Here There Be Dragons

I have known those who lock up their love
In ventricular vaults, watch it glisten and gleam
Against blood-covered walls in their four chambered hearts.
They become dragons,
Clutching their gems in shivering claws
While lusting after love,
Still more love,
More jewels to fester blindly
In the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I originally intended for this poem to be about why it's worth it to invest in people even though there's a risk factor. If you don't, all the love you have isn't worth a thing in the world. Now I think it can mean several things, though, so feel free to form your own opinion!

Sonnet for the Morning Train

The car is empty but for me. It glides
Ahead as smokestacks whistle secret songs
That only locomotive hearts can sing. Along
The way the lacy curtains fall to hide
The glaring sun. It’s followed me all day
On roads to stations, ticket boxes closed,
To echoes resonating from loose stones
On empty tracks that hold the ghosts of trains;
A weary traveler, beaten by the strain
Of hundreds upon thousands of attempts
To motor on. I faltered, then I fell. Contempt
Enraged a lost soul, cursing fate for pain--
Until a whistle, piercing wasted air,
Solidifies my hope of getting There.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We wrote sonnets in creative writing. Yay.

This poem is weird for me. I started writing it with a completely different idea in mind and the poem was all "NO I'M DOING MY OWN THING" and I was like, "Alright then." However, I really like the finished product.

I think it's about how you can't get anywhere without God. You put your faith in all these other things but they can't actually take you anywhere. They're just the ghosts of trains.

Yeah. I like this poem.

Haikus Don't Have Titles.

Lonely stars
Surrounded by silence
Wishing on us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Like usual, my explanation of my poem is going to be longer than the actual poem.

First off, this doesn't have a title. Because haikus don't have titles. This bothers me. Because I love titling my poems. But anyways.
We started haiku in creative writing and so far this is the only one I've written that I really like.

Have you ever thought about what a bummer it would be to be a star? I mean, sure, you're gorgeous, but you're all alone all the time. There's nobody for hundreds of thousands of miles! But if you're a person you're surrounded by people most of the time and you have all this love and friendship. That's more magical than being pretty and mystical, I think. If I were a star I would totally wish on people.

Yup. Haiku.

Insert Horrid Poem Title Here

This will be an ugly poem.
There will be lines far too long to belong with all the rest,
Or too
Short,
Not to mention
Atrocious choices of enjamb
Ment. I will probably stretch
For wretched rhymes
That will fetch
And catch your attention.
I will most likely refer
To Homer's Aeneid,
Or attempt artistry by breaking
CAPITALIZATION RULES
and, utterly; abusing! punct'uation?
But somewhere towards the end,
I'll whisper you between my ugly lines,
And then they will be beautiful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm incredibly proud of this poem. It's horrible, but it's horrible on purpose, so it's not really horrible at all. :) And it's funny and witty and then I even have some sentiment thrown in at the end. Yeah. I really like this one.

From Emily

I beg your pardon, Modern World,
‘Twas never your design
To rip the writings of a Girl--
Line from heartfelt line;
I wrote them only for Myself!
You’re never meant to see!
So criticize me not, dear World,
Though Death has stopped for-- me!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Yes, I am in school. But I am also in Creative Writing, and we're supposed to work on a fun writing project if we're done with actual assignments. Which means I can blog. Yay!)

One of my biggest English pet peeves is people who criticize Emily Dickinson. She's not my favorite poet by any stretch of the imagination, but the thing about her is she was never published in her lifetime. She didn't WANT her poems published. Every time I read a Dickinson poem I feel like I'm intruding on the private life that she never intended anyone to see. And I don't feel like anybody has the right to criticize that. She wasn't writing for you, stupid English critic. She was writing for her.

So. I channeled her and got her opinion on it. Hahaha. I tried to mirror her rhythms and her random capitalization and punctuation. It's not the best poem I've ever written, but I enjoy it. :)

Frosty Ambiguity

The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I enjoy this poem. Robert Frost is easily one of my very favorite poets. He's incredibly simplistic, but when you dig there's so many levels to his poetry. The thing I love about this particular poem is that people don't realize there are two interpretations.

Most people I talk to think "The Road Not Taken" is about nonconformity. The speaker, though daunted by the challenge of blazing a new trail, chooses to take the less traveled road rather than follow the crowd. And that's totally valid. I'm not saying anybody's wrong. However, I've always kind of thought it was about regret.

First I look at the title: "The Road Not Taken." Does that mean the road not taken by the rest of the people? Or the road not taken by the speaker? If he's talking about the road HE didn't take, it's interesting that he chooses to use that as the title of the poem. He's preoccupied with the option he didn't choose.
(I'm really happy this isn't an essay and I don't have to have answers because this next paragraph is totally aimless and inconclusive speculation.)

I really think it's interesting that despite the second-to-last line, the speaker says TWICE that the roads are pretty much the same. Twice. He says "the passing there/ Had worn them really about the same" (9-10) and "both that morning equally lay/ In leaves no step had trodden black" (11-12). I don't really know what to think about that. My best theory is that you don't really know which road is going to be the best road, or which road everybody else is going to take. From the fork in the road they both look the same and you can't have a good gauge of which one's better in the long run. I mean, he even looks down the first road as far as he can TRYING to gauge it, but it's "bent in the undergrowth." He literally can't see what's around the corner.

The next line that catches my eye is 13-- "Oh, I kept the first for another day!" That "oh" seems important to me. Frost's lines are usually incredibly fluid, but the "oh" and the comma put a break there that bothers me when I read it out loud. It has to be significant. To me it's mournful, like "Oh how I wish I hadn't done that." He doesn't think the first road is undesirable-- he's planning to get back to it later, but he doesn't get the chance. That sounds regretful to me.

That last stanza is really the kicker for me, though. What kind of a sigh is he telling this story with later? A sigh of relief? A sigh of regret? I lean toward regret, but it could just as easily be the other. Either way, the choice "has made all the difference" (20) in his life. For good? For ill? I don't know.

Normally I would back up my opinion entirely and not point out the evidence for the other side of the argument the whole time, but this poem is EXTREMELY ambiguous, and I think it's so for a reason. The speaker didn't know which one to choose. We as readers don't know for sure exactly what he means by any of this. I really did start this post thinking it was about regret, but I think I've changed my mind. I think the whole point is that we oftentimes have no way to know what the future's going to hold, what decisions lie ahead, or what choices will ultimately affect the rest of our lives. Life is full of ambiguity. And that's why this poem is so ambiguous.

Ah literature. I love thee so.

Superman at Home

You’re maybe the very last person on earth I expected to see
At a humdrum neighborhood Walmart on a Sunday afternoon.
I don’t know where I expected you to purchase your boxes
Of cereal or your socks or your five dollar movies.
You seem like the kind of person who would buy your movies
For twenty dollars, or eat the organic super-deluxe
Two-calorie multi-vitamin cornflakes from Sunflower.

Maybe the white shelves, the ceilings, the fluorescent lights
Drain and diminish your super powers until you’re only
Just as good as me or anybody else on Krypton.

Did you know your nose is a just a smidgen
Too big for the rest of your face?

I think I’ll say hello.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Usually I write poems about things that happened to me. Or people I know. Or feelings I feel. And this is none of the above. I really couldn't tell you where on earth this came from. But it's cute anyway. I guess it's about realizing that everyone's human, no matter how much of a pedestal you put them on in their head. Everybody goes to Walmart.
And it has a fun superhero metaphor and on-purpose line lengths. I like it. :)

Aaaahhhh! I'm turning into one of those obnoxious tell-a-story-that-never-happened poets!

Proton

I bet if I folded myself up so small that a hundred trillion
Of me could fit on the head of a sewing pin
I'd become so invisibly invincible
That no hammer would ever
Be able to crush me
Again.

Another Favorite Poet

A few weeks ago I mentioned Gabriel Gadfly... I'm kind of in love with his some of his poetry. He makes me want to write poems. And when I read poems like that, they inevitably end up here. Enjoy the geek out. Let them speak to you.

Hangman
At the end
of a game of Hangman
the amputated victim
sways
left to right
from his paper
noose.
Repeat after me:
sticks and stones
may break my bones
but words will
never hurt me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shooting Star
The first thing you must do
after the disaster passes is
check the integrity of your suit.
Count the seconds:
loss of consciousness in fifteen,
expiration in ninety-five,
but they say you can feel
the saliva on your tongue boil
and there is no burning, yet.

There is only
the quiet womb-dark of endless space,
and the bright eye of the sun
peering around Earth's breast
at you.

Listen to the faint crackle
of your ear-piece, somehow
still functioning, and the voice
of your man in Houston, saying,
Commander, can you hear me?
Say yes. Ask for your wife.
Ask for your daughter.
She's on her way, sir.
A calm voice cuts in:
Re-entry in three minutes, twenty seconds.
Listen to your breath and don't move.
Your Mother is pulling you into her arms.

Your man in Houston says,
Sir, we have your wife on the line.
Kelsey is here, too.

Listen to your wife; she says,
I love you. Say I love you,
and realize this time you mean it.
Listen to your tiny bright-eyed girl.
Don't choke. Don't choke.
I love you, Daddy, I'm scared.
Tell her not to be scared.
Tell her you're not scared.
Tell her something so
she doesn't hear the
caged screaming of your
heart in your chest.
Say Daddy loves you.
Daddy loves you.
Be a brave girl for Mommy.

Your man in Houston says,
Commander, I'm sorry about this.
Is there anything I can do you for?
Open your eyes and stare
in wonder at the bright world
beckoning you down and ask yourself
Why did I ever try to escape this?
Your man in Houston says,
Commander? Can you hear me?
Don't reply.
There are no more words.

Listen to the calm technician counting:
Re-entry in sixty seconds.
Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.
Fifty-seven.

There isn't time enough for fear.
Close your eyes. Smile.

Somewhere near Toronto,
a small boy makes a wish
on a shooting star.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heartbeats
I’d buy your smile
For a dollar.
And no, that’s not much,
But it’s one hundred copper
Heartbeats
That you and I will share
Between now –
The moment we meet
And then –
Your final breath or mine.
And like the coins they represent
Those heartbeat moments will
Shine or not
Will gleam or not
But lusterless or brilliant,
They are ours.
And when they are gone,
I’ll ask your two cents worth
On silly things.
Just to share another pair of heartbeats
With you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(This is just one of the funniest things I've read in a while.)
Love in the Robopocalypse
If you and I were transported
to a land where robot overlords
enslaved the human race,
I wouldn't worry;
all we'd have to do is run,
ducking in and out of
crumbled shopping malls
and parking decks full of
abandoned cars, together,
uninhibited, free.
So what if they have buzz-saws
and optical laser beams?
If we get caught, just kiss me:
your every kiss is
an electromagnetic pulse,
a white-blue crackling shockwave
and our kisses will overload
every tiny circuit in their
cold positronic hearts;
they'll fall like broken toys
under the smell of burnt ozone
and fresh love blooming.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Water
The funny thing is
What gives us life
Kills us if we
Try to breathe its essence.
Fish are the only ones
That don’t suffer
This unrequited love affair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Birdcage
You are a little like a brass birdcage:
a cherry-red cardinal inhabits you,
but even if your door were left open,
it would not spread its wings, it would not
sing, it would only linger on its perch,
plumed head tucked, waiting for the
night's veil to cover you and bury
it within shadow's silent smother.

If only the birdcage were not there;
if only.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ah, poetry. The words on the tips of all our tongues that we just can't get out. :)

Much love.

<3

P.S. THE AVETT BROTHERS ARE COMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'll start posting about that if I find out that I actually get to go. Cross your fingers for me!

P.S.S. Stefano went through on American Idol. Because I'm sure you were wondering.

P.S.S.S. The back pain returneth. Prayers much appreciated.

Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss!

I'm a lit nerd. I really am. (In case you couldn't tell.)

I'm addicted to John Keats, Lord Tennyson, Robert Frost... but my favorite poet... I mean my FAVORITE poet... is probably Theodore Geisel. You probably know him better as Dr. Seuss.

The guy's doctorate was in LIFE. I promise.

I'm a big fan of intense life wisdom wrapped up in kid-friendly packages. I think that's part of why I love Disney movies so much. And the Muppets. And Charlie Brown. You wouldn't expect any of those to contain the most profound statements you've ever heard, but sometimes they do. And Dr. Seuss is the same way. The guy's ridiculously quotable, whether in his books or just in general. And you know me and quotes. :)

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."

"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple."

'"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."

"Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope."

"A person's a person, no matter how small." (Horton Hears a Who!)

"I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent!" (Horton Hears a Who!)

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." (The Lorax)

Yup. He's great. But this, my friends... this is the reason I love Dr. Seuss. This poem right here. I want it in book form for graduation. It's easily one of the most profound things I've ever read. It's honest... he doesn't sugarcoat everything. But it gives you so much faith in your dreams. It's inspirational. :)

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.” With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’re too smart to go down a not-so-good street.

And you may not find any you’ll want to go down. In that case, of course, you’ll head straight out of town. It’s opener there in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.

You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And if you go in, should you turn left or right…or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.

No! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored. There are games to be won. And the magical things you can do with that ball will make you the winning-est winner of all. Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be, with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. On and on you will hike. And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

Kid, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!


Happy 107th, Mr. Geisel. Thanks for the inspiration. Much love.

<3

P.S. It is also Chris Martin's birthday, and as I am a Coldplay fan, he deserves a shout-out too. So have one of my favorite Coldplay songs. :)

The Geekiest Love Poem I Have Ever Read

This is not the nerdiest poem I have ever read, but it's by far the geekiest. I stumbled upon it. And fell in love with it.
Another thing you should know about me is that I love Mario. Especially MarioKart. I can bring it in MarioKart. The rest of my Mario prowess is not so great. But I still love it.
So this poem brings me great joy and elation. Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you "Peach" by Gabriel Gadfly.

If a little mushroom guy
told me you were in
another castle
...I'd go to another castle
and another
and another
until I found you.

You are a smiling star
that makes me feel
invincible,
and in any other poem
a sentiment like that
could choke an ox,
but in this one,
it's just awesome.

When I'm standing
next to you
you could tell me
the bushes and the clouds
are the same,
and I wouldn't bat an eye.

When I kiss you
I feel like I just picked up
one of those feathers
that turns into a cape
that lets me fly
way up into the sky
but if I get too far away
just shoot me down
a little bit
gently
not with one of those
angry bullet guys
but maybe with
a playful teasing jest
at my stature
or my mustache
and I'll come right back down.

You're the flag
at the top of my flagpole.

I guess what I'm saying is this:
if you got kidnapped
by some insane
fire-breathing turtle
dragon king,
he better watch his back,
cuz it's-a me, Mario,
and you're my peach,
princess.


Hehehe. This brings me joy. And much love. :)

<3

Happy Birthday Langston Hughes

Hem hem hem... in honor of the occasion I am posting a poem. Or two. Or five.
In case you didn't know, Hughes was a poet of the Harlem Renaissance. He was one of the first widely recognized black poets. Writing in the 1920s through the 1960s, he was greatly influenced by the introduction of jazz poetry and you can here jazz-like beats in some of his poems.
And I like Langston Hughes. That's important too. :)

Quiet Girl
I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

Isn't that beautiful?

The Dream Keeper
Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamer,
Bring me all your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.

Just gorgeous.

Acceptance
God in His infinite wisdom
Did not make me very wise-
So when my actions are stupid
They hardly take God by surprise.

Haha. Too true.

Juke Box Love Song
I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day--
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.


See? It's so great I can't even think of any good comments. He's just wonderful.

Silence
I catch the pattern
Of your silence
Before you speak.
I do not need
To hear a word.
In your silence
Every tone I seek
Is heard.

Poets have an incredible way of not only putting things into words, but putting them into beautiful words.

Question
When the old junk man Death
Comes to gather up our bodies
And toss them into the sack of oblivion,
I wonder if he will find
The corpse of a white multi-millionaire
Worth more pennies of eternity,
Than the black torso of
A Negro cotton-picker.

Wow. Isn't that such an incredibly powerful image?

Yup, this is what I do on my day off of school... look up poems. Haha. That's really all I have to say. Happy birthday my poet friend. :)

<3

"Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost

If you don't already know, you'll figure out soon enough that I'm a poetry fanatic. I read poetry, I write poetry, I love poetry. I was flipping through my school English book today and came across this. Robert Frost was one of my favorite poets to begin with, but this just blew me away. At the risk of being completely cliche, it spoke to me. So yeah. Enjoy his poetic genius. :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.