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

Friday, February 25, 2011


Every fiber,
and tendon
spring again.
Sweat beads,
ball leaps
through the hoop.
2 pointer.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011


So today I received a letter in the mail. It was labeled from Grant MacEwan university--all blue and white. It was a letter of acceptance: I got in! YES.

I'll be going there for a Bachelor in Professional Communications. It's essentially a writing program--it sets you up to work in a lot of different places. My hope is that I'll still get to do what I love (put words on paper!), while still being versatile and able to works tons of different positions.

The only thing left to do really is figure out how I'm going to pay for all this. A Student Loan is really not an option, because my parents are seperated and re-married. : \ That leaves scholarships and money out of my own pocket: It's the only thing standing between me and going to school there.

Well for now, just knowing that I have that conditional acceptance enough. I'm really excited and very happy I got it.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Wayward Sailor.

Looking south
like a wayward sailor
in search
of warmer winds.
No verdant land
on the horizon
The cold here
burns my face
and leaves me
in ragged company.

- - -

I finished reading a book today that was called 'Better than Running at Night.' It was about a girl named Ellie who is studying abroad at a school called NECCAD. It's an arts school, and it's basically just about her day to day life and her love of art. It's about how, despite distractions, she works so hard to become a better and more subtle artist. How she rediscovers herself and her talents.

The writing in the book was simple, and it was a fast read, but I really enjoyed it for a number of reasons. The first was that it was the first book I've actually finished in quite a long while. When I was in junior high, I could tear through a book in a matter of hours. I could read multiple stories and keep them straight. This ravenous reading is really where my love of words stems from I think, but as I entered high school, my reading pace gradually slowed and at one point stopped altogether.

I don't know why that was.

I think I could partially blame it on being more concerned with my own writing. I think I could probably partially blame it on being involved with boys. I could partially blame it on my terrible grade ten and eleven English AP teacher Mrs.Andriuk, who nearly made me stop writing.

I can thank Mr.Shamchuck, my english teacher this year, for re-igniting that love of words in me. And also for encouraging some of my best writing. I can also thank thee boy, who read three books in the time it took me to read one, and who helped spur that need of reading again.

Anyways, my thought of the day is this: Can you be a writer without being a reader?

Sunday, February 20, 2011


The last page
of an old book.
I feel nostalgia
baking in my bones.
First book
I've read
in a long time.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011


Grim clouds
choke out
a pale sun.
My feet
slip on ice--
I clatter
to the ground.
It's cold down here
not cold enough
to get back up.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Elliot Smith.

Acoustic guitar
trickles down.
half whispered
Something else
is hiding in the mesh,
between the lines
of an Elliot Smith

- - -

Three new poems tonight. This one is the best of the three I think, but I put so much emotion into each one that despite their choppiness, they had to be posted. Some things just cannot sit and go stale with dust in a notebook.


It was
a big deal.
But the plot's
been changed.
The No-Big-Deal
has her
burning me
with flaming
olive eyes,
and giving me
the cold shoulder
while frost
creeps up her back.


I want
to wake up
to your sleepy eyes
and cutsie bed head.
I want
to watch
our fingers, bodies, and smiles
get tangled together.
I want
to wish
for old age
to scoop us up.

I guess
we'll have to
wait and see.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Computer Screen.

Computer screen
creates pale
luminescent rays
and they are cast
along the
smooth contours
and sleepy hollows
built upon
my face.

It burns a bit,
and yet
I can't
tear my eyes

- - -

The Internet is addictive. : /

Monday, February 7, 2011

Long Dial Tone.

I'll call you
till you answer
the phone
and I hear
that pearly smile
say my name.
But I hear
an endless dial tone
and I can't help
but think
maybe you've
moved on.

You always said
we could still be

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Great White Shark Fight - New Song.

- - -

Great White Shark Fight's new ditty. I'm really excited to hear the inclusion of vocals, and hopefully they'll be playing some shows real soon. The plethora a breakdowns is really promising, I must say. A real headbanger! :)

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Too Much.

Words slur,
dextrous slip
of the tongue.
Too much
to drink
this time

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

A Moment.

Long nights
filled with
sleepless hours
because I'm stuck
thinking of that moment
I should never
have seen.
Clenched jaw,
eyes a flurry
of tears held back
but spilling over--
you and her;
she touched your arm,
walked away.
You looked understanding
but also sad.
I'm sorry to say
I witnessed
that moment.

- - -

This has nothing to do with the poem, but at school I am often spoken to specifically because of my brother. He's a little bit on the eccentric side (very in line with the rest of the family), and he tends to grab a lot of peoples attention, and not always in a good way.

This is a picture of the both of us. He wears that yellow set of goggles on a daily basis, as well as several other articles of clothing that are not among todays average teenager's repertoire. His dress style and general jubilant attitude is very much him, and as I said, not always taken in a good way.

Today was an example. This girl I know--I suppose you could kinda call her an aquaintance-- came up to me and started discussing my brother's weirdness. It would have been fine if she hadn't spit it out of her mouth in such a negative way, like she thought that I'd agree with her that he had mental issues or something. I really wanted to smack her in the face and tell her to mind her own business.

Why is it that anything slightly out of the norm is taken so negatively within our society? Why do we as people feel like we must hide certain aspects of ourselves, become something that is 'ideal' or valued to other people. I cannot believe some of things people my age will do and say just to be seen a particular way. And not only that, but we all dress the same and talk the same as to not stand out too much from the pack. I can't always say that I'm not like that, but as I get older I understand the importances of being genuine, with myself and with others.

I want very much for people to accept that those around them will have different interests and different backgrounds.