8.9.11

Connie

Stop stalking my online accounts.
Thanks.

22.5.11

NaPoWriMo Poems

I thought I'd add these to this blog just in case anyone still reads it. These are some of the poems I wrote for the National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) challenge in April. Basically the concept was just to write thirty poems in thirty days. So here's the ones for public viewing:

blue steel



My grandmother was in a lot of ways like Derek Zoolander.
Not only did she like trying to help people who don't read good, but she also had issues with
Turning left.
On her feet? Completely fine. But behind a steering wheel... Impossible.
It's not that her car was incapable of
Turning left, no, she just always wanted to be right.
This woman would take four right turns just to avoid
Turning left.
I don't know why, exactly.
I can, however, relate.
There's an intersection I used to pass on the way to school
That's by far the most unpredictable
Left turn
I've found in the state.
I knew a girl who was killed in the same intersection.
Turning left
Kind of makes me nervous too.
But not so much that I'd avoid it like my grandmother.
I never knew why she hated
Left turns
So much.
But then I never understood why she got cancer either.
I didn't understand why we had to give her ice packs
Or why she shaved her pretty silvery hair
That had always seemed to bloom from her head
In a cascading garden of off-white curls.
I didn’t understand why she was in pain.
I didn't understand why we went to her house
Dusted off her car, got the keys, and
Turned left
Out of the driveway, only to return without having done anything except drive
I didn't understand why I had to play Go Fish with my little brother
While my mother, aunt, and grandfather talked to my grandmother
I didn't understand why she didn't make us top ramen the special way anymore
Or why there was never candy in the candy jar
I didn’t understand why it was suddenly such a priority for the two of us
To share a weekly game of Pac Man.
But I was glad that she didn’t let me win.
We each made the most of each of our
Turns,
Intent on fleeing from the hungry ghosts
Trying to claim Pac Man’s life.
I didn’t understand why she stopped being able to sit at the computer.
I didn't understand.

I understood when she was gone.
My parents sat us down and told us she had died.
I didn't cry. I knew it had been coming.
It was more right for her to die than continue to live in agony
How could she have
Left
My life forever?
I was young enough to incompletely grasp how she was gone
But old enough to accept I couldn't bring her back
I was told she
Left me money
That I couldn't claim till I was older.
It seemed silly to me.
I got to keep some of her things
Jewelry and little knick-knacks
They gave me the Pac Man game I always played with her
But I didn't want to play by myself.
I didn't wear black to her funeral.
My mother said she wouldn't have wanted us to be sad.
I got to wear a pretty white carnation pinned to my dress
That reminded me of her silver locks scrunched up in her curlers
Surrounding the flora with petals of her own.
I decided carnations would be my favourite flower from then on.
It seemed right.
Life was our Pac Man computer game
Grandma had passed
But I still had my entire
Turn left.



alphabet soup

Sometimes I marvel at the miracle of literacy
The disjointed pictures of what we call 'words' formulated through little scribbled markings called 'letters'
When I was in Kindergarten, I still believed in god
We prayed every morning in class and gave thanks for what we appreciated in our lives
Each kid in the class got a turn
And when the teacher called on my raised hand, I told her I was thankful for god giving us the alphabet
All the kids laughed at me.
Mrs. Debonarde scolded them and said it was a perfectly reasonable thing for which we should all be thankful
I still cried.
I studied the illustrated alphabet cards pinned high on the wall above the board
Wondered why they didn't see how amazing the different combinations were
How, if invited, each string of letters and spaces could transport you to a completely different universe
Could draw an intricate story, just as detailed and complex as the O'Keefe print hanging in my kitchen?
I removed myself from class that day and read a book called My Father's Dragon.
Somehow, I took revenge in knowing that the other kids had no idea of this secret world.It was magical.

I almost never read about dragons anymore.
Nothing against them, it just doesn't cross my mind
It does cross my mind that I've become incredibly familiar with words
You don't choose which words you read.
A sentence is put in front of you, and you automatically comprehend the meaning of the sequence.
I don't envy those people who can't read.
They aren't able to appreciate the stories in writingWon't ever disappear into a world of dragonsWithout a visual or audio aid. 
Movies never do books justice, and audiobooks simply aren't the same.
The satisfaction of turning the last page is surely superior to watching the end credits roll after a movie...
One day, I'm going to make a shirt that says, "I bet you $20 you just read this shirt."
For once, give the illiterate the upper hand.
Only trouble is, they'll never know it.



I forgot the title.

I just turned the page of my journal to jot down an idea for my next poem
But I forgot what that idea was.
I get up several times a day and walk into a different room
Only to have forgotten what I wanted to retrieve
We all open the fridge and forget what we wanted to eat
Pick up the phone and forget who we wanted to call
We all accidentally to write words sometimes
But sometimes that works to my advantage
Occasionally, I end up with something better than what I intended
It's like looking in the cabinet to find some crackers and instead getting chocolate covered pretzels.
They're still in the same general category, but much more satisfying.
Sometimes there's a satisfaction in just writing whatever comes to mind
Even if it doesn't make any sense
Or strays off on a ridiculous tangent about how a purple orangoutang was knocking on your window asking to borrow a cup of sugar to make the carrot cake for his pet kiwi.
I've forgotten where I was going with this train of thought...
Forget you even read this.



the wheels on the bus.

Last month I sprinted out the door
To catch the bus
In front of my house.
I got there a second before it left
I took a seat and checked my phone
To make sure I wasn’t running
Too late.

I felt the man next to me
Scrutinizing my
Purple hair
Leather jacket
and camera.
I smiled at him
He winked back at me.

He said the purple suited me
He liked my style.
I laughed and said
Thank you
How has your day been?
He grimaced and explained
He was sick
And would probably have to
Carry around an oxygen tank
For the rest of his life.
But at least the weather was
Getting warmer.
I smiled and agreed.
He had many stories to tell.

This month, I sprinted out the door
To catch the bus
In front of my house
I got there much too early
I waited for a while.
It finally came
I took a seat and checked my phone
To make sure I wasn’t running
Too late.

A man in front of me turned around
Pointed to my hair
Asked me why
I told him my hair hadn’t ever been purple before
He showed me his tattoos
And said he used to have a blue Mohawk
I laughed and said it must have been fun.
He had many stories to tell as well.

Today, I sprinted out the door
To catch the bus
In front of my house
I got there just in time
There were no seats so I stood
And checked my phone
To make sure I wasn’t running
Too late.

A man in a seat raised his voice
And asked if I am a journalist.
I didn’t know why he would assume such a thing
I smiled and said no.
He gestured in my general direction
Told me in his time
My hair would be uncalled for.
That it wouldn’t be accepted
That it still shouldn’t be accepted.
I smiled politely and told him
I accepted it for myself
So that’s all that mattered.

Another woman agreed with me.
He shook his head disapprovingly and
Dropped the conversation.
I bid him good day and got off at my stop.

My hair might not be the most practical
But it sure leads to a lot of interesting encounters
With strangers
Especially on public transportation.



l'esprit de l'escalier.

Fancy walking along a cracked, broken in path
The cool breeze stinging your exposed skin
Cold, but not cold enough to make you wish
You had grabbed the extra jacket
You contemplated bringing
Hands suctioned to the bottoms of your
Broken in pockets
The tops of your wrists
Creating a fine balance
Between toasty and nip.
Wet your lips in a futile attempt
Sniff
Watch your warm breath
Disperse and unfold
Taking with it the silhouettes
Of words
You wish you’d had the courage to utter
Grimace as you twirl the conversations
Through your mind
Again & again
Analyzed beyond the point
Of comprehension
Settling deep into the darkness of
What-ifs
And wishes.
Again & again & again & again,
Suddenly striking a sharp awareness
Of being incredibly
Alone.
Reach for the phone
In a spark of courage
Forcing your hand to brave the cold
Contemplate clearing your mind
Say what you wish you’d said
Close the phone.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Sniff.
Not worth the risk.
One foot in front of the other
Propelling yourself aimlessly through space.
It’s brisk.



cubic zirconium.

You cried me a symphony
Of cyan and teal
The mean reds consuming
Your sparkling nature
Leaving me to wonder
If you were ever truly pure

The tears glistened reflections
Of the hurt you expelled
Scarring your pristine surface
With droplets of imperfection
Somehow a beauty separate from your own

I remember the day I found you
A gem within the grimy geode
Hidden between the filth
And piles of rocks unworthy
Of my hammer
The hammer so eager to hunt
For your beauty

I found nothing.
Hours spent searching but to no avail
There were small insignificant victories scattered in the dust
Not worth the time it took
To excavate then from their much too easily broken tombs.

I struck upon you in frustration
And gasped as you opened your heart to me
Reflecting my image and all of that around me
At last, I'd found my treasure.

You were my favourite accessory
Fastened like a heart to my sleeve
But I was reckless.
I wore you and tore you
Your once bright visage diminished
To the point where I began my search
For something to return my own shine
To the point where I set you aside
Tolerated your company only out of habit
Your diamond shaped heart complimented my own so easily

But we eroded together and against one another
The facets of our bodies and minds no longer matching pieces
So we let each other go
To watch one another smooth the dents
Inflicted by carelessness or infatuation

Even then you continued to cut me with your diamond facade
But the distance grew and we healed
Shining anew
And I came to realize
You were never a diamond

In my haste to find a jewel, I mistook your welcoming sparkle
For something much more withstanding than you will ever be
Your cubic zirconium may reflect an impressive array of life
But your nature is too easily shattered to remain precious to me

I filed down the scars you scored in my own surface
Whittling myself down so all that was left of your marks
Was a smooth new plane to welcome the light
And hope someone strikes open my outer walls
To make me their own treasure.

You forced me to slice away a part of myself
It took a while to accept.
But the sharp edges have worn down
And you have become a minor part of me
You may have altered my cut forever
But no single facet defines the jewel.
In fact
I'm shining brighter than ever.



the veggie monster.

Wandering through countless pictures
A traveling gnome with a vague sense of misanthropy
Soul  stolen through (honestly) accurate pictures
Heart sold for a pair of sticks and guitar strings
A wandering soul, but a driven body like (my) own
Divided ideals won’t tear you past a vegetable-
Even artichokes have hearts.
Our conversations balance precariously on the tip
Of your (hopelessly) non-confrontational tongue
Directing the topic toward the near blizzard
Or the retreating warmth of yesterday’s pleasant overcast.
My eyes wander & my actions speak my thoughts
Verbatim to the (romantic) confab I’ve played out
A myriad of times in my mind
But you smile politely & nod
My encouraging drift trickling unnoticed through your catch.
Your elusive nature ensnares my curious (tendencies)
A cautiousness I (may) take with a serpent
Lying under the sheets of my bed-
The awareness of the viper
Does nothing to disarm the (danger) at hand.
The venomous bite leaving only
A trail of beating hearts & blushing cheeks
Relying on the kiss of your antidote for relief.
The cure will instantly satiate the longing
(Our) brief connection lingering in memory
Before settling into a comfortable routine
Between antidote and poison
Creating an obscure (friendship) between the opposites
Which are in some ways,
(So) very alike.
The comforting cure quickly learning when the
Sharp sting of the venom begins to crescendo
Diminishing the pain left in its wake
The serpent striking whenever it may (please,)
Creating a reliance on both parties
Lest the balance be overturned causing each side to collapse.
The soft hum of your guitar strings can (take) the snake
Into a hypnotic daze, leaving us alone
To meander through (this) precious sanctity.
Unspoken thoughts carried across the melody
Open for critical interpretation
Allowing me time (to) peel back your protective leaves
One by one
Savoring every layer
Until finally
Reaching
Your artichoke (heart.)



missed opportunities.

I watch
inconspicuously
as he holds the cup
to his thin lips

it lingers there
just a few seconds
longer than
necessary

we accidentally make
eye contact
and smile a
crooked half moon
mirroring
one another

I contemplate
saying
anything
but instead
look back toward
Bukowski

we repeat this
tiny dance
a few more times—
I wonder if he wants
to say
something
too?

he stands
walks over

will he sit down?

he passes
wanders
searching

I smile once again
point to the
dish box

he responds to our
tiny dance
laughs shyly and
thanks me.

exit coffee shop stranger.



flying

I sit here
reading poetry
writing poetry
breathing poetry
I stand to get
water
every time
I walk downstairs
I stand before the
first small flight
embrace the rail
with 
carefully
painted nails
every time
I see myself
trip
fall down that flight
out the window
every time.

when I was
small
I would have this
reoccurring dream
that I would
learn to
fly
by jumping
off 
that staircase
it was
exhilarating.
but that was a
dream. 
I wonder
when that exhilaration
became
so
dark?



singing in the rain

                     It’s
                  raining.
          There has been
       Quite a lot of water
    this year. I wonder if it
    will flood. Utah has had
    some pretty epic floods
     over the years. Once
           it flooded and


                                                                                                 Made
                                                                                            the caskets
                                                                                     from the graveyard
                                                                                 uproot from the soft soil
                                                                               and drift down the streets
                                                                                in a solemn parade of left-
                                                                                over tears the loved ones
                                                                                 spilled in memory of the
                                                                                        deceased floats.


                                   Then
                               in 1983, a
                          score of people
                         were killed in the
                      intense floods which
                  transformed State Street
                 into a river. People fished
                 from barricaded roadsides.
                   Never mind the people
                    who drowned in that
                          same water.




                                                                                                                                           I
                                                                                                                                         like
                                                                                                                                     the rain,
                                                                                                                                    But I wish
                                                                                                                                it wouldn’t rain
                                                                                                                             quite so often. It’s
                                                                                                                          making me want to hole
                                                                                                                        up in one of those caskets
                                                                                                                         that could be be washed
                                                                                                                               away if the floods
                                                                                                                                   come again.



                                                                I
                                                           have a
                                                      cold-blooded
                                                  heart & no amount
                                                 of rain will warm me
                                               to the bipolar weather
                                             that defines Utah’s daily
                                             forecast. Rain, rain, go
                                                  away... Please?






tyler durden

I am Maren’s failing mind.
My disconnected nerves cause endless distraction
Thinking gears sputtering
My thoughts dripping like molasses through my pen
In an almost illegible scrawl of cursive
Purple lipstick stains the rim of the porcelain cup
Whose contents match up with my sleepy nerves
Giving me the energy to stay awake just a few hours more
Working through my daily routine
In a somnambulatory daze
I allow Maren’s thoughts to drift off into
A labyrinth of romanticism and confusion
Each new turn taking her deeper into
The maze of her heart
With the ferocious minotaur taunting her
With a swift death and no more
Wandering
I’m lost within my own thoughts
A paradox of maybe’s & what-if’s
Trapped without an escape in sight.
I am Maren’s failing mind
And I plan to take her down with me.




a sense of greed

Today, I am feeling greedy.
My palms sweat with anticipation
My heart flutters like a schoolgirl with a crush
My pupils dilate as though they themselves
Wish to absorb all that they can
Before I tear my line of sight away.
My eyes are greedy.
My hearing falls to the traitorous images
I’d rather be deaf than blind.
Or would I?
The memory of melody fades to the point
Where it all seems nothing more
Than a lovely dream.
My fingers are greedy.
They itch to rasp the banquet in front of me
Trembling with the longing, a self-induced state of mind
Longing for blood sugar
I shut my eyes reluctantly to relinquish the desire
Forcing it all upon my open hands
I’d rather feel than see but not own.
Or would I?
My greedy fingers explore the food
Trying to remember the visual appeal
The food once held.
My nose is greedy.
My fingers become statues
As I take in the pleasant aroma of sustenance
I sniff as though I can breathe the food in.
I’d rather smell than touch.
Or would I?
I release the awareness in my sensitive fingertips
Allowing my nose to explore the food
Without distraction.
But my mouth is greedy.
I imagine the burst of flavor erupting on my taste buds
The satisfaction of the savory food
Threatens to overwhelm the smell.
I’d rather taste than smell.
Wouldn’t I?
Both remaining senses slip beyond my awareness
As I swallow
Taking away the tantalizing tempting of the food.
I let go & my senses begin to return
Leaving nothing of the food but a bitter aftertaste
And an already fading memory.
I open my greedy eyes
But to their utter dismay
My banquet has disappeared. 



house of mirrors.

Look
In the mirror
Picture aging gracefully with time
Unmarred by the harsh reality
Of truth
The cloned image
Portraying our serene façade
Through twin smiles
And a kiss
Of sexual prowess
Step closer
A thin veil of dust
Covers the reflecting glass
Obscuring vision
Blurring the harsh lines
Of our forced smiles
Into loving grins
Another step
Reveals the cracking paint
Slathered carelessly
On the back of the glass
The transparent spaces
Revealing the thin strings
Holding us together
Fibers growing thin
From excessive wear
Threatening to
Shatter
Our mirror world
Look
Past the mirror
Time taking his toll
In a harsh whirlwind of erosion
Cracks in our foundation
Sending raindrops of
Disagreement
Spiraling down with gravity
It’s not our fault.
The charming infatuation
Holding us together
Has run out
Time has run out
The bodies outside the mirror
Step out into daylight
Parting ways
Leaving what little
Was left of their love
In the house of mirrors.
It bounces around
Aimlessly
Across bent and
Twisted surfaces
Finally dying from lack
Of a human host.
It’s not a reflection’s nature
To love
Only to mimic lifetimes
And complement
The sparkling trail
Of tears we left behind.



nelumbo nucifera

Serene water
Surrounding
Space below
Magenta petals
Rooted far
Far below the surface
The surface of water
The surface of mud
Earth
Frigid earth yet
Warm leaves
Warm blooded stem
Attracting
Cold blooded
Pollination
Expanding the eyes
Of Vishnu
Elegantly pure
An ideal of
Femininity
So divine
Monet settled on
Water lilies
For fear of
Painting injustice
Injustice to the image
Of the Sacred Flower
Sacred in consuming
Lotus-eaters consuming
Petals
Stems alike
Though harnessing not
The narcotic
Nature
Of the blue lotus
Not narcotic-
Unstained
Gentle accents
On the bright
Circle
Precious seeds
Laid delicately
In their caves
Untouched by water
Supporting
Footsteps of
Divinities