Interred Haiku

The kind of sadness

that sinks deep into the eyes

and never wells up.  

Also, I'm dreaming of driving a lot at night again.  Always stopping along the way and meeting people (or running away from them).  But instead of driving on complex highways with merges and junctions and innumerable lanes...I drive on 2 lane highways over rolling hills with crops growing on either side.

I'm getting close to my destination.  

I'm Sorry, Please Forgive Me

I am guilty of totally neglecting this blog as I do all my blogs of the past.  That's just who I am.  But I went REALLY long without neglecting so you have to give me that.  Also, I come back (some of my past blogs have not been so lucky and have been very very short lived).
Some of the reasons the blog got abandoned:

• I'm happy.
• I'm on meds again that I had abandoned for stupid reasons.  I feel much better on them.
• I'm in school and taking 5 classes (a heavy course load) which leaves less time for writing and editing.  I even enjoy the majority of my classes so it's not like I'm looking desperately to procrastinate (in class or at home with homework).
• Tumblr ate my life.

I figure, I should turn this into either a dream diary (which can be painfully boring to other people) or a writing exercise blog so at least I can get something out of it, if not my readers at the very least.  So I'm going with the latter.  I hope someone enjoys watching the creative process (it's an ugly dirty job).  First drafts always look like Quasimodo to me.  Enjoy my Quasimodo exercises!

Today is day one of exercises.  Let us see how long this lasts.  We can place bets to make this fun.  

*I'm googling for writing exercises and I will post a link to where ever I got the exercise.  If I make it up, I'll let you all know.*

Exercise 1

Prompt: Open your refrigerator (for real or in your mind) and look for an item you've never written about in there. Write a poem or a paragraph about one item in your fridge!

Practice: (10 minutes)

There are those delicious USDA organic red grapes.  They're grown here in 'Murika as I like to say, and are exclusively sold at Trader Joe's according to the sticker on the flimsy plastic crate they come in. However, the crate and its sticker are of no importance.  In fact, I don't glance twice at it when I pop open the crate to get at the juicy succulence inside.  It's those sweet berries that I want.  I didn't bother washing them the first time.  I didn't worry too much since they're certified organic.  I changed my mind about not washing them after a few berries though.  They're a bit gritty unwashed.  Although they look so pretty with their feral yeasts matting their skins.  I figure it's probiotic right?  And if microorganisms can live on it, it certainly won't be poisoning me.  But the best part about these grapes (like the crate) is what's inside, beneath the skin.  Sweet, juicy red grapes.  They're crunchy-crisp and squirt when you bite into them.  Every night, they're my midnight snack with some sliced Stilton.  

When She Comes

An insatiable quest to know
What's out there, where am I to go?
Ever elusive death will show,
On that day I'll follow in tow.
My unending fascination
One day drives me to salvation,
On another, meet starvation.
I see death as a vacation,
A reprieve from unending pain,
From struggle, and numerous bane.
Though I do not welcome the drain,
I have no fear of the profane.




Short poem I've been thinking about for a while.  Bit of wine lubricated the creative cogs. Like I've said before, I'm just another poet with a morbid curiosity about what comes after all of this.  I don't think death should be rushed.  When she comes, I'll fight like any other animal on this Earth...But after my fight I'll walk willingly, beside her, fearlessly, unlike so many others.  Does anyone else still think the Reaper is female?  I like the Viking's take on Valkyrie.

Oracle's Haiku

The crazy woman
Laughs in the face of danger.
I admire her.

The Karve

It's time to move like a soldier.
There's a second chance; I'm the beholder.
Now I unwrap and shed my chains,
Forget my pains and strive for new great plains.
Somehow, blessed with that second chance,
Determined to walk straight and true, to dance,
I know there's no hesitating,
No room to question, no speculating.
Quieting the doubtful voices,
I am defending my final choices.
I'm ready to walk through fire,
If it means I will reach something higher.

Firestorm

Wake up to the alarum of a phone.

My home, my city's burning down. 

A city built with hedonistic bones 

Never worries about ghost towns. 

But tonight God decided to restart 

And threw matches into dry shrubs. 

The neighborhood eerily fell apart  

As fire ravaged country clubs. 

Surprisingly egalitarian, 

The rich and the poor fled for life. 

New converts, new humanitarians,

Shed their belongings and their strife.  

We survived and slipped into our old ways.

Let it burn again!  Rid us of malaise.

Modified sonnet.  Firestorm '03, '07, ...

Perversion

I've come so far and not far enough.
I'm no longer sure that it's obsession,
Madness or just that life's rough.
But whatever it was led to my cession.
Nothing's the same since this perversion
Of reality into something more sinister.
It was an indisputable act of subversion,
Since I met the mutinous minister.
I did all I could to try to tame him,
And all I did was tame myself.
Blindly, but fiercely, I planned a coup,
And somehow successfully asserted myself.
The unshakeable weight of my preoccupation
Left me bereft, befuddled and invisible.
I won't get burnt after my reincarnation.
But I can't live like this, an individual divisible.



Can this poem be saved?  It's chunked together from bits and pieces from different nights.  I am very reluctant to release this one because it's stumbling, in my opinion.  But here we are.  I'm a whore for my views stats going up, and they go up when I release things, whether they're good or tasteless. (Admittedly, there are far more views when a poem is an actual success).

Probably need a therapist, but Blogger is the only therapist I want to go to, since at least it's productive.

Lonely poet poets alone.

Letters to an Ex-Lover Anthology: Unaccompanied

Last night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The fan sent me sailing in the breeze,
And then the music sent me reeling.
It was the soundtrack you gave me, love's reprise.
Suddenly I couldn't breathe, again I was vulnerable,
A feeling and state I deeply despise.
So I decided that it finally ends tonight.
I promised I'd kill you next time I saw you,
With the weapon kindness, rather than a fight.
Forgiveness wasn't enough, maybe this will be.
So here I lie, with the breeze on my face,
And I'm forgetting all the things you did to me.



How my poetry often starts out (as disjointed, ugly, stupid-sounding notes):
"I was listening to that cd he gave me when we first met."  "Used to be soundtrack of our love."  "I feel vulnerable again and I can't breathe."  "So tonight I'm going to lie down and forget all the things he did to me."  "Kill them all with kindness."

Fiona Apple has been inspiring me.  "Remember when I was so sick and you didn't believe me?  Then you got sick too, and guess who took care of you.  You hated that didn't you?  Didn't you?" from her song Regret.

Sometimes, I feel like I use rhymes as a crutch, because they're so easy to work with.  But there's a romantic element that plays into this.  I want to transform the simple rhyme into something complex and beautiful.  Maybe one day I'll be satisfied that I've accomplished that, but not yet.  Never yet.  Rhymes do so delight me.  I suppose Shel Silverstein was more whimsical with his, but I like to think that maybe we shared a similar fascination.

Also, it's been a very long time since I added to this anthology.  I know it's just personal, but this anthology holds some of my favorite pieces I've ever written.  The first title for this poem was Otolaryngological Fatalities. But it doesn't start with U like the theme of the anthology.  So I changed it, for now...

One last thing, is this the end of the anthology??

A Content Singularity

It's a rare night that I feel the loneliness,
But it sinks in deeper with each sip of wine.
I fear it's a losing battle against an illness.
It's only a matter of time before I must resign.

Epoch of Hope

There's a moment before it changes
When my hope is whole and bright.
The period before informational exchanges
When I anticipate with all my might.
I walk the edge of the knife
With a heart full of expectations,
With a little bit of fear for my life
And a mind full of inspirations.
I wait so impatiently, expecting, speculating.
I fear the worst and still hope for the best.
Then the phone rings and I'm hesitating.
I've made it this far; I have to have passed this test.




Hope gets crushed over and over again, but for some reason it keeps coming back.

Prosperity Spell

Tonight is the night I seal the deal;
Write the spell so it can be real.
Athame, water and salt on my altar,
I invoke the sacred spirits of Gibraltar.
Dagger in hand, I cut the basil,
And crush chamomile, sage and hazel.
Into the fire, as well as water and salt.
It all rises as smoke faster than a Renault.
This is my offering in exchange for prosperity.
And I say Blessed Be with all my sincerity.



A hopeful prayer.  Wish me luck!

Lackluster

My driving force is discontent;
A complacent poet is silent.
In happiness, my words are unspent,
Until the hush makes my pen violent.
Trickling, the awkward verse forms,
Stumbling, inorganic but necessary.
I force my hand, and it dutifully performs,
But the muse is absent, and I feel arbitrary.




The inspiration comes in waves.  I'm comfortable, which apparently means I don't need to write much.  Lies.  I'm working on remembering dreams more.  I'm hoping it will help.  Wish me luck and come visit me on the astral plane.

Post-Modernism

Post-modernism is a state to which I escape.
One where I say "I don't know" and "Why ask me?"
Steeping in life's stew, questions take shape.
Tracking down answers is no longer a priority.
Maybe tomorrow, I can separate myself from naivety,
Or childish innocence and unsexy anxiety.
Drowning in self-doubt and insobriety,
Escape is found in this place of post-modernity.
Ricocheting between the walls of my mind,
Nearing nirvana, nihility, nonexistence,
I understand nothing, and laugh, because it's fine.
So here I am.  I came the distance.
My self and my mind, contemplating my subsistence.


Between a  failed business proposition, finals, and a bit of writer's block, you can't blame me for taking a month off.  But I'm back for a moment, and moments are all that matter anymore.
No judgements please, it is #winowednesday and I think I got a 40% on my wine final...which sounds like shit but is actually pretty good for that class if I did secure such a grade.  I love drinking and writing, it makes me feel like a  proper poet, and it's almost as good as drinking and dancing.

Language Haiku

Foreign languages
Offer the most delightful
Escape from my life.

The Spell

Welcome back to the fold.
I am met by witchcraft and gold.
Here I am, spell in hand,
Ready to meet God's demand.
I sacrifice my blood tonight
So that I might win this fight.
Grant my wish and I promise you,
You'll have my life, my word is true.



For anyone who needs a spell with a bit of sacrifice, I'm like 99% sure if you write this one on a piece of paper, soak it in your blood, recite it and burn it, whatever you want will totally come true.  A bit of voodoo never failed anyone.  ever.
Also, this was a drunk angry poem...so you know it's like...really powerful.

Conquistadora

It seems my ship's run aground.
Time to explore the land I found.
Let's disembark and set up camp.
Hurry up, boy!  Set up the ramp!
I'll forge a path with my machete.
My name will eclipse Dante Rossetti.
We'll capture savages and steal gold.
My crew will tell you, it never gets old.
I am the blood of the conquistadora.
Whatever I want, I'll do it ahora.
I know no bounds and wear no chains.
I'll clear it all, until nothing remains.
I've always known I was meant to lead.
Enemies beware,  I'll make you bleed.




Modified English sonnet for the suckers.
Also I'm pissed as soldier ant right now.  I'm ready to prove anyone wrong about anything.  Yes, it's one of those nights.

The Final Adventure

Lay me down, bury me in the ground,
An unmarked grave, so I won't be found.
I have one request, I want to rest.
I'm ready, all my sins I have confessed.
More tired and worn than the day I was born,
I beg you to lay me beneath the Jerusalem thorn,
And let me wait for rebirth as it is fated.
Let me experience all that is debated.
I want to see her burst through the light.
Into Death's arms, I walk without fright.
I need no pyramid, no monument, no fuss.
For the living, what's left is for them to discuss.
The honest truth is that all I truly need
Is that moment when I know I'm freed.
And while to you, it seems like a risky venture,
To me, the rest is just an adventure.




Finally, a poem about death that isn't depressing and filled with suffering.  I'm fascinated by the Reaper, Valkyrie, and Death.  That's one of the reasons I love Hamlet so very much.  It's an analysis of death and what it means to the living.  Death is boring when it's viewed alone; same story for life.  I'm not interested in immortality (whether it comes in this life or the afterlife, I think it's totally overrated and most likely a curse).  However when you view Life and Death together, suddenly they're both very weighty and very intimidating (that's why people kill themselves, and it's the same exact reason people are afraid to die).  One gives the other meaning.  That is so fascinating to me...Kind of like hot and cold...or good and evil.  But just way better than those combos.

Note: No, I don't happen to be goth or depressed.  I'm just another weird poet with a fascination for the morbid.

Stillness

Sometimes I want to freeze time.

And although my plants wouldn't grow

And my cat wouldn't cuddle

I could languish in the stillness of my heartbeat.

April 18th, 2011

Rosa

Rosa - Found Poem (Click Here)

Rosa was published by Autumn Letters back in June 2010.  Check out this found poem describing one of my favorite characters from Isabel Allende's "House of The Spirits".

Great News For The Kingdom!

Whether or not future expansion takes place, the word is spreading.  My poetry has been published once again.  If you can, check me out in Tidepools 2012 when it's released in June!

Lovingly,
Your Queen

Obstacles

What obstacles I would have once leapt,
On those, now I stumble. 
And now I find breath only to grumble.

My hands tremble with responsibility.
The weight I carry alone,
It holds me down when once I would have flown.

Prayer for Pain

Out of my face my teeth shall rot,
My complexion shall redden,
As if a plague was caught.

My eyes will dim and deaden,
From my hands, fingers will fall.
Demons will see me and know Armageddon.

 I will cover with a shawl
As my hair falls out.
Even inside, poison will replace gall.

Boils will pain and my mouth will gout.
Once soft skin, now will flake.
Side pains will stab until I shout.

All this I wish to trade for this ache.
I doubt my steps, my choices, myself.
All I feel is my hands tremble and my knees shake.





 Playing with terza rima and serious anxiety.  Not my favorite product but I figured I'd put it up anyway.  Best not to think and just do at this point.

A Brief Letter To The Villain

Dear Evil-Doer,
The short and short of it is that I am awesome now and I probably don't need you.
I'm busy finding happiness.  I don't I have time for the drama you'd bring.
Do you know what character you played in my story?  The villain.
You don't just waltz into my kingdom and think you can stay in it.  Not while I'm Queen.
Worst Regards,
Queen of Everything


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I think people are just stupid. It's hard having a brain, but I suppose it's hard to be stupid and know you're not gonna make it past Hair dresser.  I really do try to have compassion, but when they all start grating on my nerves at once, I start dreaming of Idiocracy, and I just lose it.  Then I start thinking about Huxley's Brave New World, and my inner human rights activist heads for the hills.  It's just all around bad news bears.

Disconsolate

Making myself feel lonely in a crowd,
I can't wait for life to lift this shroud.
I'm not living the way I wanted to,
But I don't want to regret the things I'd do.

It's hard to be brave in the face of Fate.
I'm afraid of finding love and then finding hate.
My legs feel so heavy when I try to march.
I feel so much more comfortable making the demarche.

I know, truthfully, I'm only young once,
And I don't want fear to make me a dunce.
Where is courage born, and how does it arrive?
I guess I have to close my eyes and just take the dive.





----------------------------------------------
Really I'm too busy for a love life right now, but I'm definitely not immune to the effects of not having one.  But it's been a while now and I feel all virginal and angsty again.  Emo poetry, anyone? Bring on summer already!!

Coming Out Haiku

Something to tide my ravenous fans over (oh how I WISH I had ravenous fans).

"I think I am gay."
Dad says, "I think it's a phase."
What do I do now?

I Fell Off

I fell off the face of the earth, and I haven't quite crawled back.  I'm quite literally on a precipice of change.  I'm in the midst of some negotiations that have totally eaten my life.  Once they're done (pray for the Fool's Day), I will be back and hopefully writing (don't jinx this).  

Also, I saged my house the other day and rid it of demons.  

Yours truly,

Queen of Everything

Haiku Madness Act III

Anxiety eats
my health and my soul.  Also,
my sanity left.

The walls are closing
in on me.  How will I
make my grand escape?

I'm anxious because
I care so much about this.
Bittersweet to know.

The homunculus
controls the mind and body.
Fickle, little thing.

Anticipating
the other shoe dropping, I wait.
Where is the first shoe?

There's something to be 

found in writing a haiku.

I found sanity.

For Her

Let's just solve the mystery.
Take a look at all this history.
Please wake me from this silent reverie,
And make it my reality.
Sometimes I find it hard to breathe,
So please just make me feel at ease.
I think we should just relax
And maybe observe the heavenly acts.
Sweet thing, don't clench your fists.
We both know forbidden love exists.
Even though you're mammalian,
You just seem so far out and alien.
The way your hair falls in your face,
All the air leaves my lungs without a trace.

I know you're swimming in the starry sea.

I beg you to just wait for me.

Keats once said, "Ima write that bitch a poem.  Bitches love poems."
Also, this is the 3rd love poem I have ever written.  Feels organic to write it when I'm inspired (after looking at a pretty face for a few hours).  Siiiiigh.

Authoritarianism

It's time for insurrection against this unending infection,
Just note the inflection in my direction.
Please state your emergency. We need a sense of urgency.
We'll end this absurdity with an insurgency.
We are all so blessed and oppressed.
We are the repressed, the second best.
I'm so fixated, and still nothing has abated,
But as they dictated, we must be degraded.
It's time to walk in your shoes and see what's left to lose.
And when they read the news, I doubt they'll disabuse.





That'll teach you to have all male panels for women's birth control. And also insurance coverage for vasectomies and viagra...Everyone sees what you did there.
Why don't you all just go back to work and continue tweeting your dick pics.  At least you'll be kept busy.

Alone On Earth

When I feel alone in life,
I look up to the stars and cry,
"I need release in this fight.
Can I get relief from this strife?"


Sang this on the way back from my car.
God, I've been singing stupid things to myself since elementary school and I'm FINALLY getting some lyrics that aren't totally weird crap.

Yeah Unh!

Now that I dropped my baggage, I'm diminishing the laggage.
You see me coming in first; what can you do to quench your thirst?
I got my money, honey.  And it's a just a little funny, bunny.
I got no degree or loans, yet your dad still owns your bones.
So suck my cock, and don't let your jaw lock.
Because I'ma pound it in and out, as I fill you up with doubt.






The ghetto mini rap I made up walking from my car to the door.
Yeah mother fucker.  Suck on my imaginary huge enormous dick.  Good thing its not real otherwise I wouldn't be able to wear pants.  Yeah feminists do it better.



On a much more serious note,
Men have the power to ruin lives.  At least act like it affects you when you hurt someone, quickly before I lose hope in mankind.



Yeah, that ones is at you, candidates.


Note on 4.2.2012:
I can only imagine the queen from Oglaf.com reciting this.

What I Want To Say To You

You say you're going far and fast,
But you're a hare, and you're coming in last.
So drop that stupid attitude
Before you start into your platitude.
Do you know who you are fighting?
Consider just who you are indicting.
I have only got sour grapes
For you, so stand up straight.  You're not an ape.





This is dedicated to all the stupid fucking bitches (male, female and trans) in the world who never had a chance to listen to me tell them to STFU.
Much more eloquent and even more fuck you when you do it in poetry form.  Take that everyone who pisses me off!!


P.s. Dear readers, I am sorry I have been absent lately!  I tried to schedule enough entries so that I could make it through Valentine's day but it wasn't quite enough.  (I work in the flower trade so V-Day is THE day).  I'm back now with a vengeance!  And my lizard died so I'll be writing his elegy and posting it too.

Time's A 'Tickin'

Time’s A’Tickin’

5/30/06 (math class)

This constant, choking feeling torments me in my sleep.

While a never ending tightness makes it hard to breathe.

The unrelenting tick of that unrelenting clock

Moves its hands around the face, never to be stopped.

It has a care for nothing.  It dominates each life.

It starts and stops for no one.  It’s an unforgiving fight.

Some people say it’s helpful, but I can see it true.

You know it puts a time frame on when we will be due.

The date is set, that’s for sure, last moments will be known.

A lamenting cry for unstoppable time that chills me to the bone.

A stricter hand, I’ve never seen, nor more a flawless face.

One way down with a frown, my heart’s picked up the pace.

The day is short; the day is long.  Alas!  My moment’s here.

I say goodbye, adieu to life, but I'll always be a buccaneer.  

The Little Things In Life

11/8/06

Drinking orange soda pop sitting on the pier,

The breeze is fresh running through my hair.

The moments, I feel, are dear.

Sitting in the my lover’s lap, his arms snaking around,

Leaning back into him,

My heart is right at home.

Scratching a dog behind his ears,

Hearing a kitten purr, I feel warm and so content.

Fuzzy, cute, it’s clear.

Running through a heavy storm,

Never wearing shoes, singing songs, and drawing things,

Enjoying plain ol’ norm.

Chicken soup and otter pops, it’s the little things in life.

It’s just a matter of feeling them.

Relax, enjoy your time.  

(It was time for something upbeat.)

Songbird

Feb 11, 2004

In the darkness of sleep,

A songbird beats clipped wings

Against the bars of terrible fear.

Wander up and down the stairs, to and fro,

Hurling a response to the stillness.

Cries laugh

And quickly, because there is no way of killing voices.

No more within me.

No more time.

Found poem from a page from Anne Frank's diary.  I wrote this in 8th grade.  Cut up the exerpt and glued it on teal paper.  Then I drew a bird in a bird cage on it.  I have no idea where it is now.  

No One Knows

She cries out

And no one hears her;

A radio broadcast

Without receivers.

A silent “MAYDAY!”
“MAN DOWN!  MAN DOWN!”

Jill went up as Jack went down.

No one knows he’s lost his crown.

She’s falling apart,

Inside out.

She fights herself,

She fights self doubt.

The fight unyielding,

Yet, death toll low,

But united she does not stand.

No one will know, she will not show.

Raise up that white flag;

Wind tears tattered bits.

Thunderous crashes of the sea,

Our lady is prone to fits.

A green lady, a lost symbol,

Falls to her cold knees.

Her crown cracks.

She grieves.

A meaningless banter,

The daily routine,

Once proud and respected

Now, cruel and mean.

Nitpick each word, each letter…

“It’s wrong!”  “Take it to court!”

Burn down our fort, it’s better.

White is the kettle.

White as the pot.

Her mindless anger

Is hot to trot.

She’s unzipping.

Her seems are ripping.

The coins are flipping.

Her spirits are dipping.

She does not know.

She has no help.

It might be better, if only she spoke.

The cards are dealt.

It’s not her fault.

It’s ours, not hers.

We’ve made her what she is.

We are everyone, but we throw racial slurs.

Centuries she’s been alive,

But still she’s young and bold.

But secrets, no child should know,

She keeps her lips shut, eyes cold.

She will not relent.

She plots against foes.

And still,

No one knows.

2006

Embracing the Decay

Embracing the decay,

Feeling cold and unwanted,

The loneliness can make you yearn for death.

If my only company could be the Reaper

Then the haunting joy of murder is welcome.

Open the moist earth so god and man can melt,

Their naked existence slowly forgotten,

The way childhood memories fade into the haze of senility.

Let the vast uncaring universe surround my window.

I will never trust that I am something more.

Spiderwebs will straddle the halls ,

Time will reclaim sentiment,

Regardless of our reluctance.

Circa 2008-2009

Late 2008 through half of 2009, I was seriously and chronically depressed.  I'm much much better now. :)  Still twisted as always though. 

What Plagues Me In The Night

#1

They worm into my head through my eyes

When there is only black around them.

The sun shortens the day leaving me with myself.

Things I shouldn't think and things I shouldn't see

Burrow down into my mind and anchor their roots in my psyche.

I don't want anyone to know.

My mind is my secret.

Poison seeps into it at night,

And my own voice charges me to work at my perfection,

To draw my mind away from wear and tear of daytime.

Time is on my side; I have plans to execute.

Silence and grandeur are my unquestionable concepts,

Sacred tallies of my madness.

You'll never realize how far I've come.

#2

Nighttime

Yesterday, some nagging worries

Did devour my night.

Ferocious shadows lingered in the dark.

Pleading to a deity less real than ever,

I am a prisoner of my own vulnerability,

Trusting blankets to supply security,

Secretly knowing that the rot was

On the inside.

#3

Worse years settled,

Lately, I've been writhing on the bottom.

That's why I'd whisper vulgar words.

General cares always tempered the machines,

But when you're exhausting your existence furiously,

the slow laughter and silent voice of death

prove that quietus is a palpable expiration.

November 2008 

No Rest For The Wicked

The work of a slave driver is never done.
Her everlasting work is just no fun.
And by dusk, she knows it's only just begun,
And that sometimes, she must fire her gun.

The vigilant slave driver is ever guarded,
Her slitted eyelids always parted,
Making sure she's not outsmarted.
Daily, her soul's bombarded.





Work is driving me up a wall.

But I work at a flower shop...And next week is Valentine's Day. So what can I really expect?

My Prayer

My Prayer

Hear me, Sovereign!

Guide me with Your gentle grace

Through this surreal world.

So bold are the raw sentiments of Your masterpiece.

Wildly thrown into an empty life

And expected to fill it simply with

Impressive strokes of my own creation. 

The movement of time will claim me

And turn me into a dusty miasma.

And all that will be left is a

Silhouette of existence.

You left a monument.

Infuse me with Your passion

So that I may sing to Your glory

In vivid, pure tones.

Amen.


Written circa early 2009

Winged Hooves

Wingéd Hooves

October 20, 2005

When the groaning, rolling, foaling,

     Mare is swelling, helling, shelling,

Flanks sweating, heaving, heating,

     There comes the colt.

Everybody knows the foals that

     Show and grow and know

That the grass is always greener

     over there.

'Cross the raging, aging river

     with its crazen, changen sliver

Bound lighty, flighty, leapin'

     knobbly legs.

Catch his hoof in deep abysses,

     fallen into long dead wishes,

That young foal did so miss it,

     broke his foot.

Far off futures, once so bright,

     now are doomed to deepest plight.

Panic stealing life's last breath,

     what a fright!

Days go by and by, without a

     single cry

From her dearest, merest child

     Oh m' lord.

As days go by, and time goes 'wry,

    time fades away, to dusky grey.

The mother grieves and fails to eat,

    her heart too weak to beat.

The farmer knew, she'd not pull through

    once she lost her love.

He watched her go, got down low,

    and pet her sayin' "woahhh."

Gentled her last minutes, master

    breathing in her ears,

Words of soothing comfort, whispered

    lullabies.

As her last weak breaths were taken,

    ran a boy slightly stricken.  At

The sight of the dying mare,

    knees buckled.

Sagging against the brown stall door,

    the boy stared at his dead colt's mare,

Tears streaming down his paling cheeks.

    Oh! Woe is he!

Before clouding eyes, memories

   of grassy green and bluing skies

Of yellow sun and daffodils.

   Happy days.

But return does the stall, once more,

   lying on the woodchip floor,

The mare thinks of her little foal,

   now no more.

He was white, whiter than the moon.

   Unlike mother, blacker than the Swoon

Of night that's fallen, but what's unique

   of colt, not mom,

Was but his black, black star upon

   his brow, rare om’n.

-------------------------------------

And so, to this day, did that boy

   say of Starry Night

And mare.

A sadder tale

   nigh unveil

The reason for lost souls.

The children of the farm, thus learned,

   of their grandfather who helped foal

A mystic soul that

   fell into that blackened hole.

To this day, this story retold,

   that mother and child,

Mare and foal,

   still haunt those pastures freezing cold.

I was trying to mimic the beautiful songlike quality of Poe.  It is the one and only poem of mine that has succeed to make me shiver and cry.  I just hope someone feels something twinge when they read it.  

Ode to an English Teacher

It was Ms. Shope
Who gave me hope,
Who told me to write a lot.
It's the way she taught.
Carry on, she said,
And so my imagination fed.
Thank you for all you've showed me.
When I write, I know I'm truly free.



She inspired me and gave me a taste of true freedom writing poetry offers.  I can never thank her enough for what she helped me become, especially so young.  (I had her in 7th and 8th grade).
I tried to visit her today, but I came too late.  So I ran to my car and jotted down this little ditty.  I needed to get my thanks out.  She's the reason I broke 1000 views.  There wouldn't be a blog without her somewhere in this story.

I Am Queen

Time to change into something else.
I'm turning into God Himself.
A powertrip, that's what I need.
A kingdom on which to feed.

All my minions take a plow.
You're in my great providence now. 
Bow down before the one you serve.
I assure you, you'll get what you deserve.

Roco Loco

Lost at Sea

October 22, 2005

A frisky stallion bounds across the sea

With gigantic hooves and bending knee.

Eyes wide open, whiteness showin’,

Bounds Röco Loco, stallion aglowin’.

Breathes the wind, and drinks the rain,

Sinks down low, lightning in his mane.

Sailors seen his wild herd,

Heard his hoof beats where storms occurred.

Crying out to the ether,

Loudest, softest, it is neither.

Long ago, he lost his herd.

Sank beneath the fish and bird.

He’s run around to this day,

Searched for his family.

That is why his eyes are white.

Tears of salt stream make him fight.

His heart is iron; He’s alone.

He lost his drive but to moan.

His high days are all gone.

His hair is streaked; it’s grey by dawn.

He is naught but a ghost,

In his haunting, Earth’s his host.

Sailors tell of huge white winds,

Of thunderheads and deadly grim.

But now you know, it’s none, but Röco,

The loner horse whose gone loco.

Lost his herd, his will to live,

He wanders seas, can’t up and give.

Believes in days when he’ll find them,

His herd, his mares, standing by him.

But fate has hold of his mane,

Knows he’s not to win this game.

Destined to sail the seas,

Not a soul to be seen.

Lonesome now but a legend,

Röco Loco found his endin’.

Poseidon, here, shot him down,

A tidal wave touched his crown.

Wisped up into the winds,

All that’s left: one white grin.

15 year old me needed no editing on this one.  Another narrative and my own myth.  

Apocalypse

Piece by piece,

Grain by grain,

It dismantles.
It rains.

Eggshells and wineglass,

Delicate fragility,

It shatters the peace,

Disturbs my tranquility!

Everything and anything

Is nothing at all,

When it’s broken,

When it’s had its fall.

Damage is determining.

It bases worth.

It will be hated,

Even at birth.

One thing can start it,

Begin the wretched game.

Start the fire,

Light a flame.

It may be small at first,

Just a smoldering twig,

But fuel will feed that fire

Until it’s very, very big.

That fire destroys everything,

Nothing but ash in its wake.

It’s blackened and charred,

Nothing left to take.

Sounds of roaring flames,

Sounds of crackling life,

I see it rage around me;

I see it with the knife.

The world is coming to an end,

But it’s not just one quick slice.

It ends itself by picking

Itself apart, it’s not very nice.

It’s slow and painful,

Drawn out suffering.

It’s Armageddon.

Repent!  It’s ending.

From the raging fire within,

From the darkest corners of my being,

I cry out against injustice,

That life’s so fleeting.

In the end we’re equal.

In the end we’re the same.

We’re just people;

We all share that name.  

Written September 14, 2006.  

If the embedded video doesn't play, click here.
Warning: Contains freak.

Gettysburg Bullets

Gettysburg Bullets

An Ode to Lincoln

11/7/06

Battlefields are humbling.

Here stands a humbled man.

He's tall and quiet; he's orderly.

Don’t deny it, ‘cause he's ahead.

How much power? I do not know,

But he'll change us all forever.

He never knew what he’d do.

Death was much too clever.

But for now he stands upon this ground

Where many men have died.

He suddenly bursts out in speech,

A hush falls on the crowd.

“Not one,” he says, “will remember me,

Nor what we’ve ever done.

Nor will words be remembered,

From this speech that has begun.”

How wrong he was when he spoke,

Too wrong to comprehend.

Later, they say, he sat down

To watch the curtain descend–

A young man, just 26,

determined and misread.

–This young man crept behind

And put a bullet in his head.

It wasn’t long before our

Dearest president was dead…

Wrote this when I was 16.  Guess what we were discussing in American History.

Dumbledore Works For UC Davis

So I dreamt it was September, and I, instead of UCSD, had returned to UCD.  I was in a dorm with all really nice girls this time (thankfully), and there were some dudes next door who were pretty cool.  I felt like maybe, just maybe, this could work this time.  

Then, it sort of turned into Rawhide Ranch where there were kids of all ages around and camp activities.  We had to form groups (that didn't include the majority of our dorms).  Me and my roommate found a couple other girls and this 6 year old girl who was adorable.  Then, we were all gathered for some announcements, and I was carrying the little girl and got in big trouble for it.  I did it again, because I forgot and got taken to the dean's office.  

He was a real dick and made me insane, and I started screaming about how I knew "how to get out of here" and "I could be in San Diego, even if I had to bike there, I could fucking do it," and he couldnt stop me.  I started screaming at him some more like a crazy person saying things like "you assholes don't have a counseling center,"  "no one is a real friend here," "I don't need you!  Other schools will have me," "you people suck balls," "you're going to do this over me carrying a kid?  You're crazy," and so on.  

So, he locked me in his office.  I took the opportunity to hide behind his couch under two blankets.  This was the beginning of my brilliant escape plan.  He came in, couldn't find me, and I bum rushed him and left.  So, he sent out an arrest warrant.  I removed the pane of glass so I could leave easily later.

Finally, Dumbledore gets back and throws me a miniature goodbye party with its own miniature unicorn that I got to ride.  We ate cake, and I left.  Dumbledore set up a rendezvous for me.  

Suddenly there was an unexpected knock on the door.  I hid, and Dumbledore magicked away the party, but it was only Lupin.  After he left, I jumped out the window, crawled along the outside of the building and jumped onto a flowering hill.  I ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran until I found the 3 red cloaked figures waiting for me.  They took me away from UCD.  

From then on, I was on the streets trying to get back to San Diego without a bike, or money for that matter.  I found a white sheep dog, and he hung out with me.  We found this really dirty dock with dead snakes in it and live snakes all along the shore.  It was pretty creepy.  I found one snake that was black and white and like 30 feet long so I called over this snake dude.  He caught it but as he lifted it, the middle of the snake wrapped around my neck.  At first I panicked, and he shouted "fucking snake!  dammit," but then I relaxed, because I knew this dude was a snake handler and could unwrap the snake (which wasn't even squeezing that hard).  And he did and I was free.  I left the snake dock and woke up.

October 9, 2010

Blast to the Past

I want to let you all know that I am now dipping into my archives.  I'm editing everything and publishing everything I've always wanted people to read.  I'm very, very excited.  I may post some read by me to youtube.  I'm going to have fun with it.  Like I said, so very very excited.  You have no idea what's in store.  My little teenage mind, the first inspiration is like the first true leaflets of a sapling.  They're almost neon green with life.  So is my poetry.  WELCOME TO MY MIND.

I've scheduled at least one to be posted a day at 9AM.  If it's set to my time zone, then it's PST.  In case you're that concerned.  I'd like to flatter myself and think you are.

Some of them are not super, but they're fun for me because I can see myself testing the waters of technical poetry.

Sincerely,
Your Telegraphing Queen

Kodi's Epic

Kodi's Epic

May 17, 2004

Listen, my children, and you shall hear

Of the midday chase of a speckled deer.

Twas Kodi, the dog, who ran for this fawn,

But ran into obstacles, just after dawn.

There was this malamute of fluff and hair,

Who hung with coyotes and made a dare:

If he could catch a deer in an hour,

He’d get to keep it, they wouldn’t be sour.

Kodi sat and waited for a stag.

He waited and waited while the 'yotes played tag.

Then, that fateful morning, came the delicious breakfast club,

And Kodi knew he’d brag in every coyote pub.

So, he ran like the wind for a small young one.

For distance was nothing, as if shot from a gun;
Ran so fast he was naught but a blur.

All that was left in his wake was small bits of loose fur.

He ran so fast, he gouged the earth.
He jumped aiming for the fawn’s girth.

He spooked the deer, but…Too late!

What a terrible fate!

Kodi had been running so fast that he missed!

All the coyotes laughed and hissed!
He jumped too far!

He began to howl at a star.

So, all the coyotes growled at the moon,

Drew in their breath to sob at that white balloon.
Kodi closed his ice blue eyes and threw back his head.

--Whence came the custom for canines to cry when we’re in bed.

I wrote this for English class in 8th grade.  We had to make a narrative so I wrote one about my dog, Kodi.

Ode to San Diego

The Pacific potion demands locomotion.
The law of motion means commotion.
It's an occupation of convocation.
It's the temptation of sensation.
My devotion to the ocean
Is a notion of emotion.
It's the Californian beaches and sun.
When it's all said and done, all you want is a rerun.




Also, we're only 4 days into February, and I have 14 posts for this month already...I think I need to pace myself.  The question is, is that even possible?

1000 Page Views

Thank you all for helping make this happen!!  I'm very excited and promise to keep it coming.  Don't stop being literate, y'all!

xoxo
Your Telegrapher

Leaving Tomorrow

If I were to leave this plane tomorrow,
I'd die brimming with sorrow.
The time it takes to rectify my mistakes,
I can only pray that I'm not retired
Before I can be rebooted and rewired.

I broke his heart like splint bone,
And then I turned mine to angelite stone,
So as it decreases, I could smash it to pieces.
I broke it down like contraband.
It's just, I forgot to cut it out beforehand.

And now it hurts so very, very much,
But not like any careless crutch.
It hurts like Might and Ire, and lightning and fire.
It hurts like it's everything I've dreaded.
It hurts like my soul is being shredded.

where do you go when you know the way you came was wrong?

im so fucking lost. fuck this shit.

April 3, 2011
Edited and revised February 3, 2012

Your Mom Haiku'd Me Last Night

Sexy, yours, slutty
Your Momma went to college
Astronaut, old, bitch



Beej, I'm better than fucking A. Marvel, Tennyson, and Keats all mixed together.



But really, my cat could probably make something more creative walking on my keyboard.



Feb 7, 2009



I'm putting it up simply for the 90s-00s level of ridiculous this is and therefore the ensuing humor hidden between the lines.  Enjoy.

Desert Dream Preface

I dreamt last night. It connected a lot of places I've been dreaming about for the last few months, the hotel, my house, the desert, the roads, the caravans.

My mother was set up a the hotel, and there was a pastry convention going on, so I was killing two birds with one stone. Then I went to my dads place to talk to him before I set off home. There I picked up my cat and a dog named Lisa. She's a black boxer with a white chest. She's very amicable (never met this dog in real life) .
Anyway, I set off for the desert, driving the long complicated roads.

When I get there, the caravans have already arrived. Usually I see them on the way to the desert. They set up usually along the side of the road in like mini portable towns, like gypsies. Anyway, this time, they're at the desert tonight, and I let kitty and Lisa out of the suburban and get out to talk with people and start learning about the desert's secrets.

I can't figure out what everyone is doing there. I was drawn there. Theres something foreboding and ancient and hostile deep in the caves in the middle of this desert. And this desert isn't a Kalahari. It's more like our Californian deserts full of dunes....or like a nazca desert. It's got shrubs, and it's sorta rocky and reddish, and it has caves in the distance. 
Creatures lives or lived in those caves, and they're very deep, and I need to go inside and find out what it is.

The one time I did go in, I found an underground waterfall.  In the water at the top of the waterfall, there were stones that made a line pointing out across the top of the waterfall. If you stepped on the stones they turned red, yellow, or green. 

But I didn't go deep that night. I went to bed and when I woke up my dog was gone, and I searched and searched and searched for her. Then I had to leave, because I needed to get back home.  So I went home with only Kitty.  I was pretty sad.


I want to know whats going on!! Each night I hope that my dreams will explain a little more.



March 20, 2010






This is the preface to the other desert dream.  If you look at the tags, there is a desert tag and also a dream tag.  Click either one and find the Desert Dream post for the sequel.