wish that they were hollow
Filled with air just like a bird’s
Then I wouldn’t mind your actions
And I wouldn’t mind your words
But I’m afraid I’m only human
Though a goddess I’ve tried to be
Tried to steady your shaky heart
Tried to know my destiny
But the cards, I let them lie
While the candles burned my hands
Wax dripping into open wounds
Scars on what once were promise lands
***
Also, today I felt the need to forgo studying for my Euro Civ exam to play in the snow... in very little clothing. Photo op!
Snow Queen |
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