Sunday Scribblings - 8/30/09

Poetry

Here's a haiku inspired by the movie I started watching tonight:


The joke is on you,
shall we play a little game?
Why so serious?

Poetry and me

I've been trying to beef up my collection of poetry books, and my latest purchase arrived today:

Poems of New York

I like poetry and I'm a Manhattophile (is that a word? It should be) so this is right up my alley. So far, I'm happy with the purchase. There seems to be a wide variety of subjects, all of course having to do with New York City. It's an attractive little thing, not too large, hardbound and it even includes an attached cloth bookmark. If you're thinking of getting it, just get it.

I've always had a love-hate relationship with poetry. I've tried to understand what it's all about and learn, by myself, how to read it. Some poems I just cannot seem to grasp while others offer little language treasures that bring a smile to my face. Poetry is not easy to read, and I find a lot of value in the trying. Although poetry can be challenging, once you understand a poem and find that it means something to you, it's so worthwhile.

I like anthologies the best. I enjoy flipping to random poems, never knowing what I'll be reading on that page. I prefer shorter poems, but sometimes I'll tackle a longer piece. I enjoy the discovery of the new, but of course I also enjoy returning to old favorites.

There are a few rules and tips I follow with poetry:

• Some poems will not speak to you. They may confuse you, and you may actually hate a few of them. That's perfectly O.K. Poetry is personal both for writer and reader, and what kind of reader enjoys reading everything?
• Read every poem twice. The first time is for discovering what the poet has to express, and the way in which he or she expresses it. The second time is for pulling it all together into one piece after you've seen what the poem has to offer. I promise you, the second time will be easier.
• There is no such thing as bad poetry, only poetry you don't like. The only exception to this is a poem which was written without passion, without interest. If the writing of the poem meant something to the poet, it has value.
• Understandable language is preferable to awkward language. If I have to read a line three times to understand what it says, I'm not happy. I like poems that make sense.
• Keep trying. The next poem you read may well become a favorite. Each poem you read will enrich you. You don't have to read some every day, but do take the time now and then to do so. You'll be glad you did.
  

I'm curious - how many of my readers are poetry readers? What do you think about my little rules?

Sunday Scribblings - 3/22/09

"I come from..."

Today, I'm going to try a little impromptu poetry.


I come from a place where bicycles roam
Where even the strangest feel right at home
I come from a place so pretty and green
Eugene

I come from a town where art is a right
Where fog creeps along and swallows the light
I come from a town with sights so serene
Eugene

More Random Poetry

This time I'm going to pull a site off a randomly-picked blog on my bloglinks, "what about the plastic animals?"

The site I clicked on: www.youngna.com
The word I clicked on: see

Just a disclaimer: this poem isn't about anyone in particular, or at all. I just wrote what sounded good and it's more from the perspective of a character than anything else.

The poem:

See what you get when you fake it?
You're only fooling yourself
Your expiration date has passed
I'm putting you back on the shelf

You've wound me tight as a rubber band
Watch me snap in your face
See what you get when you play me like that?
My name for you is Disgrace

See what you get when I just stop caring?
I'm leaving you out in the dust
You may find my heart, my mind, my sympathy
But you'll get no more of my trust

Hi all. Time for another blog post. I hope you aren't too bummed out that I've only been writing every few days now. I've been playing games on Neopets and listening to a lot of music, but otherwise not much else is going on.

I had an idea for a blog post and I'm going to do it right now. What I'm going to do is go to a random site on my links, and highlight a random word on that page, and then write a poem based on that word. It'll either be the title of the poem or used in the first line. Here we go.

The site I clicked on: www.collegehumor.com
The word I highlighted: day

The poem:

Days of wisdom, strength and light
Turn to cold, seductive night
When darkness comes you lose your sight
Let life's hope be your guiding light

Days of sea, storm and rain
Turn to years without your pain
Take one step out, see what you gain
Your day of light will come again
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Well that was interesting. I may post some more later on today, or later on this week, if I get around to it.

So good, I had to post it in both blogs . . .

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Thanksgiving is here, as it is every year
And this time around
I greet it with cheer

I'm thankful this year for so many things
I'm thankful for the lovely way Joss Stone sings

I'm thankful for music
Thankful for Ellen
Thankful for soap that smells of watermelon

I'm thankful for Jessica
Thankful for Beth
Thankful for both of them, they love me to death

I'm thankful for my parents
Thankful for home
Thankful I don't have to go out and roam

I'm thankful for my niece, she's a little sweetheart
I'm thankful I get to see her life from the start

Most of all I'm thankful my brother's still here
I'm thankful we lived through the worst of our fears
I'm thankful my future sis-in-law is improving
Seeing her fight for her life is quite moving

I'm thankful for all I have, I know I am lucky
This Thanksgiving I am certainly one thankful ducky

Well folks, seems blogger is not letting me into my Poetry Pond to post my latest poem!! It takes forever for the page to load, and instead of loading I get a page that says there's a server error. I hope that's just temporary, because I'd hate to lose access to my poetry site! So I've decided to post my latest work on this blog and I'll put it on the other blog when that one is up again.

*Edit: IMMEDIATELY after I posted this, I was able to get back into my poetry blog. Life is funny, huh?*

First, however, an explanation of what led me to write the poem in the first place:

I wrote this poem because lately I've been listening to a lot of bluegrass music, especially bluegrass collaborations with Irish and Celtic musicians. Bluegrass and other mountain music of America came into being, it's been said, out of the music that the Scotch-Irish immigrants brought with them from Europe. Somehow, the fiddle tunes and songs morphed into what we now know as traditional American folk and country music.

With this in mind, I started thinking of what music might have meant to one of those Irish immigrants in his first few months deep in the mountains of a strange and foreign new land, a new home. Music played on the instruments the immigrants both carried with them and discovered in their new home must have kept them sane, kept them from missing their home too much. Music must have provided them that one last link between their old country and their new one. Obviously, music continues to be important to the descendants of these Irish and Scottish settlers, even if it sounds a lot different. So, in honor of these hardy immigrants and the music they shared with America, I've written the following poem.

Homesick Immigrant Blues

I miss my home and I miss my sea
I miss the green rolling hills
I miss all the things I left behind
For chasing foreign thrills

I wanted to stay but hunger was fierce
I cried when we left the shore
But now I seek my fortunes here
I thirst to find my more

America is a big, strange land
So wild, so free, so bright
I found myself a little farm
Yet I miss my home at night

When I think about old Ireland
And what I left behind
I pick up my trusty violin
And it brings me peace of mind

I play my jigs and reels and airs
I play what I learned as a lad
I play for those still poor and starved
I play for my mum and dad

Not much to report. Later on tonight, if all goes well, I'll be posting a new poem to my poetry blog. I'm going to try to write one poem per week from now on, so I can be productive without being pressured too much. Because I don't always write too creatively under pressure.

I have this to say, though. Thank goodness for online HTML tutorials!!! Or else I'd be lost trying to make my sites as I like them.

Ok, I managed to post the two poems that I actually wrote during the camping trip at my poetry pond, but the third one that I was going to write, I have not written yet. I should have done it during the trip, but I'm lazy. I may or may not do it, it depends on how inspired I am. But, anyhow, there's two new poems for you all to read.

Ok first off: I have a BRAND NEW BLOG!!! Go to the Poetry Pond at http://poetrypond.blogspot.com and check it out!! It's my blog for posting my poems and maybe other writing. And if others want their poetry posted, that's cool with me!! I hope you all enjoy it, read it, and comment on it!!

This weekend I saw The Matrix Reloaded. It was damn good!! The special effects are much more impressive than even the first movie. The story was a bit confusing and the movie was slow in parts, but overall I LOVED it!! There are a LOT of questions to be answered in the next one, so I can't wait to see how it all ends!! And I've posted a link to a blog called "The Matrix Essays." DON'T read it until you see Reloaded, unless you want to know what happens in advance.

And now, something for you to all enjoy. A poem written by me!! It's called "The Piper" and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And it's very long lol.

The Piper

Upon the bonnie highlands
In olde Scotland one still night
A piper stands at attention
In preparation for the fight
He fills his lungs, he fills the bag
His pipes call out their song
The piper's seen many a battle
But now he must be strong
He's old and weary, like his pipes
He moves his weakened limbs
It won't be long 'til someone else
Plays "Amazing Grace" for him

One chilly morn' in Inverness
It was 1829
A wee young boy picks up the pipes
For the very first time
He struggles hard to hold them up
With advice from dear ole Dad,
"Now you've got your own bagpipes,
my little bonnie lad"
"Play them grand, play them proud,
Play them right, play them loud"
"You're not just another child, you see.
Now you're a bagpiper just like me"

The wee lad stands upon the heath
With a nervous gleam in his eye
Pride of country running in his veins
He gives the pipes a try
He struggles to keep his fingers straight
Upon the chanter of wood
He's aware that here so long ago
His own grandfather stood
The sounds come out so harsh and shrill
But the young lad tries again
He finally gets it right this time
With a sorrowful tone on the wind

Ten years later on that same heath
The soldiers march along
Our bonnie hero marches too
Playing his military song
He's in the British Army now
Fighting for homeland
But he holds neither gun nor knife
He's in the Army band
His part to you may seem quite small
Just playing some bagpipe songs
But it's the music from those lovely pipes
That moves the soldiers along

Standing in his tartan
From his clan's glorious past
He plays the tunes with honor
His fingers moving fast
Someone fires a shot
Chaos all around
He searches for his brother
Who's nowhere to be found
The music stops, our hero looks down
His brother's wound cuts like a knife
Our hero tends to the crimson wound
And saves his brother's life

Now he plays his mournful song
Remembering those old days
His brother survived, but now he's dead
In his memory the song plays
It's getting harder to fill the bag
His lungs aren't quite as strong
But his pride in country, army and kin
Gives him strength to play the song
The pipes push out their tears of air
Scotland's beautiful this night
Now the piper must face a different foe
Against death he must fight

Upon the bonnie highlands
In olde Scotland one cold day
A new piper wipes the tears from his eyes
And bravely starts to play
He play for his dear bonnie grandfather
Who's at rest six feet deep
When "Amazing Grace" finally ends
The piper starts to weep
His granddad lived a valiant life
Served his country with all his heart
And now that he's with God in heaven
The piper and his bagpipes must forever part

After thinking about the Willamette Valley folk festival last night, I got really inspired and decided to write a poem about it!! So without further ado, I present to you . . .

Folk Music Festival

Dread Lock
Hackey Sack
Plate of Noodles
Gentle Breeze
Pouring Rain
Grass Stain
Tie Dye
Student Union
Love and Peace
Hair Grease
Wooden Drum
Feeling Numb

Dance to the music, young child
Feel the rhythm move inside you
Driven by the man with the drum
On the stage above you
Listen to the sounds
Can you hear it?
More importantly,
Can you feel it?
Pay attention
Listen close
It's not just music,
It's your life.

Play on, guitar
Respond to the fingers strumming you
The fingers pressing on your fretboard
He doesn't hurt you, he loves you
Give him all you've got
Make these people listen to the gentle sounds you make
Don't ever stop the music.

Pound on, drum
Yes, it's violent, but then again so is life
Your rhythms cut through like a knife
Boom, pop! Boom boom, pop!
You're their master
Make their feet move
They don't care anymore
They just want to feel the rhythm.

Wail on, violin
Cry out your song
Your orgasmic song
Caressed by the bow
Gently held by the hand
Cry out in joy
Cry out in peace
Cry because your song will touch a heart
Isn't that love?

Dance on, hippie man
Forget you're here on earth
Let the music take you wherever
You don't even care who sees you
It's you, and the music, and what else is there?
You become one with the music
Isn't that love?

Thank you, guitar
Thank you, child
Thank you, drum
Thank you, hippie
Thank you, violin
Thank you, music.

Thank you, for all the good times.

Ok ladies and gentleman, here is my poem about Jeff Buckley. If you do not understand some of what I write, I suggest reading more about him on the web. I may not be the best poet, but I do write from the heart, so take it as it is.
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To Jeff

Step in
The water’s fine
You’ve stumbled upon a night divine
Love is all around you
You call it out by name
Lay back, take a breath, play the game

The piercing cold
Holding you like a mother holds her babe
This is where you were drawn
Could you not see it in your dreams?
Things will become clear for them
When the pain is gone
After all, you put it in song

It calls you, and you follow it
It swallows you
Eats you up
Devours you
So greedily it devours the gift
The love
The voice
You resisted all those years
But now you give in, and you pay the price

Where did you go?
I cannot hear your voice
Jeff?
Jeff?
JEFF!
The moment has come
The voice is silenced
But silenced only on this physical earth, for the voice will never truly die
It lives on, in the works you made and were in the process of making
In the performances you gave, you gave it your all. Why did you do that?
Why did you have to give yourself to the waves?
The voice lives on in hearts and minds, those who have heard you and love you
And like our Lord it will rise again, in the hearts of those who have yet to hear it
What a gift they will have, knowing your magic
But what sadness, that they will never be able to know you like they need to
The voice is better than nothing, but it may never be enough

I never knew you, until it was too late
I feel cheated, cheated out of what others had the chance to experience
But even so, I feel like you’re a gift, and I will never be the same
Your smile shines, but it tells great lies
To see the truth, we look into your eyes
Puppy dog, looking for affection
So sad, so lonely, did it come from him?
Were you born with those eyes, or did they grow from pain?
One look says it all, says more than we ever wanted to know
You could have been the happiest man in the world, but those eyes bring sadness

That voice
That wonderful voice
Piercing hearts like an unclean dagger
Refusing to let go, demanding attention
Dripping with emotion, sensitivity, sorrow, anger, vulnerability
You write a book with each sigh, each moan, each scream
Your body was taken by the water
But the voice is what stays
Isn’t that all that matters?
I made a mistake
Your love stayed too
It touched everyone who knew you
And I think it also touches those who didn’t
Love and a voice
What a combination
What a way to change the world

It’s never over
It never will be
You are our dream brother
Can’t you see?
You trusted the water
But it didn’t respect you
But we do
We have to
We love you
How could we not?

Joey Harrington, our former UO quarterback, had his first touchdown pass in the NFL today in the Lions game against Green Bay. Yay Joey!!!

I updated my Jeff Buckley site, which is located here. I've added links, and a little button link to one of the sites. If you are a reader of my page and have NOT heard Jeff Buckley's music or found out about him at all, please go check out my Jeff page and the links on that page. Go out and get some mp3's of his stuff. Or even better, buy his music. This guy was good, really good.

I think I'll conclude today's post with an impromptu poem, which I am dedicating to B.A.L, she knows who she is ;)

Dance with me in the moonlight,
let me see the glimmer in your eyes
Let me peer into your soul
and hear your breathless sighs
I am your haven, your Dream Brother
Let me be a home for you
Know that you are loved
no matter what you do

I hold out my hand, won't you take it?
If you give me your heart, I promise not to break it.

Well ladies and gents, I may not be around much today. My friend Mike is coming over. So no update tomorrow night. You have a homework assignment. Leave a comment on this message responding to the following question: What would you like to see on my blog, or how can I make my blog better?

And now for a poem . . . .

The coldness creeps like a black widow spider
dark and harsh, without mercy.
The frost on the ground crunches against the weight
of hard soled boots, you bought them only a week ago.
Breathing hard, disoriented,
hoping the light will come.
Where is the light? Is it coming for you?
Will you have to stay cold like this forever?
You hear a bird cry out, flying alone
you sit and collect your thoughts.
You feel the warmth,
the light has arrived
and the fear in your heart is like the bullet
from a gun of cold hard metal.

Part 2 of my 9/11 thoughts:

First off, my story and a few comments. I woke up, and went online, and saw some news links, etc, about the towers going down. At first I didn’t really know what was going on. I didn’t realize how serious it was. Then I started watching TV, and found out what was really happening. After that, the rest of the day was like a bad dream. No matter what I did, the events in NYC and DC were always on my mind. Nagging. Tearing. Pulling my mind away from everyday life. The media coverage was overkill. It was on just about every channel. After a while, it became too much. Seeing the towers go down was just too much. It was like a dream, like a movie.

It was my sister’s birthday, and I remember feeling so sad that such a horrible thing was happening on her birthday. I always wonder what she was thinking that day. Because it’s her birthday, Sept. 11 can never be completely horrible for me. I still have that little piece of joy to hold on to.

That whole day, I didn’t really do much. It felt wrong to think about anything else, do anything else, or not think about the implications of the events. As usual, I tried to remove myself from reality, and go on with things. It was hard, but I did it. I used to feel guilty about that, but now I don’t. Because if I didn’t move on, the terrorists win.

How have I changed? Not much. I won’t be eager to fly now, but mostly because of the hassle. I don’t fear for my life. I would fear for my life if stuff like this happened every day in the US. But it doesn’t. I don’t know whether to feel guilty about this or not. But I will say that I do tend to appreciate things a bit more than I did before. I appreciate the people in my life, because they could be gone tomorrow. And on the bright side, about a month and a half after 9/11 I met someone who makes me happier than I’ve ever been before. So I guess my life even improved after 9/11.
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And now for a poem about 9/11, written by myself today:

I know you’ve felt the pain
You feel you’ve been done wrong
But if you’ll give me a minute,
then I’ll sing you a song
The vulture tore the curtain
The red silk cover of life
The eagle tried to stop it
And paid for it with his life
The skies were black with poison
Belched and fouled by hate
The Towers took the blast and fell
In the city Great

Questions went unanswered
Goodbyes fell to air
Young and old
Man and woman
They all were shattered there
But now they are all Angels
Guarding over child
The love that still seeps through the cracks
In man’s heart runneth wild
As long as there’s a rainbow
Coming through the storm and rain
Those who live to tell the tale
Will find hope and peace again