A Father There.

Old photos
broken frames;
It's all I have
but it's not the same.
Visceral childhood dreams
of you--
Your hair is tame,
and your voice is lame
but you are my father
there.
With heavy, wakening eyes
you are simply
a man
unknown to me.

- - -

I was going to put up a big angry rant about my father to go with this. I even had it all typed out-- but then a hard lump worked its way into my throat, so I deleted it all. So you fellas just get the poem today.

Tons of Upcoming Events, Check 'Em Out!

Wow there are quite a few things happening for us writers in the coming month of April. It's exciting stuff, I know!

1) A blogger that I read relatively frequently mentioned National Poetry Writing Month on a post on their blog. I got interested and did some looking around, did some reading, and decided to give it a whirl. The goal is to write a poem everyday for the month of April. So 30 poems in thirty days. Doesn't sound too hard; I think I can do it.

NaPoWriMo

And check out ZouxZoux's blog too: My Secret Voice Whispering In Your Ear.

2) Script Frenzy starts April 1st as well. I've mentioned it before, but I'll mention it again. 30 days to write 100 pages of a script, screenplay, tv show, what have you. I've a few ideas rattling around in my head, it's just the sitting down and writing part. I've never even attempted to write a script or play before, so it's pretty much garanteed to be a gong show. I did a little calculator work, and figured that you could write 3.3 pages everyday for thirty days and you should be done on time. Or something like that. Either way, I feel like it's entirely plausible to write that much.

Script Frenzy

And this one is the biggie:

3) The Montreal Poetry Prize has just been launched recently (my bestest friend's mom brought it to my attention, Thanks Laurie! And Kelly too. :D ), and it's supposed to be the biggest international poetry award ever. The prize of $ 50,000 goes to one selected poem, and the top 50 get published in an anthology of some kind. I'm still reading about it, still deciding if I want to try for it, but in good spirit I thought I should share this with all the wonderful writers I've had the oppurtunity to read.

Montreal Poetry Prize

Now is the time to go forth and write!

In The Night.

I write
by candlelight
in the dark gloom
of Night
closing in at my sides.
He embraces me,
comforts me--
runs long fingers
through my hair
down my shoulders
touching my spine
as I write
to the comfort
of long, dark Night.

- - -

Script Frenzy starts in April. I wonder if I should try it this year. It's essentially the same thing as NaNoWriMo, just in script format. 30 days, 100 pages is how they describe it. I guess we'll see how busy it gets after spring break! :)

A Gallop.

Hooves trample
sod and soil.
Each muscle ripples
with forward motion.
The sun smiles,
bears down,
at your back.
It glimmers
on hazelnut skin.
The wind
tangles your mane--
and suddenly
all thought
is lost.
There is just
that constant stretch;
the constant
systematic motion
of a gallop.

Too Cold For Wet Feet.

Walking circles
in cool march air.
Crumbling ice
cracking into slush
under feet that long
to get wet.

Bad Kid.

I succumb
to that chilling smile--
though hair stands
upright
upon the nape of my neck.
I can't help it;
you are too
delightfully bad.

- - -

Ha! Written because I was pressured to do so. But there-- I did it. :)

Writing has been hard lately, though I'm not sure why. Might have something to do with my growing nervousness (what with college and stuff), and my growing focus on passing my courses. Things will pick up. Hopefully.

Perspective

Who are you,
to say I am wrong?
You can have
your Crusades,
your White Man's Burden,
your Liberal Life
and go back
to where
you've come from.

- - -

The course criteria in Social this year is based pretty heavily on ideologies and perspective. Or, to say more with less, your perspective on ideology. It's got me thinking a lot recently about how we see things differently that people half a world away, and how we as indviduals may never be able to see past our own upbringings. It scares me to think that there's so many cultures, so many traditions, so many languages and colors and nationalities and I'll never be able to fully understand it. I will only be able to view it looking outside in, through a kaleidescope of opinions and bias.

I always thought when I was a kid I'd do a lot of traveling. I can see now, as I'm watching my peers make plans to go off to far away exotic places or stay behind just as I am, all those imaginings may never become tangible. I'm surprisingly okay with that; I have a whole life ahead of me.

A Pen Or Pencil.

I don't write
in pencil anymore.
In a little black book,
the fine marks
sit
ferment
and then fade.
A pen
is more to my tastes--
the ever enduring
permanent stains
will never fade
from these hands;
nor from that
little black book.

Venue.

Click
another one
passes through those doors
to lose themselves
in vibrations,
the growling snarls
of the guitar,
the heavy stomps
of the drums.
Click
another one
on that little silver counter.
Another one
who's come
to escape
the cold streets
outside.

Army.

In between the morning hues
there's something darker lurking;
grinding gears,
stomping feet,
gun barrels glimmer
as the sun breaks
the horizon.
Another day,
a different place,
the army marches.
Take your politics
and ideologies
with you.
We don't need them
here.

Butter.

It's days like this
that make me feel
so unlike you.
You versus me
is kind of like
comparing butter
to margarine.

You simply
can't.

- - -

One of my friends showed me a really cool website today. It's like... visual poetry I guess. It's like a combination of photography and cryptic writing. I like it, though some escape me, make me feel a little perplexed.

Ah, according to my friends, I'm always perplexed. Or lost. Or idiotic. Today has been one of those days where at every turn you just feel ridiculed. They like to tease, which is fine. I always do my best to brush it off (and I usually tease back), but I'm human last time I checked. And there's really only so much of that I can take without feeling completely torn down.

Anyways, a website for my fellow bloggers:
A Softer World

Long Weekend.

It's been a long weekend for me. I've pretty much just been working, trying to make a few extra dollars here and there. I've also been trying to get back on top of my homework, which I've let slide the past few weeks. It's mostly all done now, just have to do some sudying for Japanese to put my mind at ease. Ooh, there was a rhyme there! :)

My youngest ferret, Jojo, is sick again. She's all conjested and coughing. Really lethargic too; she won't play with my other ferret Boxer at all. All she wants to do is sleep. I'm really worried about her, so another trip to the vet might be in order. This will be the second time within the span of a month. It's frustrating, because I feel like its my fault, and also scary, because if her cold progresses too far, she could die. I've just been trying to keep her as warm as possible until the clinic opens up on Monday.

Aside from that, really there's not too much else to talk about. I hope to be able to get some new writing up soon-- it's been too long a stetch without my words.

Breathless.

It's a familiar
heart flutter
and suddenly
I can't breath.
You took it
away again.
Please return
my breath
Mr. Snake Charmer.

- - -

Today marks a year that my boy and I have been dating. It feels like (maybe this is just because I'm still so young) it's such a long time, such a vast achievement.

I like to watch old couples hold hands as they stroll down the streets of this little city. It makes me feel like there truly can be something legitimate about love, even in today's age of body image and sex appeal. I promised myself when I got into high school and attended my mother's third wedding that I would only ever marry once. If it doesn't work out, I'll never marry again.

Not saying I'm thinking about that anytime soon. I've got far too much life to live, but I'm happy I have someone to drag along on that ride.

Winter's Last Sunset.

Tomorrow I'll watch the sun rise
over pearlescent heaps of snow.
And I'll track its course,
through the ghostly wisps
of bellowing clouds.
My eyes will follow
those yellow tails and footprints
across azure sky
until I see it set
on a westerly horizon
and the faded grey
falls prey
to the gold-green
evenings of
a summer passed.

- - -

It's been a little while since I last posted. I promise, I'm not growing tired of blogger-- I've just been getting over a nasty cold. Last week I was too busy hacking, coughing, and sniffling to write anything. And FAR too tired to write anything good. But I'm feeling much better now, so I think I'll get back into the groove of things pretty quick.

Oh, Winter. Why won't you go?

It's been unbearably cold here the past few days. I'm longing to feel the warm sun on my face and shoulders again, and green beneath my toes. I miss the feeling of grass. It feels like spring is just around the corner; yet it's never been so far out of reach.