Day 23 was a Friday, and was easily one of the worst days I've had at work. Summing it up (full story here): a good friend of mine yelled at me. Loudly. Over nothing.
On the plus side, the calm I was able to maintain (through little help of my own) gave me a story for the lesson I had to teach on Sunday as well as this poem.
Smoldering
The purposes of evil are frustrated
When you remain calm.
To not quiver with fear
Or shout back with defensive anger
Is to throw a brick wall
In the face of damnation.
Standing firm in the
Truth of Love
Will harrow the barrel of hate
That is staring you down.
Lashing back and
Punching the abuse down
Will cause it to
Rise higher with fury;
Remaining calm allows the
Fire to burn bright but
Quickly upon the pyre.
2009-03-24
2009-03-20
Reading/Writing Journal (Day 22)
"Draglines" is pretty great. I'll have to go back through the BCR's and read what work of his we published. (I think it might have been fiction.) A lot of his themes would be really familiar to the parents of the Baby Boomers. He takes some really cool perspectives.
How I came about this book:
Patrick Hick's came and did a reading at BCU and had some books for sale. Maybe he only had the one chapbook, maybe he had more and I could only afford the chapbook; I don't remember. Anyway, I had him autograph my copy. Last night, I found something I had written on the back page of the chapbook that must have been something he said during his reading: Inspiration is that moment when you see things in a way no one else sees them. Totally love that! Thanks, former seashmore, for documenting that quote.
Some of my favorite poems are:
Lipstick Traces
The Corpse
The Four Elements
The Unimagined
Some quotes (which means, according to the copyright, that this is to be considered a critical article)
The Four Elements
"amid the geometry of the dead."
"The horizon is a peaceful monotone,"
This poem really struck me and I'm a huge fan of the symmetry between the second and third stanzas. It highlights how people all over are simultaneously different and the same. From an individual basis to a general one.
The Unimagined
"At the lighting of each dawn,/he ['my imaginary friend'] collects my old dreams/and carts them away."
No wonder I can't remember some of my dreams! A forgotten imaginary friend has stolen them away! (My imaginary friend is so forgotten and long gone that I don't remember having one. Unless Jonathon Crom has forever been a powerful figment of my imagination that once left me alone. I don't have my old school class pictures from elementary school to prove that he really existed; they're in Wisconsin.)
________________________________
The other day, we rearranged our front room. The couch fits perfectly in the little space in front of the windows. Which means it faces the stairs. Not a big fan of staring at the stairs, but it might grow on me. Of course, it would grow faster if we weren't going to be storing a wedding dress from the banister so my roommate's sister's fiancee doesn't see it. Keep in mind my roommates and I are all 100% single, "with no prospects that anyone can detect." (Utah Philips) Last night, I sat on the couch and wrote this poem:
The Stairs
As much as I'll hate
Staring at the stairs,
I suppose it beats
The table and folding chairs.
Soon the white dress
Will be hung
As a constant reminder
Of what is to come.
The struggles we'll
Have with their troubles;
How there will be triples,
Not doubles.
That looming bag
From the stairs--
We'll try to hide it
To stop the ripping of our hairs,
But it will
Be of no use.
We'll all still know
How men are obtuse.
How I came about this book:
Patrick Hick's came and did a reading at BCU and had some books for sale. Maybe he only had the one chapbook, maybe he had more and I could only afford the chapbook; I don't remember. Anyway, I had him autograph my copy. Last night, I found something I had written on the back page of the chapbook that must have been something he said during his reading: Inspiration is that moment when you see things in a way no one else sees them. Totally love that! Thanks, former seashmore, for documenting that quote.
Some of my favorite poems are:
Lipstick Traces
The Corpse
The Four Elements
The Unimagined
Some quotes (which means, according to the copyright, that this is to be considered a critical article)
The Four Elements
"amid the geometry of the dead."
"The horizon is a peaceful monotone,"
This poem really struck me and I'm a huge fan of the symmetry between the second and third stanzas. It highlights how people all over are simultaneously different and the same. From an individual basis to a general one.
The Unimagined
"At the lighting of each dawn,/he ['my imaginary friend'] collects my old dreams/and carts them away."
No wonder I can't remember some of my dreams! A forgotten imaginary friend has stolen them away! (My imaginary friend is so forgotten and long gone that I don't remember having one. Unless Jonathon Crom has forever been a powerful figment of my imagination that once left me alone. I don't have my old school class pictures from elementary school to prove that he really existed; they're in Wisconsin.)
________________________________
The other day, we rearranged our front room. The couch fits perfectly in the little space in front of the windows. Which means it faces the stairs. Not a big fan of staring at the stairs, but it might grow on me. Of course, it would grow faster if we weren't going to be storing a wedding dress from the banister so my roommate's sister's fiancee doesn't see it. Keep in mind my roommates and I are all 100% single, "with no prospects that anyone can detect." (Utah Philips) Last night, I sat on the couch and wrote this poem:
The Stairs
As much as I'll hate
Staring at the stairs,
I suppose it beats
The table and folding chairs.
Soon the white dress
Will be hung
As a constant reminder
Of what is to come.
The struggles we'll
Have with their troubles;
How there will be triples,
Not doubles.
That looming bag
From the stairs--
We'll try to hide it
To stop the ripping of our hairs,
But it will
Be of no use.
We'll all still know
How men are obtuse.
2009-03-18
Writing Journal (Day 21)
Over halfway there!!
Today was my day off, which I love. And being in the outdoors, enjoying the beautiful weather we've been given, was the inspiration for this. How it came to be: I went for a walk. Intending to go to the bank and back. But then my friend called me and it sounded urgent. I wanted to talk to her, but without the noise of traffic. Well....there was an entrance to a recreational trail (used for biking and walking alike) nearby, so I figured, what the heck? Gets me away from traffic and it's nice out.
Well, after I got off the phone, I kept on because I knew there was a bench up ahead that another friend of mine mentioned he wanted to capture on film. At the time he showed it to me, I couldn't think of a way to do that. I thought I'd see what I could come up with. So I kept walking. Good news: I think I might have found a way! (Yay!)
Anyway, there's a park near the bench. It was empty, being a school day and still fairly early in the morning. I guess. I don't really know why people weren't using it. At the beginning of my walk, I had seen a swingset at a church/school and thought "that looks like fun; I haven't been on on a swing in a long time." Well.....the park was empty, there were swings, everything was pretty far from the road. (Not that doing something childish would embarass me or anything...) So I took off my shoes and my socks (but kept my coat on) and went for it!
Here's the poem that ensued:
On the Swing
The stillness turns to breeze
As I soar into the sky.
My hair falls back while
I fly forward,
Through the trees
Into the cloudy blue.
The sand falls from between my toes,
Back down to another place
Along the leafy ground.
"Soar,
two-three,
four"
Drowns out the gentle
Squeaky creak of an
Otherwise flawless flight.
The smile on my face fades
As I glimpse the shadow that shows
Me to be older than I feel.
The blue plastic seat
Only reaffirms
My battle with the ages.
Today was my day off, which I love. And being in the outdoors, enjoying the beautiful weather we've been given, was the inspiration for this. How it came to be: I went for a walk. Intending to go to the bank and back. But then my friend called me and it sounded urgent. I wanted to talk to her, but without the noise of traffic. Well....there was an entrance to a recreational trail (used for biking and walking alike) nearby, so I figured, what the heck? Gets me away from traffic and it's nice out.
Well, after I got off the phone, I kept on because I knew there was a bench up ahead that another friend of mine mentioned he wanted to capture on film. At the time he showed it to me, I couldn't think of a way to do that. I thought I'd see what I could come up with. So I kept walking. Good news: I think I might have found a way! (Yay!)
Anyway, there's a park near the bench. It was empty, being a school day and still fairly early in the morning. I guess. I don't really know why people weren't using it. At the beginning of my walk, I had seen a swingset at a church/school and thought "that looks like fun; I haven't been on on a swing in a long time." Well.....the park was empty, there were swings, everything was pretty far from the road. (Not that doing something childish would embarass me or anything...) So I took off my shoes and my socks (but kept my coat on) and went for it!
Here's the poem that ensued:
On the Swing
The stillness turns to breeze
As I soar into the sky.
My hair falls back while
I fly forward,
Through the trees
Into the cloudy blue.
The sand falls from between my toes,
Back down to another place
Along the leafy ground.
"Soar,
two-three,
four"
Drowns out the gentle
Squeaky creak of an
Otherwise flawless flight.
The smile on my face fades
As I glimpse the shadow that shows
Me to be older than I feel.
The blue plastic seat
Only reaffirms
My battle with the ages.
Writing Journal (Day 20)
I finished "The Bluest Eye" and started "Draglines" by Patrick Hicks. One of the poems in there inspired the following. I'm not sure of the inspiring poem's name, but it's about how the Miss America in 1945 was Jewish. It's very short.
I, again, had title difficulties...
Did Anyone
Did anyone think to ask her
What she thought
As they paraded her through towns?
Today, she'd be
Questioned to death
On the death of the
Kin she never asked for.
Star-shaped yellow ash
Would forever be linked to her.
I, again, had title difficulties...
Did Anyone
Did anyone think to ask her
What she thought
As they paraded her through towns?
Today, she'd be
Questioned to death
On the death of the
Kin she never asked for.
Star-shaped yellow ash
Would forever be linked to her.
Reading/Writing Journal (Day 19)
As General Conference approaches, I'm reminded of when I was reactivated. Here's a poem. That isn't very good. But I am rather fond of the title.
Reactiversary
Another year is fast approaching.
The marking of time
Is no longer on a clock.
Now it's on a calendar,
As a beautiful time to gather together.
Another six months to work within me,
Using words I need to hear;
I hope they come in time.
(Lovely how hope can be
Replaced by prayer.)
To think of millions
Standing as one,
Singing from the
Basement of their lungs.
How else could
Love be known and shown?
To stand is to fall,
To fall is to be caught,
To be caught is to be grateful.
And so I am.
Reactiversary
Another year is fast approaching.
The marking of time
Is no longer on a clock.
Now it's on a calendar,
As a beautiful time to gather together.
Another six months to work within me,
Using words I need to hear;
I hope they come in time.
(Lovely how hope can be
Replaced by prayer.)
To think of millions
Standing as one,
Singing from the
Basement of their lungs.
How else could
Love be known and shown?
To stand is to fall,
To fall is to be caught,
To be caught is to be grateful.
And so I am.
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