Friday, February 11, 2011

Poems Unrelated

Hello Interwebs. Welcome to the land of Friday. Last round of cinquains today. Oh no! But you know that just means a new form next week.

Today was pretty good, my work study advisor might be raising my payrate which is always exciting. I ate an orange scone, which was delicious. Went to a poetry reading thing, it was nice. The dude was funny, but stumbled a bit on his words. But like mad props for getting on stage dude.

“The Color Blue”
different girl
floating, flowing, killing
childhood stolen, turned assassin

“What's In A Life?”
sliver, slipstream
sliding, singing, dropping
counting out each sand

subjective, bright
blinding, dimming, melting
filling in lost memories

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Return of the Dork

Hi Internets, it's time traveling-wednesday. (I missed updating on wednesday itself, so I'm backdating the post. SO I'M FROM THE FUTURE. scary).

Been feeling a lot better. Watched some Star Trek. Visited my friends and followed a 40K battle, and played mario kart wii as another TV was on CoD:Black Ops. How we roll.

But to the cinquains.

“Purple Cut Steel”
Polyhedral, number-bound
rolling, turning, dancing
deciding on our fates

short, friendly
waiting, watching, shifting
middle of the week

“Double Sided”
magic blood
dancing, moving, fighting
a souls eternal battle

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Of Green Houses and Brown Trees

Hi Internet. I have a bad cold / weak flu.

So I'll be doing Cinquain poetry this week on account of it not killing my brain too badly. Cinquains have five lines, and the first is a word, the second is two describing words, line three is action / -ing words, line four is for expressing "feeling", and line five is one word.

It is a Tuesday, late but still Tuesday, and so I turn to the Magpie. (Magpie 52 of a tree in front of a green house:

“A Pale Frame”
tall, mirror-like
opening, closing, clicking
smudged by memories touch

“To Be, Or Not”
soft, fluffy
falling, growing, changing
the world made new

“Funny Meanings”
green, wide
sitting, protecting, nurturing
children of old trees

Friday, February 4, 2011

Lindbergh Palace

What's new internet? 

Today I have a poem for you that's inspired by a song. The song is called Day's Don't Fade, and is by Lindbergh Palace. It's a pretty snazzy song, I recommend a listen to it. And of course this rounds out the Curtal Sonnets (yay) and onto something new next week.

“Based On A Song”

Day's Don't Fade.
The way that sunlight, moonlight, starlight must
the memories they carry with them on the wind
Building up a reservoir, a blockade
protecting you with a thicker crust
secret moments of the soul, suspended forever in times,

connections with the future, bridges to the past
Reminds you of what beauty is.
more like Calcifer, and less like a single ember
All of those fantastical times, they were a blast,

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Uncanny !

Welcome Internets, to part II of the Curtal sonnets.

I haven't really been up to much as of recently. Contemplating buying the Jubilee and Wolverine comic that just came out a few days ago. It's a new mini-series (1 of 4). Looks like fun, but I'm not sure if I'd be able to get the rest of the issues, since I'd be ordering online, and shipping is annoying (for this first comic it wouldn't be, since I have to buy other stuff anyways). Oh the problems in my life. Haha. >.<

Until I decide whether I want that comic or not, here's a poem about Kitty Pryde. Because apparently that's how I roll sonnets (or sonnet-esk things), in comic book clothes.

“Call Sign Shadowcat”

Once there was a girl, her name was Kitty Pryde
Once only for a sweet, light foil
Once just the little kid sister amongst the guys
But then she got her own mini-series, became bonafide
Shared it with Wolverine, of course, the X-men's oil
But was stronger than he and Ogun combined, proving her value as an ally.

Rolling up with Lockheed the alien dragon at her side,
you know you can't argue with that kind of bonding physic.
And there she goes with the crew again, off to save another day,
So if you see a girl that's just phasing or levitating by,
                                                                              Say Hey!

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Curtal, Curtal, Sounds Like a Little Bird

Hey Internet's.

Wow it's been a long day, and it's not over yet. Wrote a too-long how-to article for my magazine class this morning, went to class, been reading media theory (omg my head), and typing, and now doing this. Soon will have tea and be watching Dollhouse, maybe playing some video game. we'll see where to night leads us in its darkness. 

I'm going to try Curtal Sonnets. This one is a killer. It's a sonnet that is 11 (or 10 and a half) lines. And I'm like super-duper bad at knowing how to stress syllables. So, I'mma shoot in the dark with this, and hope I at least don't kill anyone. 

“Sounds Like A Little Bird”

Sounds like a little bird
singing on the window sill
dreaming of the sun coming up around
There it goes, flying off blurred
it is heading out to find it's lost sun, going downhill
leaving behind its tree, a ghost-town

On it's journey, if finds instead a bright moon
Wherein there were little rabbits, fishing for water
But the birds wings were growing week, strained
And then the next little afternoon,
                                                  it rained.  


Friday, January 28, 2011

Carpe that Diem! (Or Noctem)

Bonjour Internets.

The boy from Monday decided the other day that we should stop seeing each other. It's weird. But I think it'll be ok. Funny how much it fail to hurt in comparison to what I thought it would you know? Such is life I guess. Can't learn to fly before you fall, or land and ollie before failing. Nothing works out all the time. That's part of the magic of the game of it I think. But I wonder if failure is such a good thing to get cozy with?

But anyway...
Last round of Carpe Diem (or Noctem this time around!)


frost comes calling in the middle of the night
much to many people's delight
yet finding the way through ice and snow, we must find a place to go

in the library there is a friendly hug
and cookies in the ancient stable over there

things happen in funny circles
like rivers

life is full of funny things
the curiouser, the curiouser
life is what it is

be who you must be

ollie down that stairway
breathing in the pavement studded moonlight

dance through a crowded city
drinking the movement



singular constants since the beginning

Roll little one, roll,
Statues we are not

Thursday, January 27, 2011

A Poem About Tea

Hola Internets.

So the meeting for the school literary magazine went well. Have to do a lot of planning for this semester, and come up with a way to advertise the magazine's release around campus. As well as you know, layout, and editing, and printing, and all the other stuff we didn't do as much of last semester. Also, in other news, I turned in my first article of the winter / spring to the school newspaper. Hopefully the editor will learn to spell my name correctly this semester.

But besides that, Carpe Diem poetry time! (Ok, it's a little lose on the theme, but I tried, so that counts...right?)


strawberry tea, strawberry tea
with a hint of kiwi
the smell of summer calling
and an underlying hint of blooming spring

yet the snow is falling
outside the window,
the wind and ice gathering deep

strawberry tea, strawberry tea
with a hint of kiwi
dried fruit of seasons past
defusing bright red in a glass

yet the snow is falling
the blue mantel, blocked out
birds sleeping, rather than singing

strawberry tea, strawberry tea
with a hint of kiwi
the sun never came out today
as the clouds were falling down

yet the snow is falling
laughter hangs on the air
as snowballs crash on plain glass doors

strawberry tea, strawberry tea
with a hint of kiwi
how warm you are inside
a dawning bit of sunlight

yet the snow is falling
and we will go out and play
having fun in the cold all day

strawberry tea, strawberry tea
with a hint of kiwi
your summer is so beautiful, but so far away
the white stark wonderland is here today

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Roll To Me (Magpie Day!)

Hey Internets, my roommate is playing that song (see title) and jamming out. I'm waiting for my laundry to finish washing, and am standing on shaky ground with the kid I was kind of seeing. We got into a crazy fight yesterday, the type where silence is deafiningly loud and more hurtful than any words you could bother to come up with. I feel like I ought to cry, but I know that's not going to happen. So that makes me feel worse about it. *headdesk* Relationships are weird.

But to the Magpie! (And later tonight I have to go to my Literary magazine meeting, yay!)

Today's Magpie, (Found Here: Has a picture of a wood with a spray-painted arrow across the top. Kind of Robert Frost-y with the roads in a wood thing diverging. Only the woods are telling you, HEY LISTEN GO OVER THERE>>>>

This weeks poem style is Carpe Diem (Oh, boyyyy.... but really, I think I need it) Definition: Carpe diem is a Latin expression that means "seize the day." Carpe diem poems have the theme of living for today. (think Gather Ye Rosebuds) So let's get rollin' !

“The Direction of Synergy”

The kettle is singing my darling
Can you hear it ringing?
The world is calling for you,
Wake Up. Wake Up. Wake Up.

How can you do anything if you don't come to greet the daylight?
Everything is turning, everything is moving,
like the motion of a skateboard
hugging the curves of the Earth

The day is early yet, the sun is rising bright,
Can you hear the birds singing?
They miss you,
Wake Up. Wake Up. Wake Up.

Are you lost up in the wood?
Thinking of the Frost
you feet know the way better than you do,
follow where their arrows lead

Sometimes the path you chose is not the best one,
Can't you see there is still time to go back again?
Fix everything, and re-chart like a lost ship drifting in the night
Wake Up. Wake Up. Wake Up.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Acrostics, Part III

Hello Internets, keeping it light on the rant today and higher on the poetry. So let's just dive along right into our last little batch of acrostics. Warning: There is no reasoning / theme behind the poetry today, it's all just a chaotic fall down a pretty hole of mind.Though, I guess, it is at least a little "adventure-y".

Mingling on the edge of a new day
Illuminating the tips of stars,
Distant though they are
Never asking much to be done
Imagining the flight of owl's feeding
Growing on in length
Helplessly leaking away, until tomorrow
Thinning out, as dawn breaks

Dungeons and dragons and magical things
In a world unseen, but quite well known
Characters of all sorts, birthed like Athena
Everyone gathering for new adventures to foreign shores

“Father of Sigurd”
Very well known,
Once upon a time
Long, long ago, in medieval Iceland.
Sigmund was slotted to be the hero,
Undoing Siggeir's life
Not stopping in his conquest until a fighting pause,
Guided to Valhalla by Odin himself

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Poetry, Art, and the Nature of Theft

Hello Internets.

We're still doing acrostics poetry today, yes, but the subject matter is a little more serious than you will probable ever read in this blog definitively before, and most probably after. I live near-ish to Philadelphia. Philadelphia has a lot of art museums and such likes. Lots. And I've been in the Art museum, you know the fake-roman looking one with the Rocky statue out front, and let me tell you -- it isn't anything special. And I'm not just saying that because I've been in the Louvre. (The Louvre is of course better) I mean I've even been in photography museums and things and yes "Oh Edward Weston!" everyone says, yeah ok, man was great at doing innovative stuff for that time but I hardly think he is to photography what William Gibson's Neuromancer is to cyberpunk fiction. What am I getting at? Oh yes,

The Barnes Museum. F'Philadelphia and Ed Rendell and all the other stupid people. You do not mess with Albert C. Barnes. You can't just move his stuff. I know they went threw all the legal loopholes and yad, yad, yad. Still it's annoying, and dumb, and insulting to the nature of art. Mr. Barnes used his collection as a teaching tool, the building was a school, closed to the public, open to people that actually care. Most people don't really care about art, frankly. Not in the way where it is more than a social, money thing. Art is meant not to be looked at for it's monetary value, or even for aesthetic beauty, but more for what it shows us about ourselves as humans. This move shows us how horriblly greedy, selfish, and disrespective people can really grow to be.

And that, I think, is the biggest shame.

So only one poem today, on account of how long my rant has been.

"Albert C."

Built up a fortune
Argyrol was the liquid gold
Rising up out of the smoke
Netting paintings worth the ransoms of nations
Establishing a true art school.
Stolen after death, legacy lost.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Slide Across -- It's Acrostics Time

Greetings my fair Internet.

My classes at university are starting this week, which means slogging across campus in the snow and slushy rain for class, and meetings, and clubs, and other things. But all for the power / benefit of education right? Right. So this week I have acrostic (also called name) poems for you. I know, not very creative on my part compared to last week's Ballads. But you know, I am trying here. Ok, so acrostic poetry, "tells about the word. It uses the letters of the word for the first letter of each line." 

Sounds simple enough, so lets ride the wave on in.

“Blue Slush”

Calling people
Listening and learning
Life, developing all the time

Perspectives shifting in and out of view
Hoping to share joys and trumps and sorrows
Opening up minds and bits of soul
Not yet wanting to let go
Ending the connecting


Focusing in on things
Letting the darkness run
Away in fear
Shining, shining pin pricks
Hoping to mimic distant stars
Laughing all the while
Inconceivable madness
Growing big, growing small, a simple turn
Hitting everywhere, soaking swaths of spaces and rooms
Traveling at the physical constant of c

Friday, January 14, 2011

The Nine O'Clock Muse

Greetings Internets. I am posting this poetry entry a bit later than perhaps is normal tonight since I had family things to deal with earlier in the day. So I guess we best be on with it, without any elephants hopefully about. Keeping it short on account of it starting to get on in hours.

I'm terribly sorry in advance about the lack of sense this poem is probably going to make to you.

“The Beauty of It”

A little black robot sat on a shelf
hiding behind a cat
yet the cat, he well, liked to live behind the kangaroo
not the kangaroo on the bookshelf mind, but one akin the same

the way we see
the way we be
how they act and turn in twine
based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time

the green dinosaur is bold,
the yellow one perhaps less so
but better than the sheep,
hiding in a hollow

the way we see
the way we be
how they act and turn in twine
based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time

a battery is charming
a mint can holds forbidden sands
while the mints sit sitting in a baseball's hand
leaving the yellow fabric of it all alone

the way we see
the way we be
how they act and turn in twine
based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time

a box of shells smiles on its mount
above a trio of jewel cases
yet still a bit timid in it's pride
letting the screws and brick shine

the way we see
the way we be
how they act and turn in twine
based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time

A pagoda in the distance, beyond the reach of time
built and yet flimsy,
protected by a weaken dragon
holding a banner of fortune paper

The way we see.
The way we be.
How they act and turn in twine.
Based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Ballad Poetry, Take II

So Internets, today's poem I hope is a bit more traditional in the form of it's subject, at least as far as a ballad goes. It's not very love based like some ballads are, but at least this one has a journey and more of a prose-story edge to it. Which I hope makes it easier to follow along with compared to yesterdays poetry. It's very classic, nay, sterotypical fantasy fair, but I think it has a certain sense of spoken flow to in that makes it cute.


There once was a girl who went walking
into the forest went she
and found quite astonishingly,
a little old god who forgot who he was and went on the road with she

off on a journey they go
wanting to find who left them behind
through the hills all lined with snow
down to the oceans and the shores of trade winds

There once was a girl who went walking
'til the end of the road,
where commissioned a ship did she
and the little old god followed along quite enthusiastically

off on a journey they go
wanting to find who left them behind
through the hills all lined with snow
down to the oceans and the shores of trade winds

On the high sea the girl had stopped walking
couldn't really swing it you see,
so finally had time to stop and think did she
and the little old god found this new company quite dreary

off on a journey they go
wanting to find who left them behind
through the hills all lined with snow
down to the oceans and the shores of trade winds

On the high sea the girl had stopped walking
but a storm had found the ship you see
and so up into the the rigging went she
and the little old god stopped and stared, finding the weather endearing

off on a journey they go
wanting to find who left them behind
through the hills all lined with snow
down to the oceans and the shores of trade winds

The girl was astounded by what was to be seen
the sky had started singing
and the little old god danced, all the way up, high above the sea
leaving the girl this time to follow rather than lead.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Musical Poetry, Ft. Magpie 48

Hey Internets.

So Magpie Tales (  is a blog that updates about once a week with a photography prompt with which you are to base your poetry off of. This week's photo is of some sheet music, so in addition to today's poem being inspired (abet, it turns out, loosely) by the photography, this week's theme gets to be Ballad style poetry. Ballad poems are "poems that tells a story similar to a folk tale or legend and often has a repeated refrain. A ballad is often about love and often sung. A ballad is a story in poetic form"

Oh snap, diving deep in uncharted waters this week! I am probably only going to have one of these for each post this week since they are a bit longer than what I did last week with the ABC poems. But maybe I will feel some inspiration later on in the week...but probably not.

“Fold and Flow”

Oh Albatross, oh Albatross, why are thou so sad?
The darling dear just sat and stared and naught a word said she.

Oh, listen to the wind sing it's slippy song.
Beneath, the sea's swishing abounds, turning it's own tables
working nightclub DJ rounds
Oh, listen to the grass whistles it's tune of summer dear.
And in the darkness you can hear the stars ringing loud, clear.

Oh Albatross, oh Albatross can't you hear the sounds?
Come here little dear and listen to the symphony that is happening all around.
The world is not a place a fear, nor a place of harm, but a cozy blanket built of sound.

Oh, listen to the wind sing it's slippy song.
Beneath, the sea's swishing abounds, turning it's own tables
working nightclub DJ rounds
Oh, listen to the grass whistles it's tune of summer dear.
And in the darkness you can hear the stars ringing loud, clear.

Oh Albatross, oh Albatross, is that a bit of a smile that I see?
I am glad you are at the very least trying to humor me.
Yet that is not the point you see.
I am just attempting to find ways to make you happy.

Oh, listen to the wind sing it's slippy song.
Beneath, the sea's swishing abounds, turning it's own tables
working nightclub DJ rounds
Oh, listen to the grass whistles it's tune of summer dear.
And in the darkness you can hear the stars ringing loud, clear.

Oh Albatross, oh Albatross, wont you come and follow me?
We can find ways to relax your mind, and maybe set your soul free.
You are not yet dead my little Albatross, the goddess of death does not yet own you.
Come along, come along, before your heart does freeze.
Staying here is not any good for you, or me, but I will if you make me.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Snow Poems

It's Friday -- that makes this my first full week doing this! (on a T/R/F schedule) Isn't that so cool? I think it is, and kind of exciting. Also, that makes today the last batch of ABC Poems. On to new ground next week!

It snowed here this morning. I mean it has snowed here this winter already, but this is the first time in 2011. It's not much, just a few inches, but it's white, and fluffy, and cold. And my parent's dogs hate being outside in it. It's so funny to look at though, because there are still little bits of the tops of grass poking through the snow, so it looks more like it is partly melted rather than freshly fallen.

“Friday Mornings”
Abound in colder times
Blanketing the world,
Covering all in natural insulation
Dogs barking at wispy bits of cloud fall
Excited and entranced by this new gift from the sky

“Child's Eye”
A time of magic, of grace
Birthed into a new world
Curiosity blooming at new surroundings
Driven by desire,
Embracing the wonder of wonderlands

At the time of reckoning
Balanced on the edge of it
Color takes its absences
Decorating everything grayscale
Exiting to hibernation, waiting to become spring

Thursday, January 6, 2011

To Boldy Go To ... Somewhere -- And Beyond !

Well, hello again Internets. It's Thursday.

I feel like I ought to make a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy pun or something. But wait for the poems anyway, they're at least space-themed. Because I found little plastic dinosaurs in an old toy box of mine (yes, I've been spending my holiday's cleaning, because that's how exciting my life is), and they remind me of one of the opening scenes of Firefly. And yes, I do consider making space-poems in reference to TV shows / books / movies as perfectly legit. If Richard Harteis can publish a poem called "Star Trek III" in my EN199 Understanding Literature book (p 1147), then I am more than allowed to be dorky in my own blog.

To the ABC poems -- And Beyond!

“Of Green and Yellow”
Aboard a spaceship
Bridge, to be exact
“Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!”
Dinosaurs pushed aside, navigation signals squeaking
Etching memories into forever, children of eternity. 

“A Ballerina’s Knife”
At the edge of a hallway,
Ballistic shells failing
Courage and anger grabs a long suffering girl,
Dismantling Reavers
Earning her brother – and crew's – safety.

“Infinite Improbability”
Arthur never really liked Thursdays
Been robbed of more than a home, a planet
Caught by Vogon's
Determined NOT to have his brain extracted by mice
Ending up just going to lunch, at the end of the universe. 

Ok, so there is your HHGTTG reference. See I did better than a pun, I gave you a poem.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

January: New Years Challange / Beginnings (ft. Rabbits)

Hello Internet. I must admit something to you, I've been very lax with myself about working on an idea I came up with to work on a few months ago, and that idea was to write a poem every day and I've fallen rather far behind on this prospect. 

That Changes. Now.

For part of New Years, I've decided to create a regular post schedule for this blog (which will be Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, because that's the most logical choice my brain came up with). And each week will be a "theme" or rather "type" of poetry for me to try each week. Since there are about 51 types of poems (that I know of) this works out pretty week. I might break down "sonnets" into Pushkin and Shakespearean (because they're my favorites) to round the weeks out to a solid 52.

The format will be very basic: I rant for however long about something or other (if I feel the need) and then at the bottom will be the poem(s) for that day. This week's type is ABC Poetry. Which is by rough definition "a series of lines that create a mood, picture, or feeling. Lines are made up of words and phrases. The first word of line 1 begins with an A, the first word of line 2 begins with a B etc." So off we go down the rabbit hole (where hopefully the spacing of lines / stanzas wont kill us) on this new adventure...

"Jade Rabbits"
Absolutely, absitively, confident in this
Beginning anew like fresh plant cuttings
Curling towards the sun, growing stronger
Determined to reach the clouds, nay, the very stars
Exploring new possibilities on the wings of dreams.

"Toy Kit"
A little bit orange, but quite a lot white
Blinking, silently with red eyes
Calmly hopping very slowly
Dancing really, if it can be said to
Exuberant and happy, perfectly smiling. Always. 

"Spaghetti Toppings"
Acanthoid structures poking out
Broken under the strain of living
Cracked and torn
Devoid now of qi
Expertly captured, killed, and grilled.