Hello May

It's finally spring or what I like to think of as one of Alberta's two seasons: not winter.  The days have been beautiful, if a little too windy for hooping (insert sad face).

I have in fact been writing, I've just also been moving a roommate out and a girlfriend in to my apartment.  It's been a bit of a process and not even out of laziness or drawing it out.  I don't know how it happened but over the course of my five years in Calgary, I've accumulated a lot of stuff.  Not to worry, I've gotten rid of about a third of it so I can't even be called a packrat anymore, I just have a lot of hobbies and the associated accessories ...

About the writing though, I HAVE been writing a little, I just haven't been posting.  The reason I haven't been posting is because I haven't really written or finished any poetry.  I've been reading other peoples' poetry ...  Neither here nor there though, although there isn't any new poetry there is some old-ish stuff and I'm going to share with you some of my writings over the next few days ..  really more musings if you will?

Without further ado, something old:

This is Our Mythology

I believe you are my karma;

I suspect that I am yours.

The story of us begins

on a night

when seeing you

I taunted,

challenging you

to show me something true

(you did).

To me you were something shining,

something darting,

if I turned to look at you

straight on

I swear you’d disappear;

a will ’o’ the wisp

baiting me

further and further out into some

dark and murky sea

(but you didn’t

and you don’t

and I thank all of the powers).

Brilliant

like the single spark that flies from the fire,

glowing so brightly

in that second

of flight,

my heart could sing in response

(and it does).

To you I was something so subtle,

so steady,

like a heartbeat,

(to steady your heart-pain);

the sound of a revolving dance,

that whoosh of

cutting air,

spinning in a circle

faster and faster,

hypnotic as a chime,

gentle as the surf.

But when we came together,

your bright blinking,

my soft drone,

the collision sent shock waves,

(reverberating)

like the crash of a tide.

It made the others

look up

momentarily in its passing,

blink at the sun

or tilt their heads

to try to

catch again that sound,

that click and flash

of two halves made whole.

Just a poem

Should I Fight?

I fight empathy

every

 step

of the

  way.

Who taught me this?

The lesson is sung

in our bones,

our blood;

anyone of this world

but not

my world

is undeserving

of consideration.

This song leads me

in a heavy dance,

my limbs weighted

I grapple

with the inclination

to understand,

to see past

our

un-same-ness.

But then,

isn’t it true

that certain people

(certain groups of people,

certain ruling peoples)

created

the tradition

of insensitivity?

Or better

the endeavor

to be unfeeling,

to grasp self-centered-ness

by the strength of its back,

to hold it close,

to do only

for oneself?

What if we could

inject

fresh born humans

with empathy;

so much so

that it made them

victims

bodily

            to their own

senses.

What if by this infirmity,

this so called empathy,

one felt ill

every time

one chose

not see one’s  

neighbour;

chose not to

acknowledge

its humanity

(our shared

humanity),

its

likeness,

the same-ness

that is the thread

running through us

like the golden-hued chord

in a moving,

breathing

tapestry.

How like

I am

to you

and you to me,

and both to some

divine spirit

which could

be

you

if you let it.

Perspective

I wrote this poem because I did some thinking this morning and I sort of realized that sometimes we as humans need a reminder to breathe and not take things any more seriously than required.  It's very easy to get tied up in drama regardless of whether or not it has anything to do you.  I guess the point is, perspective is everything and it's important to revisit it, as often as possible.

Anyway, I think the poem itself is fairly self-explanatory and I've already spent more words than the poem contains doing the explaining :) 

I had a really hard time with the ending and I'm still not sure how I feel about it so I would really appreciate a little feedback.  I also haven't written a rhyming poem in forever though so tell me what you think!

My Mantra

Keep it light,

no sacrifice,

do what you can

by end of night.

If at its end

you feel enraged,

just shake it off,

don’t follow trend.

No need to bitch

or feel misused;

there are good parts

and you can switch.

Don’t take to heart

this poisoned storm,

cause in the end

it’s not your life; it’s just a fucking job.

 

Define Interesting ...

I’m starting to see why so many blogs get started and end within moments of their inception.  I’ve posted once and now have some serious writer’s block. 

Stupid blank page.  So intimidating.

I think what I’m going do is strive to write not only when things strike me as interesting.  Because when you think about it, anything can be interesting really, it just depends on how you look at it; just seeing how someone else looks at something can have some spark of interest.  At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself.  As in, you are all interested in what I think and what I’m saying because I'm not you.  Yes, that sounds good, let’s go with that.

I’ve just finished editing a poem I wrote last week and I thought I would post it.  I’m trying to write-outside-the-box as in, writing things other than sappy love poems (my poor girlfriend …) so this is one of several recent attempts at alternative subject matter.  I think I like it.  Tell me what you think.

Overstimulated

I crave silence

like food;

I need it to cover me,

truss me up,

make the world

a still void.

I clench my jaw,

my eyes dart

herethere

and back again

as I search for some way to

mentally exit,

free the tether,

run away.

Too many lights and sounds

produce lethargy

in me,

like a coldblooded creature

bound in snow.

Deliverance comes

in warmth,

softandfuzzy,

baked, boiled, or breathing,

in my tummy,

against my back,

touching my thigh

tying me

to oblivion,

welcome

in sleep and dreams.

 

 

First Thing's First

So this is my very first post for my very first blog.  How exciting!  I've been talking about doing this for a ridiculously long time and I must say, I feel pretty damn proud of myself.  Perhaps I should withhold congratulations until I see whether or not I actually make regular posts but there is more to this story.

If you don't already know me (which is unlikely because I don’t know how you would’ve found this blog otherwise) I am incredibly shy particularly when it has anything to do with being creative or any kind of self-expression.  I’m also a hoopdancer (mostly when no one’s looking) and I do a lot of artsy/crafty type stuff for fun which mistakenly leads people to believe that I’m some sort of performer, which I am most definitely not.  Again, I am almost painfully shy.  The point is that starting this blog is my metaphorical jumping-off-a-cliff (I am also afraid of heights); suffice it to say, this is very scary for me and I appreciate your patience.

Anywho, the purpose of this blog for me is mainly to do some writing, specifically poetry.  I’ve always loved poetry from a very young age and I’ve recently started writing some again.  It’s something that has always happened in waves for me and I’d like it to become a more regular thing.  I really look forward to some feedback and constructive criticism so if you’re willing, I would greatly appreciate it.

So without further ado, this is a poem that I wrote for my lady, tell me what you think.  It may be a little cheesy, but that’s just how love poems go :)

Sometimes

I love you

and sometimes

(but only sometimes mind)

I feel

crushed by it.

It wouldn’t feel so overwhelming

If I could say it aloud some time.

Maybe even just to myself,

in an empty room

with a window,

full of sunspots and warmth

where I feel safe

And unafraid.

I know that it is true

because it seems like sometimes

(perhaps more times than not)

a thousand tiny daggers

prick my skin

when I think of you.

Small pleasant sensations,

no pain, only electricity,

like static,

like fire.

It reminds me that I’m alive.

Wondrous sensation:

Sometimes

(deliciously sometimes)

sweet and melting

Like the lemon filling in a pie,

Sometimes rigid,

Inflexible,

Sharp;

if feels like raspberries taste.

At other sometimes

this vitality translates into

a kind of heaviness;

slow and inflated

with a myriad,

a confusing eddy of emotion.

These sometimes bring me to

spiral down to my depths

where I discover my own base nature;

like molten metal I am,

hot,

liquid,

still,

pooled on the floor.

But always in that perfect sometime

at the meeting point

of our two selves,

the nearness of your

fundamental nature

feels like a wind to me.

An arresting gale,

exultant,

never distressing,

simply clean

and good

and full of promise;

nourishing, life-giving oxygen,

revitalizing me always.

And just so you know,

sometimes

(and in truth, it may be most times)

I think I could

rip my heart out and give it to you

as a gift.

Not in sacrifice

nor as an offering

but because

you feel enough

for the two of us. 

But then again,

maybe

I offer it

because it’s already yours.