Hello.

I guess
we haven't spoken
in a while.
You can
brush me off,
and walk briskly
away.

I just stopped
to say hello.

WeekLong.

I broke
a wall today,
wrote a poem
that's been hanging
on tongue-tip
for a week now.

And finally
I see scrawls
on previously
blank paper.

- - -

This past little while has been a long stretch. I've spent the last week and a half in what I like to call 'Don't write, just sleep' syndrome. I'm so tired lately, I rarely get a day just to do nothing. Which is fine, I suppose. When I'm doing nothing I feel pointless and very teenage. I just miss the days that I could sleep in till like four in the afternoon.

A Lie Spoken Long Ago.

That lie--
I wonder if it ever
did fade from your lips.
Or do you still
hide it there,
in deep corners
and chapped red.
Do you still utter
the lie that
you cried so long ago?

Perhaps when trouble
has caught up,
it will momentarily
leave your lips.

- - -

I like the idea of things fading from a person.

NaNoWriMo Right Around The Corner.

So, I'm very aware that my posting has slowed down tremendously these past few weeks. I'm sorry! It's not my fault! School work is starting to rear it's ugly head, I'm in the process of applying to university, and I have a social life.

PLUS NaNoWriMo is right around the corner. I didn't realize it till just now, but it's only five days away. Goodness gracious: I'm extremely terrified and extremely excited. Last year I only got to 5000 words or so before I gave up, but I'm determined to make it this year to the full and ripe 50,000 words. We'll see how that goes. :)

I fully encourage anyone who is serious about writing or even those who've always thought it would be cool to write a novel to participate. It'as thirty days of mayhem, but really so much fun to get involved with the community and so rewarding to come out of the month with something. Be it a couple thousand words or a full manuscript.

The website is here: http://www.nanowrimo.org

Check it out, and then join me for a month of baggy eyes, ideas squeezed from a ragged and dry sponge, and bloody messes for fingers. :)

UltraSound.

Her face was a full moon awash in the autumn night. She sat swaying uneasily forwards and then backwards in an old rocking chair; the curtains were flung open so that she could watch the miasma of streetlamps and hooded figures that darted down the street. The old, wise trees cast long shadows across cold cement and suburban houses. They were lit from the inside, like giant fireflies.

Autumn nights were always so gloomy: They smelled like decay preserved with frost. I didn't like to watch long evenings, but I did enjoy watching her watch them. She would sit in her rocking chair watching leaves in cast iron darkness, and I would sit on the loveseat and watch her examine orange lines of limelight. I'd come to know her features well this way.

Hair like the finest ebony silk and eyes that bore you down with intense green flames. A frail, brittle nose, but cheekbones of the most high and elegant variety. Her hands were of the same stately posture, and always resting upon her round and overlarge belly.

She sighed and I wanted to sigh with her; she made the most beautiful faces when she sighed. I stood and went to kneel before her, resting my own workmen's hands on the precious cargo in front of me. I felt a little kick and then another. Not hard--indignant, impatient ones.

"He's kicking," I said, grinning.

"She's a fighter." She replied, tossing back my smile in her own crooked way.

I pressed my lips to her belly and wished I could kiss a baby instead.

"How do you know it's a girl?" She asked how I knew it was a boy.

"Maybe we should have an ultrasound done." I suggested.

She squinted, her eyes following another leaf randomly but inevitably falling into darkness.

"That would ruin the surprise." She said.

- - -

I know this is sort of confusing and makes no sense, but I love the way it turned out. Gotta work more on my dialogue though; it feels a little choppy here.

Money.

Nothing is
a harder blow
than a hole
burnt in
the shallow pocket
of new blue
jeans.

- - -

This is in light of spending money. I'm generally a very frugal person, but just within the last two days, I got a hundred dollar haircut (mohawk!) and spent eight hundred on a lovely new laptop, which runs like a charm and is just so nice to type on.

Youth.

You ask me
what I think
of worrisome worries
and misguided days
and I say
that I don't.
I'm too young
for that.

Ego.

Your words
are a ululation
where 'joke'
and 'jab'
are interchangeable.
I imagine
you think yourself
smoke,
so swift
and ghostly grey
that you slip through
my nascent understanding
like pale
and dead cold fingers.

- - -

I credit inspiration for this poem to Jenna Butler, who is a poet based here in the Edmonton area. Only in my most wild and highly absurd dreams can I write like her.

Missing Northern Lights.

A lightless sky,
where have the Northern Lights gone?
I can't see where the water starts,
or where the trees bend,
or when the night begins.
All because of
a lightless sky.

Disregarding Friends.

Your disregard
is a thumbtack
through the toe,
a brick
crushing my skull.

My tongue is heavy
with lead,
so it pains me
to say
that I must
step towards
scary life
without you.

- - -

I suppose some friends are not forever. Any mature person would know this, but it doesn't silence the pain of absence.

I'm at a certain point in my life where in less than eight or so months, I'll have to step away from everything I've known for the last three years. Things are changing, rapidly. I don't know where exactly I'm going, and I don't think I necessarily need too. But I do feel as though I'm losing a handle on things I thought I understood, on people I thought I knew, on where my talents are and who I am as a whole.

Live and let go, I guess.

Tea in October.

Green tea,
hot and bittersweet,
drops into my stomach
and warms cold thoughts.
Blood flows again,
and my fingers
don't feel
so paralyzed
with snarking October winds.

- - -

The colors of autumn are starting to fade here, from those dramtic yellows and oranges to a dull, flat, decaying brown. Feels like winter is almost here.

A Writer With An Interesting And Fishy Perspective.

This entertaining blog has an a new and fresh perspective: Miscellaneous musings through the eyes of a Betta fish. I personally thought the idea was gloriously fun.

http://pinyins-tank.blogspot.com/

Check it out, and be entertained by Pinyin the fish and his tankmates.

A Scowl.

Her scowl
is a snarl
in her eyes
and a roar
in her mouth.
She tears you down
when she
dosen't want to.

A Grin.

He grinned
a staggered grin.
Thoughts and tremors
left unsaid.
But they show--
plain as day,
dank as night--
in half hidden
teeth.

Ash in an Ashtray.

An ashtray,
glass that no longer
glistens with geometric shapes--
there's too much
ash in there.
It used to be
a thing of beauty.
Now it's a sorry state
of it's former self,
like hands that tap
ash
into an ashtray.

Lightning.

I remember being lightning
dancing with the best;
I was quick of wit
and sharper of tongue.

Those days,
like boiling
tumultuous clouds,
have moved on
taking the lightning
and brooding thunder
with them.

Cursive.

I want to see
this pen
scrape at paper,
make little
flowing marks,
that resemble
a language.

SenileSociety.

Walking to that place
I call a home,
I slump down a sidewalk.
Leaves, crunching and yellow,
are strewn across gritty cement.
I walk past trash lining
the street and see
an old woman
back bowed and joints aching
raking up leaves.
There are no young backs,
strong legs and arms of zeal,
to do this
for her.

I, as young
as I am,
kept walking.