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.