"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Last Bit O' Sun.

Smells like
a dry winter
out there.
Snow glistens
in grey light,
and empty branches
grab at the last
weak rays of sun
like hungry hands.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

You Are A Bittersweet Onion.

Raw onion
stings my eyes
and tastes sweet
before stinging
my tongue too.
Have you ever
bitten into

- - -

When I originally wrote this, it felt all wrong and silly. I was asking myself, "Why the heck am I writing about onions?" I put it down for a few days and came back and rewrote it. And now I feel much better about it.

So my thought of the day will be: Why do young writers feel like everything must be polished, clean, and perfect the first time around? Or maybe it's just me?

I like to get stuff right the first time, I guess. It's the obsessive complusive perfectionist in me.

3 Minutes.

For 3 minutes
the whole world fell apart
and I tried
to pick up the pieces
and stuff them
in my back pocket
before it all
went back together.

But you
have quick fingers,
and stuffed them

Tuesday, November 23, 2010


Bones limber with ice
joints glazed with frost.
You bow and bend
with the screeching wind
and it burns--
scratches your face
with long
curling fingers.
These days are
stay in bed

- - -

I know I haven't written in a while! Sorry! I'd give excuses, but I've really got none.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

One Crazy Weekend.

This weekend has been full of a lot of fun and a lot of craziness. On Friday I went to work five to nine, and then after that was the Grad Dance Marathon (you dance continuously for twelve hours to raise money for graduation) I was there from ten pm to seven in the morning. And then I had to go back to work for an eight hour shift (eight thirty to four thirty) and then I came home and just crashed. Really hard.

I slept eighteen glorious hours, and now I'm getting ready to go throwdown at Battleship's Ep release. I'm so stoked for it!

Thus is my excuse for not writing this weekend! Ta ta!

Thursday, November 18, 2010


You said
every rose
has a thorn.
I watch
pretty girls
go by,
faces lined with
and eyes
shadowed with
social commentary.
I wonder
if they have
thorns too.
I wear
a crown
of more than

- - -

This week has been one filled with thoughts that flow like molasses. Nothing really spectacular has been coming together for me. There's a lot of stuff that's going on right now, and I know for the health of my entire being that I must, must keep writing. Without words, I get stressed and anxious and bottled up. But that's hard to do when the inches of snow keep accumulating, and my bones feel like they'll grind to a halt in the below zero weather. Silly, viscous molasses.

Anyways, my brother is the inspiration behind this poem. He was feeling down because his lady friend cancelled their date, on account that her friend was deathly ill. Or something like that. My brother (also a lover of poetic language) offered her a little piece of his heart written into a few stanzas. She doesn't much like poetry apparently. He later sighed and said, "I guess even the most beautiful roses have thorns." He's a poet at heart.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010


My heart is
a little mis-shapen,
it's got funny warps
and glued up cracks.
Those are
in this house.

My heart is
a sad, gangly
little thing--
more than
just a little
deprived of

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Soft Opening.

Your mouth
is a soft opening,
sheets of silk
upon your tongue.
Nothing sharp
falls out of there.
You are
soft when you speak
and softer still
when you kiss.

- - -

I didn't realize until just recently how much I enjoy the word soft. Is that strange?

Saturday, November 13, 2010

The First of Many?


This is such a good start to a blog. It's the first post, but I couldn't help falling in love with the simple words and the flow of the poem. Take a peek!

Friday, November 12, 2010

Father, Mother, Brother.

My mom always said
dysfunction runs deep
in this family
a million paper cuts.
Hidden until
you wash
with soap;
Then they

My father always said
resentment runs fast
in this family
river water.
Soft until
you fall in
and choke;
Then you

My brother always said
they both never knew
what it was
to be alone;
They had
for that.

But in all the madness,
you'll always have me,
little bro.

- - -

This feels...so long. -_- I'm not a fan of long poetry, really I'm not. But it seems like lately I've been having trouble getting my ideas down in a small span of words. But I guess it's all part of growing and developing: both are perpetual and never stop. They also cannot exist without each other. Hmm.

Anyways, this is for the Thursday prompt at Poets United.

Thursday, November 11, 2010


In the city,
the sun rises
in the east
and sets
in the west.

It sheds light on
tattered streets
with tattered cars,
and tattered people
in tattered bars.

The sun rises
in the east
and sets
in the west
of this urban sprawl.

But all that matters
is the next drink.

- - -

This weekend I'm visiting family down in Calgary. So it's kind of amusing that the Thursday Think Tank on Poets United this week is a prompt on family. I'm sure that by the end of this weekend I'll have plenty to say on that subject.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

My Heart Is Not A Bird.

Why is a heart
to winged, fickle
crusaders of the sky?

My heart rarely flutters
(but you make it so),
nor does it fly into my throat
(but you make it so),
nor do wings sprout
from the tissue.

my heart is
a flower
that buds
and blossoms
and flourishes in the spring
and shrivels
in the winter.

- - -

Not sure about this one. I'm just playing around with new things, trying to make my brain pump its arms and breath hard.

Metro Lips.

There's a metro;
a labyrinth of cities
lying in the
cracks and gaps
of your lips.

I see the cobbled streets
of Paris,
the neverending skyscrapers
of New York,
the gray of too many faces
in Bangladesh.

I wonder
how many have
been explored
and how many
I have yet to

- - -

I edited this while posting it. It was originally much shorter and made less sense. With the addition of the second stanza, I think I shaped it more to what I had in mind for the piece.

Sunday, November 7, 2010


I fell into
deep dark
Another night
without you.
I guess that's
it only
makes me
treasure you
like the last green
of a yellowing
Tomorrow maybe
I'll see that face
that makes
spring buds
sprout anew.

Procrastination = The Death of All Projects.

NaNoWriMo isn't going very well for me so far. Stupid school and stupid work make it really hard to sit and just write. Plus I'm a procrastinator. Probably not the best habit for a young aspiring writer to have. :/

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Haiku - Window.

My heart is
a window frame with
no window.

- - -

Small ideas are often the most profound. I'm not one for long, wordy poems--I guess that shows. But this is so small that I think it leaves a lot to the reader. Mr.Shamchuk always says that when you read anything, you're really reading yourself. I guess that I always take that to mean that you find little parts of you as a being in literature (maybe in all walks of life?) and you grab hold of that.


Brought up
by a best friend,
now it's festering
in my mind.
what I did.
Left little peices
trailing behind me.

Monday, November 1, 2010


Far, far
Raises their kids.

- - -

Overdosed on
The prescription
How can you
Even try to

- - -

Immortal, but
Cool like

- - -

Just playing around and trying to excersise my brain. Everyone says Acrostics are really easy, but it's hard to come up with good, coherent ones. My personal favorite is Nick's, just cause my sense of humour is showing there. Plus I was a bit stretched for words that start with N and words that start with K.

Anyways, wow! Start of NaNoWriMo. Better get my write on!

Warmth in Another.

I'm looking for
warmth in another.
There is no heat
in these tired eyes
and bloodless fingers.

Just me,
is like shivering
on a sidewalk
sheeted with
packed down ice.

You and I
we're the embers
of an eternally
stoked fire.